Bones and Blades V (Solo)
Posted: Sat Nov 21, 2020 12:15 am
68th of Ash, 120 AS
Lyra moved to the jewel pedestal, taking down two small gems from the shelf. Lesser Aetherite shards, small and with a simple rounded cut. Both easily fit into the palm of one hand. These she set onto the pedestal, which glowed slightly with a blue light as she did. The pictographs for this would be simple. Using a small carving tool Lyra started to steadily etch into the surface of one of the dragonshards. The designs were simple, and Mirrored those around the eyes of the skull on the pedestal next to her. On one surface she also added a small spiral, like a simpler version of her personal symbol, though made with simplistic lines instead of the details found on the skull. On the other side of the gem Lyra craved a small circle with a dot at its center. She then drew lines radiating out, waving which wrapped back to touch the designs that linked this dragonshard to the glyphs on the the skull. These were repeated on the second gem.
When she was finished Lyra moved back to the skull, reaching overhead and taking another vial from the shelf. Marrow glue. Using a liberal amount Lyra smeared the backs of each gem before setting them into the indentions she made before. She was careful to ensure that the designs on the gem lined up with the lines she crafted into the bone itself. When the shards were in place Lyra breathed out, whispering softly under her breath.
"Empower. Call out, pull and consume. Desire, longing and deep craving. Radiate desire. Suppress inhibition." black smoke entwined the gem, flowing into the glyphs that circled the eyes and fed back up to the serpent on the forehead. The glyphs shimmered, radiating intent before settling once more.
Nodding Lyra took up the carving hook once more, beginning a new pattern leading from the temples. Entwining spirals lead down along the lower jaw, vines that wrapped up each of the tusks on either side of the skull. On each set set a symbol. A flame with jagged edges, waving lines within a square and the depiction of a fist clenched around a hammer. These she wrapped in circles and linked back to the spiraling lines. Moving up to the temples Lyra added another symbol. A rough depiction of a set of dice. For good measure Lyra added a small design of a stack of coins, linking these and the dice back to the snake with a set of chains.
With that the pictographs were complete. She took a bit of time to inspect the designs once more before she was satisfied. It was time to move on to the final piece. She set her attention on the three empty circles. Starting at the crown Lyra began by adding three interlocking circles. In one circle she carved out the depiction of a flame. She kept the lines simple, and the edges of flames blended to spoke which lead back out to the circle it was inside of.
"Foolish anger, rage that was barely contained. Remember once more the heat, the passion... Blood, fire, death. A Warrior's spirit bold and untampered. Burn bright, burn until the last ember fades." The words were changed under her breath as she carved the first symbol. This one she called for the skull to remember Gormash's temper. Battle rage that burned like a fire, all consuming, encompassing. Blood and flesh fueled this fire, making it soar higher and higher until the person it was kindled inside was turned to ash. The fires of a passionate man. The fires of a madman. The fires of a man who could not control the baser instincts.
In the next linked circle Lyra created a stylized version of a mug, brimming with foam. She took time to depict the cup running over, the substance inside bleeding into the circle it surrounded, and adding fuel to the fire in the circle linked to it.
"The drunkard. Indulgent and idol, subjected to sloth and indecision. Forget the pain, dampen the senses, enhance the desire... The mind grows fogged, yet buzzes with giddish delight. Remember... Remember and drown in the self imposed torment that is to come." This design called on Gormash's old ways. He lost himself in drink, drowning out the world and his own shame in the tankard. Flooded with poisons his veins craved more, and so he fueled that, thinking it was helping when all it did was make him sink further into depravity.
In the last linked circle Lyra carved a clenched fist, in it the shape of a sword with thin lines used to depict the edges. Gormash, for all of his faults, had been a warrior, and that life was etched into his very bones.
"Blood was your life. Fighting, killing, defending... The screams of the battle field, the feel of sword in flesh, the heat of blood as it spilled from the veins of your enemies, and your own. That foolishness called honor, bravery that called a wretched fool to give his own life for a man he hardly knew. Silly, foolish bravery. Remember... Remember what you might have been, recall that had you done better perhaps... perhaps the death would not have been so mundane." Bravery was the oddest thing in a man. It was fickle, both powerful and weak depending on the situation one found themselves in. Some would call the Ork brave for having defend the life of another at the cost of his own, yet Lyra had to wonder... Had it been bravery, or cowardice? Had he defended than man for the sake of saving a life, or simply jumped at the opportunity to end his own? Honor was a double edged sword. To uphold it was to be a person of virtue, a step above the common man prone to failing and weakness. To fail was to be something lesser than a beast. That, more than anything, was something Lyra could never understand. Honor would kill more men than a blade. That was certain.
With the design at the top of the skull finished Lyra moved to the circle on the left side of the skull. This one she took a bit of time to create. Slow, careful lines flowed into one another, forming and swaying as they formed themselves into the rough outline of a fox, profile with his nose pointed toward the front of the skull. It's fur was matted, and a scar ran beneath one eye. It's moth was open, and a few teeth were missing. An older fox, one that had lived a long life, or so Lyra imaged it to be.
"Crafty, beguiling." Lyra said these words with a smile, "For so long these traits are what guided you, lead you down the path that ultimately ended in your demise. A lie is only a lie if another truth is found, or if your truth is contradicting to the truth of another. Remember... Remember that cunning spirit that even convinced yourself that everything was alright. Remember, and deceive another with the same absoluteness." Gormash had been a man who was either an exceptional liar and actor, or one who had convinced himself for so long that what he did was within reason. It was rare to find a liar so talented that they could fool someone for as long a the Ork had, thus Lyra suspected it was the latter. Gormash, the pitiable fool, had truly deceived himself. This pictograph called for the artefact to remember that cunning, that ability to trick and deceive. Often men were attracted to lies that seemed like truth, than truths that gave even a hint that they were a lie.
Finally Lyra moved on to the last circle on the other side of the skull. In this one she carved out the depiction of two dice mid roll, the numbers on their surface instead turning into slitted pupils set into eyes that stared out hungrily. Around the dice Lyra caved coins, circles with banded patterns around their rim. At their center was a jagged tooth grim, no eyes or other features. Just a curving slit with teeth.
"A symptom of the deeper problem, or perhaps the thing that pushed a man to his ends. Coin is like a drug, sweet and calling, yet corrupting in its influence. The roll of the dice is such a simple thing, comforting. Deception walks hand in hand with greed. Greed of wealth, greed of flesh, greed of pleasure. A drug that hides, an addiction that keeps calling one back over and over again. Remember. Remember that desire to roll the dice just one, last time. Be deceived that this time it will be different." He had been a gambler, either by chance or choice it mattered little. The end results were almost always the same. That feeling of victory was intoxicating. Each win fueled the desire to try just one... more... time. Lyra called for the skull to remember that. That intoxicating feeling that this time the roll would be a winning one. To place all that one had on the line for the barest chance that this time, surely this time the jackpot would be theirs.
Sighing out a breath, black smoke flowed and encircled the skull, flowing through and around it, filling the etchings with a dark blue glow as the ichor she had used at the start pulled in her essence. She filled the pictographs with intent, focusing on the idea of a game. A roll of the dice. The results random, uncertain. She kept the flow of thoughts and smoke going as she took a jar from the shelf, uncapping and tilting it to pour several drops of blood liquor onto the top of the skull. Tilting it further she let the substance flow over the skull, completely soaking it in a river of dark read that flooded down and flowed off the pedestal. The ichor streamed through all of the etches, being drawn in by the flowing aether even as the remembrance diagrams were awakened. The pedestal glowed a dull grey and there was a thump of power.
The smoke dissipated, and Lyra held onto the Pedestal for support as she stared at the skull. It stared back at her, the gems at the center of their eye sockets giving off a dark red glow now. The lines she had etched had taken on a reddish tint as well, as if they had taken on some of the color of the blood ichor. From the pictographs a faint red mist flowed. As she stared into the eyes Lyra felt it. Her rhythm's changed, and she felt a sudden longing, a desire to touch the skull. TO use it, to...
The sensation suddenly broke apart, like there was a missing link the chain. That made Lyra smile, and she looked back over to the stone slab where the rest of the bones still sat. Yes, the winning pot for her game was made. Now she just needed to create the pieces that were used to play for the reward.