[The Starlight Forge] The Sacred Ceremony of the Celestial Blade: Forging a Soulblade
The 25th Brightening of Ponutis to the 25th Brightening of Melora, XIV PF
“Come,” Venn whispered as he took Avrie by the hand. He led her past the stables deep in the Temple complex toward a copse of trees. There was a sudden sense of unimportance about those trees that caused one to simply turn away and look in another direction. Yet the paladin continued toward them as if drawn toward it. The shadows were heavy under the canopy of green and the darkness grew as they proceeded. In fact, it grew to black so that they could not see anything at all except the faintest light behind them. Venn, however, was unrelenting, drawing Avrie ever forward into the shadowland.
Suddenly all was bright as they broke into a glade. The sudden change was blinding and it took several moments for them to recover. The light streamed down almost as a singular beam upon the granite stone structure of the fabled Starlight Forge. Few outside of the Temple had ever seen the enchanted place that stood at the heart of the Temple lands.
Secrets :
The Starlight Forge
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Deep within the Temple complex which stood upon the Dwarven-Engineered Basilica known as the Temple of Blessed Hands is a Forge, hidden away artfully behind the stables, surrounded by a grove of trees to dull the scent of smoke and the sound of the hammer. Unlike other forges across Aelyria, this forge was isolated, and no one who wasn’t meant to find it ever found it… such was the enchantment upon it to protect all of its magical wares from thieves and the uninitiated. The forge was constructed of a solid pale granite, polished to a glassy smoothness, although the forge itself was cast of iron, and open to the air out the back… covered by a sturdy roof, pillared with the finest black marble so that soot-marks wouldn’t show up.
The lintel and the doorframe out the front of the forge were of the same black marble, although it bore the sign of a star etched into the marble, wreathed in circles of light… small diamonds picked out the star, which glowed in the dimmer light under the trees, even when sunlight did not strike it. Inside, the floor was also black marble, though swept clean every day, and the interior was walled with crystal-glass cases, filled with magical creations.
Upon the floor, at the door… were the words; “Evil Dwelt Here. It Resides No More.”
Many years ago, the Starlight Forge had been built upon the grave of a wicked, vengeful spirit, who had caused no end of trouble, playing hex with the carefully wrought magics on the weaponry, ruining the steel to cause blades forged over the course of years to shatter, much to the dismay of the local Elves and Dwarves.
However, a passing troupe of Paladins and Monks had deigned to intervene; and the spirit had been banished with much effort, and the Forge sanctified into a place as holy as any Cathedral might be. It was here that the Paladins of Natura forged their blessed blades; they took for themselves the sigil of the Silver Star, and named the birthplace of their enchanted weaponry the Starlight Forge. Over the years, the Dwarven Smiths, the Elvish Steelwrights, and the Paladins had let the Forge accumulate those things that might prove dangerous in the wrong hands… Strange, sentient orbs of Summoners, balls of crystal mounted upon dainty golden stands from Seers, the magnificent sceptres of Oracles, and one suit of Mithril, lacquered with the black Obsidianate… Laurodhel, a legacy from a great Paladin Patriarch, ages ago… all were kept safe.
Here, too, the things granted to the Rangers, the Druids and the Bards were made, as well as the armour for the Paladins and the lighter stuffs that the Rangers wore into the forests. In classical Naturan style, the armour was made in the way of light-plate at the heaviest for the Paladins, and in the way of arm-guards, cuisses and segmented cuirasses for all warriors of the Orders… light-weight and allowing the greatest range and speed of movement possible. Obsidianate and Mithril were used here for those Paladins who proved themselves to be the greatest of the Clergy, after many trials through death and Aeternia against the legions of evil. They were the much-blessed, and a suit of armour had not been forged in the likes of Laurodhel for centuries… some said those days of the Paladins were gone.
The Starlight Forge created the Bulbs of the Grove for the Druids who passed their Quests to dedicate themselves strongly to the cause of Natura, delicate water-filled tiny spheres of polished crystal of the Spring, hung from collars of precious metal… gold of sun for men, silver of moon for women. Upon careful observation, however, the bulbs held a tiny speck of light at the centre, hardly the size of a grain of sand, dormant as a seed was, awaiting an owner to awaken the power within, to let it grow as mighty as an oak. For the Rangers, their bows were carved and bent here of the finest yew, polished and strengthened by magic and special oils to make them as supple as a sapling, yet their draw was deep and hard… only a Ranger who had the privilege of becoming a true Sentient of Naturan forests could attain and manage a bow.
However, to the side were the silver wolf’s head brooches, the symbol of the Silver Wolves, the Naturan Ranger faction. These brooches would be attached to their Ranger-cloaks, finely woven of the softest cashmere, enchanted with each thread to show the green of leaf, the tone of earth, the shadow under the trees, and the translucence of water. Several finished cloaks hung on pegs, awaiting their brooches to be attached… somehow, they contrived to be almost invisible against the wall, providing the Ranger who wore them with the next best thing to invisibility. Those bows in evidence were unstrung… only a Silver Wolf could compress their strength, to tame it with a sting.
Only two Paladin-weapons were in evidence… one, a wicked-looking flanged mace, designed to crush and tear… ideal for stripping a heavily-armed opponent of all his defences, and then to shatter bones and rend flesh. Each flange of the mace was pointed like an arm of a star, and faint lines etched into the mace had been packed with the dust of pale blue diamonds, giving the overall appearance of a shimmering star, fragile and as delicate as a flower, on top of the steel haft. However, this mace could cause more damage than any weapon up close for all of its beauty. Beside it lay a sword, the Paladin’s primary weapon, long and made in the style of folded steel that was usually applied to katanas… polished and honed to a razor edge down both sides of the blade, and with a dainty filigree of the same diamond-dust stars just before the crosspiece, roving up the centrepiece. Both practically exuded a sense of blessing… to be gently touched by the sword would heal even as to be cut by it would kill… and the mace could serve as a water-sprinkler to ease hurts and horror… just as it could give it.
Finally, there was a Bardic instrument… a small, golden harp, with the sigil of the Silver Treble. The shy Bards rarely ventured into Natura for any reason other than shopping or to perform at the Inn… and it was even rarer to hear a word out of their mouths that wasn’t part of a song or sonnet. While they may have taken a vow of silence with the spoken word… they more than made up for it with the music they played, and it was here that, after many years, they were allowed to have the instrument of their choice commissioned.
The Guardian of the Forge at first wasn’t very apparent… mostly because he was swathed in a large brown robe, woven of the finest silks though it might be, the dark sienna of the hooded robe had covered him so well in the relative gloom of the forge that he’d been very unremarkable to the eye. He moved forward, showing off a small face under the cowl of that robe, rather handsome in his youth perhaps, with his slanted, almond eyes, yellow-tinged skin and very exotic look… his face was drawn up into a large grin, showing off white teeth in a monkey-like smile. He was very small, yet moved with a light-footed grace that betrayed exactly what he was… a Monk. Which was a very logical choice, since the Naturan Monks, better known as the Trappists, were not allowed weapons or armour or magical items to play with… and such a Guardian would not be tempted to pilfer the riches held within.
Without a word, Venn led Avrie around toward the opening that led directly to the forge itself. There stood three figures before the entrance, waiting. The first was Gunilla Thunderthighs, dressed in the black obsidiante-lacquered mythril of the order of paladins. Most knew her only as the proprietress of the Pickled Porcupine, brewer of an extraordinary honey mead. She was in fact also the Grand Mistress of the Silver Stars. She stroked her beard with a smug expression of pride as she watched Venn and Avrie approach. To her right was the slim form of a Tėlera, looking tall, willowy and ephemeral in her ageless beauty. Lhyllis, high priestess of the Temple and master Thaumaturgist, smiled and raised an eyebrow. To the left of Gunilla stood a man only slightly taller than the dwarf. He was stooped and wore a brown cassock as he puffed on a pipe that looked worse for wear. Father One Happy Dragon was the guardian of the Forge and he wore what one might easily mistake for a scowl on his wrinkled face.
“So, Venn,” began Gunilla. “We finally summoned ye here fer yer long overdue ritual. You do understand why it took so long, don’t ya?” She did not wait for him to reply. “Too broody, ye were. Depress’d an’ all I’d say. Weren’t yer fault, couldn’ be helped I suppose. But no condition to be pourin’ yer soul into a soulblade. You had nuthin’ to offer a deity. Not ‘till recent.” Gunilla squinted at Avrie knowingly. “But enough delay. We should get started.”
“This is your second, Venn?” Lhyllis spoke up, indicating the woman he brought.
“Yes. This is Avrie Eventide,” the paladin responded.
Lhyllis regarded the woman with a pause. “Very well. Lady Eventide, I am Lhyllis, high priestess. This is Gunilla Thunderthighs, whom you may have already met, and this is Father One Happy Dragon. We form the Holy Council of the Temple. I want you to understand that everything you see here is to be kept strictly confidential. Our ritual is sacred. Do I have your word of secrecy?”
She went on. “Most paladins usually have one of their own serve as a second. This is a very unusual arrangement, although we will trust Venn judgment for the time being. This process in fact takes anywhere from several cycles to two months. You may, may however lose track of time itself in the process. Your particular task is to assist Venn by keeping him attached to the material plane. If he loses his way in the ritual, he will cease to be. Do you understand?”
Venn looked across at Avrie and smiled reassuringly as if to say, “I trust you.”
Avrie interlaced her fingers with Venn's, nodded, and walked straight and true beside the Paladin. As the singer followed her heart, she felt nervous, quieter than usual, and clutched at the pack of things over her back with her mandolin case strapped firmly onto it. Over her free arm was a blanket she could use to sit on out of the way of his work. With her footsteps matching his towards the forge, Avrie realized the copse had a magic on it that simply would not let her look at it. Her eyes seem to slide off it repeatedly in a fashion that made her slightly ill to try, so for a brief time she closed them and leaned her head against Venn's shoulder to stop the dizzying sensation, and did not open them again until they were well into the trees past the initial barrier she could feel.
Once she opened her eyes and looked around, she smiled slightly. The cops was breathtakingly beautiful; like all things in Natura. The trees were old, and held sentinel over the cops like giant guardians. They felt watchful, as if they judged those that entered and allowed only a select few through. Then they were pausing at the edge of the glade to survey the Forge itself. Avrie's eyes widened at the black and white marble structure, the symbolism apparent, and the three figures standing at the entrance as they circled around. She released Venn's hand, stood up straight beside him, and felt determined not to dishonor him among his kind in any fashion.
The truth of it was, the Forge was sacred for all the peoples of Natura... not just the paladin's. There were ranger rituals that took place here, druid events, and even the Bards themselves came here to forge instruments of great power. Avrie had been told recently that she'd probably never have one of those rituals because her primary was her voice, which was indeed rare among the Songsmiths. But if that ever failed her, here would be where she'd turn too. So, as the approached, a feeling of intense reverence filled her and continued to, almost in overabundance, as she visually drank in the structure and form of what this building stood for to all who called Natura home.
As she was silent for the small speech Gunilla gave. The transformation of the Porcupine Owner to Grand Mistress of the Silver Stars was... shocking. Avrie hadn't realized this before. Then she nodded as the introductions where made of those who were strangers too her.... first to Lhyllis, and finally Father One Happy Dragon. Her keen eyes studied the trio, taking in their forms, the way they were dressed, the sincerity and sacredness of their words. She answered them quietly and proudly.
"Yes, I understand this is a sacred place and a holy ritual. You have my word that I will not willingly reveal anything that occurs here to anyone. And thank you for letting me accompany Venn Drega and be present for his work here."
There were more words, more explanations. Avrie glanced at Venn and her blue eyes widened slightly. While she was well versed in the fact that this would be his next step, his progression in service, he hadn't warned her exactly what her place in the ritual was. He'd only said that she could observe and be there for his forging. The weight of responsibility settled on the bardess' shoulders as understanding dawned. This was far more than she'd thought it would be. This was duty, and a rare privilege that was wholly unexpected. Avrie was silent for a long while as she weighted things in her mind, studying the three before them, and the Paladin at her side. Finally, she spoke.
"Yes, I think I do understand. I will not let him loose his way. His place is here, among us, where his journey hasn't even remotely begun to play out. There is far too much left undone for him to leave so early from his work." The firmness that she spoke the words even startled her, as she turned and heard Venn's next words. He trusted her. She nodded, a smile finding its way to her lips briefly letting him know she felt the same way, before she turned back to those gathered before them.
Avrie had plenty of questions. She always did have. But she held her tongue in this case, instinct guiding her more than anything. This was not a casual setting where she could satiate her unending thirst for knowledge. This was The Sacred, and this was Venn's time. She was content to sit back, do her duty, and not let go. The truth was, she'd never let go of him or allow him to loose his way like he had ever again. So the singer shook her head, and answered firmly... "No, not at this time."
"Very well then," the high priestess replied, making a small gesture towards the old monk.
Father One Happy Dragon, stepped up and gave Venn a toothy grin as he held up a small wooden box, "Open it," he said almost as a dare. The half-elf undid the simple latch and opened the hinged box to reveal a plain metal band. "All the wisdom and knowledge of the Starlight Forge is bound into that ring," murmured the monk. "When one wears the ring within the circle of the forge, they become a master smith but if taken outside the forge, the ring has no power. It is the way in which we guard our secrets. Wear it on the index finger of your dominant hand and you will know what to do."
Venn plucked the ring from the box and held it tentatively as the monk stepped back. Gunilla now took her turn and approached both Avrie and Venn. She too held a box, except it was reinforced with metal bands. She opened it for them to reveal two silver pendants on silver chains. "This'll link you together in the process," she said in her plain gruff manner. "It is the tether by which you keep th' lad from strayin' too far from the material plane," she nodded enigmatically to Avrie. "You'll have to find your own way of keeping him planted," she added before placing the pendant in each of their palms and stepping back. The faces of each of the pendants was burnished to a reflective sheen, serving as mirrors. along the edge of both sides was engraved a long flowing script not of any recognizable tongue.
Lhyllis smiled in a kindly manner and placed a hand on the paladin and bardess. "On the wooden table, you will find a pitcher. The water within it will sustain you through your trial. We will return when you succeed or fail. Carmelya smile upon you." With those words of blessing, the three of the Holy Council filed from the glade, leaving Venn and Avrie alone at the forge.
Venn watched as the last of his superiors disappeared into the shadows of the wood. His silver irises turned to the woman who was his sole companion now and smiled. "I'm sorry, I should have told you more about this but the council forbade it. There are some secrets that are very closely guarded here. I hope I have not overburdened you, but I could not think of another I would rather have here with me." He drew close to her and placed the medallion in his hand around her neck.
He walked toward the forge which was completely empty and cold. They would have to start everything from the very beginning. Looking to Avrie, he held up the ring and examined it. The dark metal gave no hint of the powers it contained and appeared a dull worthless iron band. Without further concern, Venn slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand. Nothing happened at first, no great revelation about smithing, but there was a trickle of simple understanding that touched his mind. He suddenly knew how the hammer could be held, the position and angles with with one might strike the metal on the process of building the fire evenly within the forge. The understanding of the ways of smithing continued to flow, coming quicker and faster now, the quality of metals, the process of mining, casting, molding, tempering. Soon it was a rush that overwhelmed his thoughts as every detailed nuance of the art came into being in his mind. He stumbled forward a little and placed his hand on the large anvil to steady himself. He shook his head, feeling as if he had suddenly been submerged in another world.
Indeed he also became aware that there was more than master smithing within his awareness now. Somehow the material plane itself became fluid, touching upon the very flow of extra planar essences. The ring had caused him to enter a heightened state of clara and he could sense himself within the timeless astral plane. The glade and the forge looked different now that he could see the arcanic weaves behind the material surface. The forge itself showed a perfect alignment. The anvil shared this characteristic but had a more intricate sub-structure. Time itself seemed to stand still.
Venn blinked several times, trying to allow his senses to adjust to it new perceptions. If they both wore their pendants, Avrie would be able in some way to see what he saw although in an indirect manner. It was as if Venn had stepped into an arcanic stream that threatened to sweep him away. "Avrie! Can you see all this?" he asked in a tone of awe and incredulity.
Avrie stood proudly beside Venn as he accepted the box from Father Happy One Dragon. A mixture of humility and honor filled her in being privileged to stand here beside the Naturan Paladin. She had no idea what this all had entailed walking in though, and felt sort of blindsided by the deep significance of the task he was undertaking. It could mean his life if she didn't do the right thing? Is that what she understood? Avrie felt nervous, having no true idea what 'anchoring' someone really meant. It was obvious they didn't mean physically. It was going to be some sort of spiritual anchoring... perhaps arcanic? She waited, certain more would be revealed. And at the same time puzzled by why Venn hadn't been more forthcoming with what would happen here.
The box contained a ring, and Avrie watched as her friend freed it from its dark prison. She furrowed her brows, puzzled yet again as to its purpose. Then Gunilla stepped forward and Avrie automatically lifted her hand to accept the pendant the woman placed there. She nodded at Gunilla's words, and watched the three figures withdraw. When Venn turned to her, placing the pendant around her neck, she nodded. "I see now. No wonder.... I hope I can do this thing right for you. And thank you. I want to do this right." She said and then she rose on her toes and slipped the pendant she held in her hands over his neck. The bardess smoothed it down on his neck, and nodded stepping back.
She watched as he turned away to the forge, his expression slowly changing from something oddly puzzled to something more prominently somehow 'knowing'. As he surveyed the cold forge, Avrie felt the magic between the pendents pulling her away from the material and more into a clara-like state, which unfortunately completely ruined her actual vision. The room and the forge itself slipped away from sight and reformed in her 'sight' turning from visual to audio awareness. Venn's form melted away and became a miniature orchestra in itself... the tones rich and deep with so many layers she decided looking at him like this actually gave her better vision than her eyes. Song played across his interwoven form, strange but integrating itself into his own personal harmony all on its own.... knowledge of smithing? Yes... she decided. Knowledge. She rose, and a bit of it touched her as well, introducing the harmony of smithing into her own song as well. There was no color, no brilliant clara lights that some students talked about. No, Avrie saw the world in tones and pitches, its harmonies luring and seducing her.
She moved closer to Venn, her own harmonies began to blend with his, influencing his own and in turn being influenced by his. She reached out, touching the knowledge he now held to assist him. While he was learning the taste and touch of the hammer, and how it struck the anvil to mold the metal, Avrie began to blindly load the forge in an intricate pattern of wood laid down in purposeful layers. It would take a while for the fire to catch and be just right and indeed needed to be the first task to be done so it could flame and bank hot, ready for Venn's tender ministrations. As she worked beside him, slowly she noticed changes in her clara vision, as he too would notice changes in his own. Avrie retained her odd sound vision, though it changed slightly, more closely matching the way Venn saw things within Clara. She noticed the alignments immediately, and the layers of substance that infused the material plane here. There were weaves upon weaves, interlocking. As for Venn's perspective, as the Master Smithing awareness filled him, his companions presence also changed his clara vision as well. He heard actual tones, harmonies, and layers of music and complex individual notes interwoven into what he could see... it was a sort of double vision, anchoring, and alien. It was a bards vision, even as he saw the bardess begin to follow the pattern the fire demanded, laying in the wood while he gave himself time to overlook the material available and the tools all laid out.
"Yes... I see it..." She said softly, knowledge of the powerful stream of magic flowing around them like water... like her element. She all but laughed aloud, her joy infusing him and buoying him up momentarily as a sort of distraction. It didn't last long, as Avrie damped it down and resumed her self-appointed task. "I see now why you asked a Zarlista to assist you.... I don't feel the whole of your knowledge but I can see it swirling around you, and here enough of its tones to know this needs doing first, before all else." And he knew in a mere breath that her words meant that she was 'water touched' and that his beloved was at ease completely within the ebb and flow of the energy around them. She was attuned to him and hearing echos of his knowledge. Her calmness and joy reached out, encircled him, and for a moment took his mind off rushing energy around him.
There was solid ground here, beside him, if he needed it. The awareness of it freed up the parts of him that were perhaps nervous and edgy in the new situation, allowing him to sink himself completely into his knew found knowledge to achieve what he needed too do. Avrie lit the forge, the wood flaming up, and stepped back. She'd run the bellows for him when the time was right, but for now as the fire burned off hot then banked to an intense heat ... the process taking time... Venn would be freed up to examine his tools, lay them out as he wanted, pull forth the bars of odd metal he'd need to fold to turn out the soulblade itself. Avrie couldn't help but wonder what the blade would look like... what form it would take.
To her, Venn's form was vibrating with a powerful need to forge his blade not unlike a woman heavy with child and needing desperately to birth it. His timing was absolutely perfect and the whole of his body wanted this... needed this... had to do this. The bardess could sense the perfection of the timing and something inside of her rejoiced. This is why the Silver Star Paladin's were so special to Natura... so amazing as individuals. Just standing beside him as he radiated light and purpose was humbling, and in many ways overwhelming. But she reminded herself that she had a job to do. So she smiled like a good midwife, her role assured. She needed to keep the process slow, steady and Venn calm so he didn't not rush things too fast and become too endanger of loosing himself in the currents that surrounded him. Her friend had passion and need, divinely driven she suspected, and it was only linked with Venn's finger encased in its strange ring, did she truly understand this. Slowly, as the fire caught more of the layers of wood, she began to sing a relaxed and understanding wordless melody... her music filled the forge, calmingly... settling the mood to a quiet steady pace. The pair would go slow, take their time, and do everything perfect at each step before moving on. He had the knowledge and the strength of character to complete his task. She was the water-touched child of Song that would hold him to the plane he belonged too... this one, so he could safely return and serve Her more fully... more completely.
Venn became conscious of another order of understanding. There was something new to his perception beyond the flowing colors of ara within every object. It came to him at first as a faint undulating tone but grew louder and stronger with an identifiable tempo, melody and modulation. Then it dawned on him that every object not only had a representation within the visual spectrum, but also audibly. Each thing sang to everything else, generating an intricate harmony that resonated around the paladin and the bardess. The anvil provided a deep sonorous sound accompanied by a solid matrix of color that shifted from black through to deep purples. The fire Avrie had started danced with a frenetic series of notes glowing with wild volatility as it skipped through the brighter colors of red, yellow, white and orange. The hammer and tongs hummed with a consistent tone, remaining a rich indigo. The stone structure showed a slate hue and seemed to amplify the sound of all the other objects. Avrie's energy flowed within her in a kaleidescope of colour, settling towards green and gold. When she sang however, a rich sun colored glow emanated from her and intertwined with every other element. All other sound became bound to her dominant lilting melody and her voice had the quality of flowing water. Venn himself found his energy visualized within a spectrum of blue and silver that ebbed and flowed to the rhythm of Avrie's song. Everything was pervaded by this symphony of sight and sound. As surreal as it might have seemed, it made perfect natural sense. The combined vision of the paladin and bard was synergistic creating within their mind's eye a heightened perception of the beauty of small things.
The new vision of things was simply overwhelming, but the sweet tones of Avrie's voice did in fact have a calming effect, allowing Venn to concentrate and allow the knowledge he had been given to move into action. As Avrie worked the bellows, Venn threw even more wood into the fire. He knew that the forge had to reach a very high temperature, one which impossible for their bodies to tolerate were it not for the large stone that insulated the heat. As the forge blazed away, consuming all that was thrown into it, Venn looked over the raw ore. The pattern within the ore was chaotic and unsettled but this was the nature of the element. Taking several chunks of rock, Venn placed them into a crucible that hung from chains secured to a pulley on a track overhead. He then hoisted the crucible and moved it toward the furnace. The fire within the forge had strangely become completely white. The wood they were using was not simply any wood, but was from the deadfall surrounding the Tears of Carmelya. The tree which fed the flames had been fed for centuries by the magical waters and the fire did not consume the arcanic energy, but released it in a unique fashion. The white fire generated not only light and heat, but something mystical. As Venn pushed the crucible into the flames with a metal rod and settled it there, both he and Avrie could sense a change in the arcanic flow. Although the fire began its natural transference of heat to the ore, the white light itself permeated it in a curious manner.
Eventually a dross began to separate from the element in the ore, but Venn did not move to remove it from the crucible. He did nothing at all, knowing somehow that he did not need to. The burning white element itself began to consume the dross so that it seemed to evaporate. And then it happened. The white fire leapt from the forge upon the paladin and he felt a searing sensation flow through his very veins until his very mind was on fire. Then all became dark.
He became aware of being very young. He was facing a wooden door he had always been warned not to open. Turning his head, he saw he was in his parent's room. There was sunlight filtering through the slats in the wall and there was the sound of sea-birds and the vast ocean itself as it lapped against of Trelore. There were small wet footprints behind him, the size of a boy's. He had come back early from the sea, having been left behind by the quicker mer children he had been playing with him and Ythri. His twin had somehow kept up with the school but he had not. And so he had come home early, alone and dejected. He did not seem to think it odd that a strange human bardess was there, simply watching him as he stood before the door. There was a slight opening since it was left ajar. It was never left open like this. It was always closed. But this was not what made the youngling forget his frustration at being left behind by his playmates. It was that sound of sobbing that piqued his curiosity. Laying a hand quietly upon the door to peer into the room, the first thing he noticed were the racks of weapons and armor the stood against the wall. Each was uniquely and finely crafted. These tools of destruction and war were strangely beautiful. In the middle of the small room no bigger than a closet, he saw his mother, still young and beautiful, hunched over with her back to the door, shaking as she looked through a chest of old belongings.
The half-Thelyri child looked up at Avrie with confused round eyes that were perfectly black save for his flicking irises. "What should I do?" he whispered in a barely audible voice. "I'm frightened."
With her vision intertwined with Venn's, Avrie saw the ara in colorform for the first time. It was a strange and startling realization since she'd never saw it as most folks had in layers of color. It enfolded around her far more richly than she'd ever anticipated. And rather than Venn disturbing the sacred space of the forge with his presence, he seemed welcome within it, blending more powerfully with it than she'd have anticipated. The magic of the forge with its multitude of colors and tones wrapped around the pair, and it was then and there Avrie truly understood what it meant to forge a soulblade. Venn's soul was heavy with unanswered questions and sorrows, and standing apart from him yet anchoring him, she understood that here within the room, he would have to face things that he normally would have no ability or need to. With each step, there would be testing and tearing down. He was layer upon layer, and the forge itself.. the process... was going to unmake him as neatly as he built up his weapon.
She shivered in fear and hesitated in her song a moment, before picking it back up. He could fail here, and fail easily. Looking into ones own soul.. into ones weaknesses wasn't an easy task nor one most men could deal readily with. Avrie realized, in that moment, this was one of the toughest spiritual tasks Venn would have to deal with. She was glad, grateful even, that he wouldn't be alone. And, as the bard brought her focus back into the room and onto the Paladin himself, the forge heaved as its magic surged and fed itself into the fire and into the metal melting upon it. The impurities were being burned off, providing Venn with the whole strong metal he needed to forge his blade. But it had a dual purpose too... the fires not only were designed to burn off the impurities of the metal, but of the man forging it as well. As this realization struck her, it was too late to cry a warning. White light surged from the forge and the metal on it, and engulfed them both.
It whisked them away to some other place, some other time. It was a location Avrie had never seen before. Venn disappeared, replaced by a small dejected boy. She could hear the heartbreak and confusion in him over a slight she wasn't aware of. He needed comforting over something, and was looking for.... she wasn't sure who or what. His sadness was in his song though, and as tangible as words. Avrie saw the door, and the boys hesitation. When the boy spoke to her, she nodded and responded with a voice she reserved for those smaller people in the world.
Crouching, she reached out, touched the boys silver hair kindly and smiled at him. "It's okay to be frightened. Sometimes its good for us. But I am here with you and we are together. We are here to see what makes this woman so sad that she cries. I think she might be your mother. So we need to be quiet and gentle and go bravely into the room to see what she sorrows for. It's something you've been worried about Vhinn'dreja. Go on in. I'll be right here behind you if you need me." Avrie realized suddenly as the name spilled from her lips who the boy was. It should have been obvious, but the transition was so abrupt it left her dazed. The bardess realized as she indeed did trail the boy as they both walked into the room.
The woman was beautiful, not not in a soft delicate way Avrie might have thought Venn's mother to be. No, she wasn't that at all. She was small of frame, but her body was corded with muscles that whispered of past pursuits and tremendous physical strength and discipline. As the pair slipped into the small room, Avrie saw that the woman had a great gleaming black sword laying across her lap. The weapon wasn't a man's blade at all. It was thin and deadly, lightly weighted as if for a woman. It's length was etched with strange foreign runes that the bardess didn't recognize. And the woman spoke to it, gently, her hand tracing its length. With Avrie's vision still in that half state, still listening to the song as well as the visual, the girl heard the blade answer back... just an echo of sentience, but there regardless. Though the blade itself was a dark thing, oozing an ill will, what which was trapped within it wasn't. The woman, Venn's mother, ignored their presence as if she could not see them. Avrie watched the boy for his reaction. Was this a memory? Was this something new? It seemed so real.. so there in the present.
The youth slipped forward and curious as children are, his small hand reached out, wanting to stroke what it was his mother stroked. As soon as small pale fingers kissed with the pale blue of his half-blood touched the black gleaming length, power reached out and erupted over the two of them sweeping them back into the woman's memory. Trapped, they could do nothing but watch helplessly. A memory within a memory crested over them, washing them even further back into the past. Avrie crouched down, gathering the boy to her, imprisoning him in her arms as she watched with what became unfolding horror. Venn could still see what transpired, but he couldn't run, couldn't scream. The bardess held him too tightly imprisoned in her protective arms, anchoring him to that spot. Her fear washed over him even as his own rose up and constricted his throat, preventing him from screaming.
It was another forge, much like The Starlight... only darker. Fire raged on the forge as a woman labored. It was the same woman who cried over the blade across her lap. Younger, her hair was plastered wetly against her scalp, escaping its carefully bundled and bound length at the name of her neck. Muscles bulged as she put the final touches on the blade with a fine hammer, readying it for its final quenching. At this point it was only a blade, a long wicked tang protruding from its upper form, waiting for its hilt. But it would be quenched first, and the hilt forged later, added on and secured by the tang. The woman thrust it back into the fire, and turned to the others present. Beyond her, two robed figures held another between them...one who struggled. It was a woman as well, one identical to Venn's mother. Their faces were mirror images of the other, and though she was firmly held by the two acolytes, the pair crouched on the floor across the scene could clearly see what transpired. A fifth figure, separate from the two acolytes, their prisoner, and the smithing woman materialized. He was tall, sinister, and stared at Venn's mother like a man lost in the desert stared at iced water. "I don't want to do this. Don't continue with this, you've won. You have me..." The woman said, eyes on the man. He only laughed, his features wholly concealed by the folds of his robe and its cowl that hid his features. "I'm just beginning with you. Just barely beginning...." And with that, he gestured. The two acolytes forced the woman between them over to the man, and as he stepped aside, a black slab of stone etched with more symbols was revealed barely glowing in the forge's light. They forced her down upon her back on the slab, then slit her thread-bare robe from neck to hem baring her body. Her form was revealed, and Venn's mother, her face torturous, turned away. The figure laughed again, and once the woman was bound thoroughly by her ams and legs, the acolytes retreated, slipping from the room.
Avrie tightened her arms around the boy, feeling his tension, and his need to either fight or flee. They fated to witness this, somehow, for her friend to travel full circle and come into full awareness. Avrie's heart broke for the boy, and for the woman in the scene. It was obvious the figure had some hold over the woman... both of them. And Avrie, being a twin herself, realized all at once the woman on the alter was the sister... the identical sister.. of the woman forging the sword.
The woman turned, tears on her cheeks, and gripped the tang of the blade, lifting it from the forge fires, freeing its red-hot length. She moved, carrying it with her, over to the figure stretched on what could only be called an alter. The woman was bound but not gagged, and they could clearly hear her sobs. She was trying to reach for her sister. When she couldn't, and her sister did nothing, the burning blade between them.... she whispered softly... so softly the boy paladin and the bardess almost missed it. "I forgive you Kiari Dun... and if you do this thing, do it right. I want to be able to protect you the whole of your life. Even if it is just from yourself...." With that, the girls voice broke and the twin looming over her blinked once more. She took a deep ragged breath, and the man in the robe behind her unleashed his power. Magic swirled in the room, the ara in motion and the vis of the chamber so incredibly high those present knew something was about to happen. "Do it. Do it now." He said, and Kiari moved, her actions setting her sister screaming. She plunged the red hot blade into the whole torso of the girls form, sheathing and quenching it a final time in life, and releasing it therein. The smell of burning flesh and power filled the room. Black light flared, and the screaming girl simply vanished. In her place, a gleaming perfectly formed sword lay on the alter... its black length etched with runes. Kiari sank to her knees, crumpling under the pressure of what she'd just done. As she fell, the ritual's completion taking the last of her strength, her sister's name played across her lips...."Linari, oh Gods... Linari"..... The robed figure crossed the room, his animosity all but tangible as he scoped up the crumpled smith and tossed her onto the alter with the blade. He looked disgusted a moment... both the bardess and the boy paladin getting a brief but telling look at his face... and he spoke once more. "Kiari, you disappoint me... that was far too easy... far far too easy." With that, he turned and marched out of the chamber. The limp girl, completely unconscious, curled about the newly formed blade on its alter, seeking comfort or protection... the observers uncertain as to which.
The power, though of what sort Avrie was uncertain, swirled around them and once more they were back in the small room with Venn's mother, her sobs filling the air. Avrie released the boy and stood up, dazed by what she'd just witnessed. She couldn't imagine what drove the woman before the pair to do what she'd done, nor could Avrie ever imagine sacrificing her own twin in such a way. The bardess laid a hand on the boys shoulder as something astonishing happened. The woman before them, sobbing, looked up and straight at them. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak...
"No, Vhinn," Kiari said in a low desperate tone, her steel grey eyes revealing her fear. Her focus of attention was entirely upon the boy as if Avrie was invisible to her. She glanced about furtively for a moment but suddenly caught the boy's arm in a vise-like grip. There was a sense of power and the taste of metal and blood on all their tongues as the woman broached the arcanic stream and drew from an unfamiliar essence. The room darkened as the spell itself formed. Kiari held her son's fearful gaze with a look of compassion as she murmured in a sing-song voice, "Sleep and forget." Avrie could feel the tension in the boy's body recede as he slumped forward into his mother's arms. Kiari held him and stroked his hair, rocking back and forth with tears on her face. The blade that rested between them seemed aware and Avrie could swear she heard it whisper, "Vhinn'dreja." Curiously there were two simultaneous voices uttering the name; one light and gentle but the other dark and sinister. Then it all faded.
Venn was holding the crucible to the white fire but his eyes were wide with wonder and surprise. His hands did not falter despite the fact they had been transported back to the forge. It was dark outside although they had no idea how much time had passed. "I remember..." he said slowly. "I remember now." A spell had been broken by the magic of the flame and crucible and yet many more questions remained, new mysteries to be pursued. Venn looked to Avrie, his expression appreciative of her presence not only here in the present, but also in his memory.
The vision must have lasted longer than it seemed, for the paladin's back ached and his arms were sore. Venn looked into the vessel containing the molten ore to find that all the dross had been driven from it. So he removed the crucible and poured the golden contents into a large shallow die that caused the liquid metal to lose its brightness and become opaque. As he waited for the metal to cool, Venn fed logs into the fire below the furnace yet again. A large amount of charcoal glowed within the fire emanating and incredible amount of heat. The tall half-teleris closed the black metal doors not only to protect himself from the dry heat, but keep the temperature high within the heart of the forge. Given the brief moment, he went to a large barrel of clear water and filled a pitcher before brining it to a small table. He then poured two cups of water and extended one of them to Avrie. The colours of her vis danced and swirled about her and the music that emanated from her being permeated everything in the stone forge. Venn downed his cup quickly and had several more before removing his tunic, wetting it and dabbling his gills. The heat made his task all the more difficult due to his physiology. They felt extraordinarily refreshed by the water, no doubt drawn directly from the springs to sustain then during the ordeal.
Venn stretched his muscular frame, working out the knots that had formed over the time he held the crucible's guiding chains. Every sinew in his torso was taut from the labour and he needed to loosen them as much as he could given the monumental task still at hand. The only light in the forge came from the furnace itself now and the reddish glow played across Venn's torso and reflected the sheen upon his skin.
Sighing as he heaved a large hammer and took it to where the metal had cooled, he examined the large sheet of silver that had now formed. Taking a ladle, he poured the tears of Carmelya from the barrel over the sheet where it sizzled and evaporated. Where the water touched the sheet, the steel seemed to glow. The process was repeated until the refined metal was unmistakably generating light on its surface. The arcanic structure of the sheet was pure white , even crystalline in form, resonating in a beautiful single note. Venn raised the large hammer with both hands high above his head and brought it down with all his might. There was an explosion of light and dissonance as it shattered.
The swirl of colour and tones dissipated into the mundane sight and sound of the natural senses. The first thing they noticed was the smell. The most distinguishable was that of smoke. Looking about they found themselves in the location to the north along the trails above Natura. It was night and there was a red-orange glow to the south where the outskirts of the town was on fire. There were shouts of alarm in the distance as well as the distinctive ring of steel on steel. Natura was under siege. Avrie found herself alongside a band of six warriors accompanying Dhwae. The archdruidess of Natura had the appearance of a young woman in a white shift with delicate features and yet she exuded wisdom and experience of centuries. She looked deathly pale and was being carried by Venn. The half-Teleris lead the team, receiving direction from his ward as they moved quickly and quietly. Avrie had to run to keep pace with them. The paladin was not dressed in armor; rather he and several of the other paladins were in casual garb. The attack had come as a surprise. The sword he held unsheathed was not ancient paladin's blade she had always seen him carry but a more contemporary design. The group stopped from time to time to listen and circumnavigate points of potential conflict. From the whispers between the group, one could ascertain that they were attempting to bring the archdruidess to the sacred spring. Something had happened to the Tears of Carmelya so that enemies could step foot upon the sacred soil without being affected by the protective magick.
As careful as they were, they happened upon a skirmish not two hundred feet from them. It appeared as if a cohort of goblins and mercenaries had caught up with a group of rangers and civilian families. The outcome of the engagement was already evident. Already half of fleeing Naturans were dead and the horde of goblins were crashing over the others even as the silent entourage watched from the shadows of the trees. "We need to help them!" rasped one of the elves in their band. Several other heads nodded in agreement, looking to Venn. His face looked younger than Avrie knew and there was something oddly absent from his demeanor, until at least this moment. The half-elf turned his charcoal eyes to the scene where fellow Naturans were being massacred with stunned silence. He watched as the cruel looking blades hacked away at men, women and children. He thought he recognized one of the rangers who fought ineffectively against the insurmountable tide of invaders. Shock turned to numbness and horror. He had never seen anyone killed by the sword before, let alone so many.
"Venn!," came the urgent hiss of one of the men who wore armor, his voice bringing Venn out of his state. Dhwae's eyes were closed now as she reserved her strength for whatever it was she needed to do to repair the Spring. "Come on! They are being butchered!" the man continued.
Venn closed his eyes and shook his head. "No," he stated plainly. There were looks of surprise on the face of the others. "We must bring Dhwae to the Tears as quickly as possible or more will fall. We cannot afford to be discovered." There was pain and frustration showing in the faces of those who followed him, but also a grim resignation to the logic they were presented with. And so they turned even as the last of the Naturans they left behind fell under goblin steel.
In that moment, Venn looked to Avrie wordlessly, his eyes wet with tears yet clear. She knew what he was asking her even though he said nothing. "Did I do the right thing?" Their small band had escaped, but not unscathed.
There was a violent rushing wind and they were back at the forge again. Venn had been thrown backwards and lay on the ground. The hammer was still in his hand but it let it drop to put his hands to his soot covered face. He shook as he wept. The metal in the die still glowed but was now broken into pieces.
She was as lost to herself as she ever had been, standing in the Celestial Forge with Venn, reliving the highlights of his life. It was as if the bardess had become something else, both at once more and less than what she truly was. In a way, she looked at the man before her and saw what had always eluded her in life... a friend worth fighting for, someone who's honor and integrity matched that of her family. It was rare and precious, and all she could do was fight to preserve what he represented and what exactly he was.
Venn Drega was so entirely complex. Looking at him in the way she had before, as a man and a stoic leader of the community, she hadn't truly realized what agony some parts of his life had been. In a way, he'd picked the wrong person to anchor him. He should have chosen someone strong and well tempered by adversity... someone who could have helped him through his wounds. Instead he picked someone who'd never had any conflict the whole of her life. He picked someone who loved and laughed and who before the cougar and relequis sickness, had never been truly hurt. Avrie was amazed that Venn trusted her so much, and put himself in such fragile naive hands. In many ways she felt unworthy of the task. But she'd given her word, and her word meant all. She'd see him through.
What she saw of his mother horrified her, and yet even as they were torn back into the present, she admired the woman for protecting her son, even from herself. There was love in Kairi Drega, even as darkness curled around her soul. Avrie leaned against the table, and took the water Venn offered, saying nothing. It was a shock to her, to say the least. And she had nothing to occupy her hands wit
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