[tartar11]

Just some Emma D’arcy🙏

[vicoya]

with: @ars-gratia-auden when: (flashback) about four years ago where: Ankhuria, on the road to Maferath notes: Coya is the ultimate vibe checker

The ride to Maferath had been relatively uneventful thus far. The sun was shining, though maybe a little too much, and Coya shifted uncomfortably in the back of the cart. Her bottom was getting sore from sitting on wood as they bumped and rolled over the hilly sands. They being Coya, and the elvhen riding next to her, whose name she'd learned to be Auden. That was all she'd gathered since climbing into the back of the cart with them, though there was something about Auden that made her wary.

It was nothing of how they looked, or what they'd said - it was more about their aura, and the energy they were giving off. Vicoya was particularly in tune to such things, and could sense darkness radiating from the near-stranger. She couldn't quite put her finger as to why, though, and polite small talk was the most subtle way to find out. The red head wore an easy smile. "So, why are you headed to the capital, Auden?"

[ars-gratia-auden]

Auden had been looking forward to their upcoming arrangement with the Ankhurian smith. It was not often that one had much to offer the High Elvhen in the way of learning. Auden had made it a special point to travel as much as they could to learn from other master’s and such wide swath of skillsets and knowledge had posited them as one of the legendary greats of the craft early in their life; the way Auden saw it, their legacy was secured. All they would have to do is sit back and enjoy the forging process as the rest fell into place. Perhaps they would never know the secrets of making Ironwood burn or anything more advanced than the fundamentals of famed Iskaran forge practices, but they knew nearly everything else and with the passage of a few decades Auden suspected they would have handily mastered all other facts of the craft. 

The trouble was, they had paid for a private passage to Maferath and their guide and transport and yet they found themselves jostled elbow to elbow with another every with every wagon wheel’s turn of the journey. Apparently, the other woman had charmed her way into being added along for the passage. The driver of the cart had insulted Auden by offering them their money back; this wasn’t about money, it was about principal, and that Auden had gone out of their way to avoid having to co mingle with those beneath them and was punished for the redheads' lack of responsibility in the end. 

“Where I go and why I go is of little importance to you,” Auden responded tightly. They could not believe they were forced to deign to suffer such pedestrian company. The woman, Vicoya, gave off an unnerving energy of unyielding positivity. Auden found it outright annoying, though there was no true underlying reasoning to their nearly unbearable agitation. “If you must know, I’ll be studying under famed forge master and artisan Khalros Ankvaris.” If Vicoya had not heard of the magic-infused items of legend that Khalros had created with little more than raw material, his own arcane focus, and his bare hands then it was not Auden’s job to educate her. “Now, is it my turn to nose into your affairs and ask what awaits you?”

[alrikhart]

Wood and bone were building blocks and probably the most common materials besides stone. Alrik didn't respond to the question so much as raise a brow that the smith had asked it at all, the notion betrayed a great deal about what they did not know of Iskaran and druid rune carvers.

Alrik eyed the blade for a moment, "I can fashion my own just fine." Shorter spine, larger hilt, a rounded point, and rework of the guard - the practice blade they produced was basic enough. Alrik didn't accept gifts from strangers, particularly fey-blooded creatures. Superstition or not, he was independent enough to keep himself from another's debt. "I'll find you, should it make a difference."

War. They spoke as if Lysara or Avalon had done so much as lift a finger against the Aetherians, he shrugged off the question, neither option they presented was particularly appealing to him and he'd avoid lying in the elvhen's presence if possible. Alrik had no doubt surrounding their skill, with all the time at their disposal it was clear they'd spent those years making good use of it. "Hopefully that means we'll start winning some battles." Alrik met the stranger with a rueful smile before he wrenched the knife they'd plunged into the table.

"I'm just a man who was butchering fruit when you happened across him." The Wheel weaves, as some might say. Alrik's eyes flit toward one of the discarded fruits, "My intention has been clear from the beginning, if that makes me a distraction, don't let me keep you. After all, there's a war to win."

[ars-gratia-auden]

Auden looked at the blade they had offered Alrik, the blade the Iskaran boy had refused. With a nonplussed expression, Auden took it back and tossed it back into their travel pack where it had come from. “You think you deny me and some favor I may lord over your head in denying this practice knife,” they considered aloud, fastening the closure of the bag again. “But you don’t. You deny your skills and you deny yourself.” They stood straight again and remembered vaguely when they were starting out, headstrong and determined to make their own way with nothing but their own two hands and whatever they could produce with them on their own. Auden might have admired it in Alrik were it not for his Iskaran lineage. “Find me if you please, but you may leave empty handed. I do not make similar offers twice.” 

“Between your dogged determination to learn those runes and my refusal to leave an amateur legacy, I suppose we shall.” Prejudiced as Auden was against the Iskaran bloodline, they did find Alrik's withering comment entertaining. “Then I shall leave you to it.”

[xnda]

emma darcy - Max (x)

[ars-gratia-auden]

who: @scornfulcalypso where: The ports of Lorien'dal/Silverlands and Trivia's Cove when: present in the timeline! Troupe 2 notes: let me know if you need any changes; in a hotel with crummy wifi so no gifs for right now, sorry!

It wasn’t often that Auden made house calls or anything akin to a house call. However, they’d received correspondence from a pillager who was taking port for a short period of time. The note Auden received was brief and gave away few details except to state that Calypso was certain the artifact they found would be worth Auden’s time. Auden had received similar false promises countless times before, but rarely from anyone who would have to go to similar lengths to track Auden down to make the promise in the first place as Calypso had. Because of this, and that pirates typically knew what they were talking about when it came to treasure, Auden had shown up.

The sea breeze sifted through Auden’s short brown hair as they waited on the docks, arms crossed and expression sour. This wasn’t necessarily the safest spot for someone who others might consider something of a merchant, but the forge master had the privilege of their intimidating height, warding objects, and overall unpleasant countenance to keep others at an arm’s length. They only straightened from their spot leaning against one of the sun bleached poles to stand at their full height when they saw Calypso approach. Never one for niceties and small talk, Auden opened the conversations with, “Well? What is this recovered artifact you have?”

[campmiasmas]

EMMA D'ARCY for the National Theatre

[alrikhart]

At this there was a short laugh, "Not since I was a boy, no." He offered his runed carving knife up to the elvhen and watched their eyes as they skimmed over the tool. It would come to the surprise of most to learn that Alrik's blunt hands could be dexterous and gentle when needed. His work on the streets with Alessia and as a Hidden One all but demanded focus, concentration, and a delicate touch as needed. "Any suggestions?" He'd had this same knife for years, but not tearing open someone's back was the ideal if he was going to be charging a premium.

"Iskaldrik is my home. I didn't have a choice." If people called it cruel then Alrik would call his past lifestyle predictable, in the months that he'd been in Lysara there were ghouls attacking people, spirits possessing farmlands, cities falling to undead, and likely more atrocities he'd yet to hear about. The Iskaran views on magic were cruel and unfair, but if the Tower was meant to police this Queendom then he didn't see anything but enablement and failures. Alrik had little love for this nation, but he'd come to enjoy the people within. The same could be said about Iskaldrik.

The other's arrogance fueled his ego, he had to wonder how they'd compare to a seasoned Iskaran smith, they were the best in the world and the resources in the mines and the unique knowledge of those who kept them had a chokehold on the world for thousands of years. "Oh? Very fancy." They sounded very entitled and incredibly rich, as Alessia would do he intended to milk them and their ego for whatever it was worth.

[ars-gratia-auden]

The smithmaster responded with little more than a grunt to signal they were listening when Alrik reported little issue with carving runes into metal. “What about wood? Bones?” They were softer, more brittle materials, but still surely less plastic than flesh itself. Auden fit their hand around the hilt of the knife and finalized their assessment. “While you tell me this knife has served you well with more rigid working materials, I don’t think it serves you well with something as soft as flesh. Based on my observations of your little orchard of mistakes here,” they continued, waving Alrik’s knife around at the discarded fruit littered around their feet, “I think you need to begin working on softer materials with a knife with a larger hilt and a shorter spine. I think the guard of this knife is also creating some errors in your work, so if you are comfortable foregoing that on a new knife, that may be advisable as well. A more rounded point could also be more forgiving as a learning knife.” They stuck the point of Alrik’s knife in the table before him so he could collect it back for himself and began to dig around in their pack for a blade that better fit their description. They had a spare. One their last apprentice in rune carving had learned on. “This knife will slow you down, but so will continuing to learn a rune carving on a new material with the wrong tool–so take it or leave it. How you spend your time is your business,” Auden stated, sliding the practice knife across the table toward him. “Find me in my smith and prove you have learned, and I’ll fashion it into something more proper that you may work with more quickly so long as you prove you’re able to use it accurately.” 

“If the war goes as everyone hopes, you will have a choice,” Auden reminded him impatiently. “Assuming you are as well suited to the task of surviving it as you look. So, do you wish to dodge the question again or will you answer it? When you have the choice, will you disavow your kingdom, or will you return to whatever scorched earth and ashes await you?” 

Auden caught up to what Alrik was doing quickly. Flattery would get someone far with the smith, but not everywhere and not if they were too obvious about it. Decades ago, before the ruby-haired Legionnaire had saved Auden from the jaws of possession at the eleventh hour, Auden would have willfully ignored the wool being pulled over their eyes. Not today. “Fancy is pedestrian and little challenge. My weapons will be the ones that blaze the path to victory for Taravell, the war will be won on the edges of the blades I craft for those warriors at the frontline,” Auden pontificated. “And thus I do not take kindly to distractions to my vocation.” Their blue eyes settled on Alrik’s face. “Do you mean to be a distraction?”

[adrianvoll]

His people skills were wretched simply because Adrian had never quite been given the chance of true socialization growing up; how often he chatted for hours upon hours with a red elk who couldn't technically talk back. Auden had been terse from the get but it seemed the more Adrian attempted to connect with them, the more any connection splintered; he may as well have been talking with his mother, go figure. Adrian had made all this chatter that he was to start fresh, abandon all the talents which hindered more than they helped, but here he was with the weight of Iskaldrik off his back, standing within a blacksmith's shop. The flame of the forge had been everything to him, a comfort, the embodiment of loss, sadness, and rage. Talents sharpened, much like the blades crafted, grueling hours situated before a forge that smelted metal and scorched flesh. What was once a hobby of great contention for Adrian, something he vied to leave behind, was now something he felt he could not live without; the last remnant of a life he no longer belonged to.

"At present, I barely have twenty-five gold pieces to my name," mainly a joke, though one Adrian already knew wouldn't deliver. "My mother was considered the greatest smith of her generation, which would explain a lot," about her attitude as a whole and when it came to the forge, "Everyone has their own opinion, but she's also no longer here to instate such title." He tried to breeze past it, but it was clear the witch stumbled over the reality of his own words, especially as Auden crossed their arms and seemed to measure Adrian up. Alfedene had taught him well, likely too well, but Adrian was a humble enough creature and was, regrettably, down selling himself in front of a master of the forge.

"Adrian Völl," he bowed his head somewhat apologetically, "The reason my reputation doesn't precede me is because I'm a witch from Iskaldrik." He doesn't need to put the heavy emphasis on his words, but Adrian does; resentment had long built up within him and it was hard to erase even as months stretched on since his mother was presumed good as dead; taken by the Aetherons.

[ars-gratia-auden]

“Is that meant to shock me?” Auden asked, the corner of their nose curling slightly as they assessed his manner of dress. It smacked of lack of funds or lack of taste; Iskarans were wanting in both areas it seemed. Last Auden had heard, the queendom was saddled with bankrolling the refugees' pitiful existence. “What was your mother’s name? I’ll tell you if I’ve ever heard of her,” Auden responded tersely. Surely this man came from nothing and was looking for a handout. He must have thought Auden was some sort of rube coming into their shop and bold-face lying about some enviable pedigree. 

They barked out a laugh when Adrian explained his mother was nowhere to be found. “Well, isn’t it convenient that she isn’t here to support your claims. Your skills will have to speak for themselves.” Auden’s apprentice was away for the time being. They grabbed their leatherbound toolkit and tossed it in front of the table in front of Adrian. Auden wasn’t worried about the rough treatment of the tools, if any apprentice survived the proving ground of their tutelage, they were rewarded with the finest tools money could buy before being sent on their way. “You’ll have to convince me yourself. Make something. Any base material in my shop is available to you, Adrian.”

Auden waited for Adrian to begin his work before they spoke any further. “I am aware you are from Iskaldrik, a malady you’ll have to work twice as hard for me to overlook, witch or not,” Auden commented in a flip, unapologetic tone. They were running a business and building a legacy, not running a charity or vying for sainthood.   

[rhaenyraitargaryen]

EMMA D'ARCY

photographed by Joe Cruz for British GQ (July 15, 2024)

[alrikhart]

"I'm used to carving into metals," Alrik offered, "principles of mistakes were the same there." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment, scratching at the stubble that was there, "My father was a blacksmith," working with iron almost exclusively, "he taught me how to work the forge and a bit of runes, but after he died I just picked up what I could from whoever would give it to me." That was his answer, that if they had something they wanted to tell him then he'd be glad to take it. "I'll take anything free." Less prone toward advice, but if they had knowledge on the subject than Alrik was happy to receive.

"I like it here." More so than elsewhere, it seemed, "And I can't go home," Alrik took out another pear but didn't mar this one, instead he waited for the other's advice. "given my refugee status." They'd said something that interested him though, "You were called back to Avalon?"

[ars-gratia-auden]

“Much more complaint a material, isn’t it?” Auden remarked, if only to keep the flow of conversation going. “Surely they were. Do you find you make the same errors in your craft when working with metal?” It would be important to know to diagnose the precise issue, though Auden felt they had a good idea of a starting place. Their eyes settled on Alrik’s knife and they extended a hand toward it. “May I?” The High Elvhen was quiet as Alrik explained the family history and trade. It was rare that Auden would deign to listen to an Iskaran prattle on about anything, but Auden did have some vested interest in learning Iskaran techniques and practices, even if they were convinced they were archaic and subpar in comparison to Elvhen artistry. Many Lysarans were foolish enough to travel across the borders and many paid bitterly for it; Auden was patient, they had no qualms with waiting for an opportunity to present itself in safer lands or to forgo learning the Iskaran approach to the trade at all. “Yes, I suppose you would,” Auden commented with a terse, unfriendly smile. “I think a great deal of your trouble may lie within your chosen tool itself,” Auden observed. The hilt of the knife and the blade could make a difference, the way it fits into a palm or the way the blade’s edge responds to the strength and pressure of its user's hand. 

Auden’s dark brows raised when Alrik asserted a favorable view of the lands. “The Silverlands specifically, or anywhere but Iskaldrik?” They did not need Alrik to inform them they could not return home. Eyeing the younger man, Auden suspected that Iskaldrik had not been a cordial climate toward him, though there was no obvious magic rolling off of him or physiological giveaways like pointed ears. “Would you, if given the option?” Auden pressed. It was generous of him to think Auden was called back; certainly Auden was an Elvhen who carried reputation and prestige, but they were just shy of the noble blood required of the call. “Myself, no. But many of great importance to me were. The Silverlands offer proximity to the Moongate and the more common ilk. And as I am the best at what I do, it would be a shame to deny either side of the gate of my services.”

[blademasterdior]

Dior accepted the plate Auden offered with a grateful nod, wasting no time digging into the food. He spoke between bites, gesturing animatedly as if to emphasize his words. “That's because everyone wanted to claim her for themselves so she has a thousand origin stories.” He swallowed, pausing to savor the thought. “But I saw the memories of the people closest to her as if they were my own. She had the same power as me.” He tapped the hilt of Shatterstar with his free hand, his expression softening. “I think that's why I was given this. Or maybe… I earned it. Hard to say, there was a lot of puzzles. Either way, when I took hold of it, I knew it was mine.”

He grinned as Auden called him out for hovering, backing off with a mock look of offense before wiping the crumbs off his fingers. “Alright, alright, no need to bite my head off.” Rolling his eyes but clearly amused, Dior moved to the corner where the shattered sword lay in pieces. He crouched, inspecting the fragments with a craftsman’s eye.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he murmured, holding a shard between his fingers. Closing his eyes, he summoned his powers. The familiar hum of energy coursed through him, and the shard began to glow, threads of Shatterstar metal weaving through the cracks as he fused the pieces together. Slowly, the sword reformed in his hands, its blade gleaming with a brilliance that hadn’t been there before. He gave it an experimental swing, the edge slicing cleanly through the air. “There,” he said, turning to Auden with a satisfied smirk. “Not just mended—improved. You’re welcome.”

Before Auden could respond, a loud crash echoed from outside the tent, followed by the frantic shouts of soldiers. Dior tensed, his hand instinctively tightening on the newly reforged blade. The commotion grew louder—the sun was setting so it was no doubt the enemy was returning, meaning soon Dior would have to take his leave.

Dior’s expression shifted, the humor fading as he looked back at Auden. “If it comes to it,” he said quietly but firmly, “if this place falls, find me and Kesor. We’ll make sure we all get out together." His priority was to make sure Kesor didn't get herself killed, but he was more than capable of making sure Auden got out of here too.

His tone left no room for argument, and for a moment, the weight of the situation pressed heavily between them. Then, as if to lighten the mood just slightly, Dior added with a wry smile, “But for now, let’s pretend we’re still winning, yeah?”

[ars-gratia-auden]

“I suppose,” Auden remarked briefly. It wasn’t the worst interpretation of reality, but they didn’t feel like debating Dior on the topic either. Especially with such a bitter feeling of resentment taking root that Dior should be chosen for such visions over Auden themselves. They simply rolled their eyes at the mention of puzzles; it was probably the most taxing ordeal Dior had ever encountered. “If you thought that was biting your head off, you really need to develop a thicker skin. I thought you gladiator ilk were supposed to be hardened and emotionless.” Auden had long enjoyed teasing Dior about the ways in which he did and sometimes did not fit the precise mold of a gladiator. 

It might have been for the better that chaos broke out somewhere beyond the forge. Though Auden had tried to work on their issue of housing too much pride, they faltered at times, and this was one of the,. It was hard not to be bitter and covetous of Dior’s new abilities when Auden had to labor and train the whole of their life to do what he could now do in an instant. “I’m not worried about getting out of here safely,” Auden said with a dismissive wave. They had plenty of tricks up their sleeve and in their inventory to help defend themselves and flee. “Worry about your sister and yourself.” It must be nice to be Dior, to never look at anything with too bleak a sense of realism, and to lionize the mundane and hopeless. But in times like this, even in the face of a futile battle and their deep envy, Dior was so easy to like. “Give them hell, kid.” 

END

[ars-gratia-auden]

“Death awaits us all, at least temporarily,” Auden returned, recounting the Elvhen belief in reincarnation and the cycling of souls. However, they were not sure it worked that way with the likes of dhampir, vuldaks, and others whose names were marked down on the great ledger of the Dark One. For Zuleima’s sake, Auden hoped another opportunity for an unattached life awaited her. “And lucky for you, you have time,” Auden agreed. “If you see any advancements or want to throw ideas at the wall, you could arrange an appointment with me. I know we have our individual specialities and my assistance might be limited, but stranger pairings have found success working together.” 

A thin smile crossed Auden’s features considering the spell, but they had never been in a situation to witness its casting. “I can’t imagine anything more grating than the thought of being reanimated to answer the droll line of questioning from some idiot who didn’t know better than to allow the dead to rest,” Auden laughed–they had to imagine their attitude in death would be significantly less warm than their stern countenance in life. 

“The offer stands,” Auden said with a shrug of acceptance. They glanced at what remained of the pour in Zuleima’s crystal glass. “Or if you think of another opportunity to put our heads together. But I suspect in the meantime, the both of us ought to take our opportunities for rest where we can find them. We’re realists–we know what’s coming.” There was a grimness to Auden’s voice, even if they craved the opportunity to test their mettle in the forging ground of true conflict.

[engineerzuleima]

“And I will make sure that time is worth it.” The reassurance is more to herself than to anyone else, even Auden. For all that she works for the Crown, Zuleima has never done so in a misguided attempt to craft a legacy or anything of the kind. She understands, logically, that her role as Master of Artillery has secured her place in the annals of time, but she cares less about that and more about how she can use her role to ensure the safety of Eterna. She needs to make her time worthwhile, ensure that she builds a better Lysara, so that less children grow up as she did. “I will make sure to keep you in mind as I continue my work, because I agree that a partnership between us both would be a sight to see.”

Another easy laugh follows and she raises her glass as if to toast Auden. 

“I suppose that despite its usefulness, being on the other end of the spell would be quite bothersome indeed.” And now she is wondering if Speak with the Dead works with dhampir and strigoi corpses, too, since their soul has long since departed that body. She wonders if she wants to ask a Student of Proserpina about the matter or not.

All amusement leaves her as Auden continues, and she sighs. Raising the glass to her lips, she downs the last bit of her drink, eyeing the glass thoughtfully. Slowly, she places it on one of the open spots in the desk. 

“I suppose you are right,” Zuleima sighs in agreement and moves to stand, already considering if she should go visit Sakkara or take some time to rest . “Thank you for hosting, Auden. I will see you around.”

[ars-gratia-auden]

END

[rhaenyraitargaryen]

EMMA D'ARCY

ph. by Sarah Piantadosi | ES Magazine | May 17, 2024

[marketofstars]

If Luna was one who acted out of a spite, the moment arose to deny someone who had choose to remain deaf to Luna's plea and yet she wasn't the type to allow innocents to suffer for a moment to pride. She kept her head high and choose to not speak on the fact that it must have been big for the artisan to ask for help, it was a moment of vulnerability and Luna had no interest in exploiting it for self-satisfaction.

All of their backs were pressed agaisnt the wall and it felt good to be useful, to have purpose and to feel like she had a hand in their defense as the feeling of being useless in a failing war was growing louder by the day. "It is a language of old, one that is passed down through generations of those that had made their home within the Ironwood forest. Take me to the forge, it is not a practice you will learn in a day or an hour despite how I might want to teach." It is vital that she passes the skill onto others, it's unclear if her relationship with the forest entwines with the spirit of the wolf that had always existed within. It is not a secret that she wishes to have die with her and yet it is not simple instructions to turn the fire from it's natural orange hue to the bright brillant blue whose fire burned brighter than any simply lit forge.

[ars-gratia-auden]

The High Elvhen was incredulous when the Legionnaire began to explain how ironwood worked. Did they take Auden for a fool? Was she being facetious and joking at a time as important as this? “So you mean to tell me you simply speak to the ironwood to ignite it?” Auden asked, a brow lifting in obvious impatience and disbelief. But the young woman’s upturned blue eyes remained steadfast. With a grumbling sigh, Auden glanced around the encampment surrounding them before tersely wrapping the ironwood that Luna would soon earn for herself in the cloth and stuffing it back into their jacket. “I don’t trust just anyone in my forge, you know,” Auden griped, but they began to lead the war regardless. 

Auden held the heavy canvas flap leading into the forge back, and the heat from within immediately licked at Luna’s features. It was sweltering inside, a miserable workshop even for Auden who was so used to high temperatures. But it allowed them to keep their focus and the heavy fabric walls kept impurities out of Auden’s workplace. The mass of ironwood from Auden’s shop was set on a work table in the middle of the tent, guarded by Auden’s apprentice de jour. Their blue eyes settled on the tired looking assistant and callously Auden directed them, “Get out.” Once the canvas opening to the forge space had closed behind them, they set their stern gaze back on Luna and nodded sharply toward the dormant log of ironwood. "Show me."

[alrikhart]

"Whoever said I don't intend to?" Alrik asked with something that wanted to be a grin so badly but lacked the genuine mirth required; the result was something self-deprecating and sardonic instead. Reaching into the bushel to extract another, he took the tool that he'd been using and brought the instrument to the flesh of the fruit. "It'll be harder on a person too- which all says nothing for the materials." Metals and stones were the building blocks for the ink he'd need but what, their combination, and how to enchant a person rather than an object were all concepts that went well over Alrik's arguably thick skull. He took in the traveler with some interest, stilling his hand for a moment before he made yet another critical error, opting instead to ask, "Passing through, or do you live around here?"

[ars-gratia-auden]

The falseness in their expression was evident to Auden, clearly the result of a struggle toward the man’s desired performance. They decided they would lob him a softball of a compliment, or what someone as stern and focused as Auden considered to be a compliment. “Not who. What,” they began, turning a second pear that Larimer had pushed into their palm over. “It’s clear looking at these that you abandon your work when you make a mistake–which means you recognize your mistake.” That sense of awareness was far better than many novice rune carvers were capable of. The mistake was there, yes, but the ability to recognize it in the moment it was made showed great promise. “Yes. People tend to squirm,” Auden agreed with a slight curling of their nose thinking perhaps too hard about the idea of a blade working away at the organic material. “That’s why I’ve never favored flesh as a material to work with. Never had the stomach for it, either… No matter. Could I offer you some free advice?” The young man wasn’t there fishing for a lesson, and further Auden was pretty sure the accent they picked up was distinctly Iskaran, but they would be remiss to let this raven haired boy disfigure someone in the future because they were too dedicated to their own personal bias. “I live here and there–I’m always passing through,” Auden responded. They owned multiple properties stretching across the expanse of Taravell, but considered nowhere to be a true home. “I figure with the unrest and nobles called back to Avalon, it isn’t the worst idea to remain close to the Moongate. What business does an Iskaran refugee have in these parts?” Auden never enjoyed being questioned, so they lobbed the boys question back in his direction. 

[valshirathelight]

Val'shira could appreciate the amount of care Auden was putting into her, going as far as to overloading her with the kinds of questions no one bothered to ask Val these days. She was older than many elves, yet still felt like a child that wished someone would care enough about her to pester her like this - her mother never did. Generally, she was quite alone, but more so now. Though Val wasn't as worried as Auden and she felt confident in her preparations. She sighed lightly. "I promise you, I am not doing any of my planning in half measures," she assured them. "I am all but ready." She had given Auden enough details. Appreciative as she was that the other wanted to know more, the other elve needn't be more involved in matters that didn't concern them.

"Well, I can promise you it's impossible to fathom not doing this for whatever is left of my family." She hesitated for a moment before smiling vaguely and looking to the door of the work studio. "I'll leave you to your work. The next time I interrupt will just be to pick up the bow and pay you."

[ars-gratia-auden]

Auden didn’t see what they were doing as prying–they approached much of life with a staunch realism that sometimes threw others off. That realism, at times, could be over-reaching, and Auden suspected such territory was not far off with Val. This much was fine, for now at least. The bow wasn’t finished, and Auden knew Val’shira would not embark on this journey without it and though Auden did not intend to plant seeds of doubt within their friends mind they did want to make sure some of the matters they spoke of were being considered. Auden felt confident Val would take such things seriously, and nodded their acceptance of the verbal assurance as well. “I just want to see that you stay safe and well,” Auden confessed with an unusual sincerity, “and that your purpose for this mission is met if that’s what is for the best.”

Auden simply nodded when Val’shira made clear her intention to leave. “The work should be complete in two more months.” That was plenty of time for Val’shira to consider what Auden had brought up, and for Auden to provide a list of names that Val might recruit for help–time for the woman to vet them, too. “If it’s finished any sooner, I’ll send word.” They paused for a moment again and before Val’shira left, “Again, I was very sorry to hear of Mir’solas’ passing–and I hope that between these preparations for your journey you are keeping well.” So many viewed the Melithar twins as a sort of singular entity, spoke of them as a single unit as twins, but it was evident in Auden’s tone and friendship with Val’shira that they had always seen them as separate and autonomous, and that it mattered to them now how Val was doing rather than Val’shira herself being eclipsed entirely by Mir’solas’ untimely death. Such sentimental tones and speech were rare for Auden, but they would not shy away from making it known now as Val’shira left the shop. 

END

[blademasterdior]

Dior scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah as time went on, I started to think you wouldn’t tell my mother. But still, I can’t imagine many people in Avalon—or anywhere, really—applauding a noble son trying to carve out a career as a gladiator of all things.”

When Auden laid out the terms for making amends, Dior listened intently, relief flickering in his eyes. He straightened his posture and nodded, accepting the challenge without hesitation. “I’ll do it. The shop will look its absolute best by the time I’m through with it. Supplies hauled, contracts pristine, paperwork meticulous—exactly as you’d expect. And the client?” He grinned, a flicker of his usual charm returning. “By the time I’m done, they’ll be convinced the extra time is not just worth it but a stroke of genius. You’ll see.”

Dior leaned back with an easy shrug, despite the pain it caused. “If none of the ludi I’ve got my eye on are interested, then I’ll make do with a lesser house’s ludi. It’s not ideal, sure, but it’ll give me a foot in the door. Matches that matter are hard to come by without a ludi backing you, and if I have to work my way up, I will. It’s just another kind of challenge.”

“Though, speaking of challenges,” he added, his voice dropping to a weary murmur, “staying upright might be my next one. If I’m going to pass out, I should probably aim for my bed and not, you know, face-first on the floor. Will just be one more thing I got to clean.”

[ars-gratia-auden]

“It certainly wouldn’t by my chosen career path, but the heart wants what it wants, doesn’t it?” Auden acquiesced. It was Dior’s life, and far be it from Auden to dictate how the younger Elvhen ought to live it. Many had not understood Auden’s motivations and desires, but there was no talking them out of their direction. Dior would be the same. A sidelong, withering gaze landed on Dior as he made no argument or complaint about the conditions of his continued room and board as well as his cover for staying with Auden. He maybe abandoning the course his parents set out for him, Auden thought, but he was still dutiful to the core to those he felt he owed his loyalty to. That would serve him well. 

Auden was somewhat surprised by his answer to their challenging question about what he may do if he fell short of his lofty goals. “That dogged confidence you have in yourself will either pave your way to the top of the pedestal or be your undoing,” they warned him, but their tone was amused. Clearly, Dior intended on being an opportunist, and that was likely what it would take to be the catalyst for the achievement he sought. For the sake of being cruel or just punishing, Auden considered arguing that something needed to be cleaned or organized before he took himself to bed, but decided against it. “Then for your sake, I hope you get good rest–I tend to run my errand boys into the ground, and the way you tell it you’ll have no shortage of bludgeonings on your schedule in between tasks.” They leaned forward, snuffing one of the candles that lit the forge in the dead of night, and with that one candle the dozens around the room that were enchanted went dark as well.

END