Ricochet: Traveling Tavern

[Delve]

A massive fortress pushed through a sea of clouds over a valley of mountains hovering a few feet over each peak adjusting its course in the change of terrain. Amethyst stood at the edge of the stairs that lead to the entrance of the tavern with her arms crossed right below her chest with an expression of disapproval. The wind carried her long pink hair with curled ends which reached just below her back; her long hair bangs curved around her round face and flowed with the wind and caressed her cheek. The amethyst gem stone on the middle of her forehead reflected the light from the sun in correspondence to the telepathic link with her sister Citrine.

I really doubt we will find any patrons on the mountain side, there's not enough of the living here. I am re-routing Ricochet to the nearby settlement.

Ricochet took a sudden dive down the mountain range; the angle of the fortress did not stir the ancient thousand year old djinn as she stood completely still. Amethyst's youthful complexion remained intact as her expression changed to a smile as she looked at the settlement miles ahead. At the base of the mountain Ricochet hovered over a dense forest as a few birds scattered in fear of the floating fortress. Ricochet reduced its speed at a clearing to that of a caterpillar climbing down a branch. The djinn's yellow eyes lightened at the sight of people just a few feet below as they looked up in awe and she waved at the children that followed Ricochet. In a nod of approval Amethyst turned and the door the tavern welcomed her in as it opened on its own and closed behind her.

Upon entering the tavern the wonderful sound of a harp filled the room which emanated from the corner of the tavern situated under a chandelier of candles, magically playing different songs on its own. The majority of the interior architecture was crafted from oak wood engraved with runes of several colors across the walls, floors, and rafters. Ten round tables that seat six surround the main entrance and along the wall lay a deep green tapestry with gold embroidery that lead to the bar at the farthest wall from the entrance. The shelves behind the bar were filled with colorful bottles of different shapes which mainly serve as a chemistry set for Citrine when concocting new alcoholic drinks. Adjacent to the bar is a set of stairs that lead down into the cellar which is filled with wine barrels and food that is primarily used by enchanted silverware when preparing meals on a full kitchen; the aromas of wine, cheese, and cooked meals would entice anyone who draws near the cellar.

With a simple snap to Amethyst’s fingers the candles on the chandeliers of the tavern intensified the lighting of the room. Under the candle light the sheer transparent brown fabric over Amethyst's slender arms glimmered along with the opaque brown silk dress over her hour glass form. The silk dress touched the floor despite the added height of her high heeled deep green velvet ankle boots, a slit on the left side of her thigh allowed her bend down low under one of the tables. An apron suddenly appeared which covered her chest and lap as she rolled up the long sheer sleeves from her wrists to her elbow. With a simple knock the floor board in front of her a trap door to sprung open. Amethyst reached down and pulled the spring off the trap door, one of the bolts had been lost and caused the mechanism to break. The pink haired djinn began to repair the trap door, which was one of many across the entire tavern.

Citrine raised her head up in delay to the sudden change and warmly smiled revealing her sharp fangs before returning to her duties of making new alcoholic drinks and potions; she held two bottles in hand combining the liquid from one bottle to another as explosions of white smoke reacted on each drop, Citrine did not flinch, however it was quite routine to make dangerous concoctions to the average human. A multi colored liquid was poured into a clear tall glass and Citrine pressed the rim of the glass to her lips drinking half of the liquid. A pair of insect-like wings suddenly pierced through her back in reaction to the beverage and began to flutter gently.

Ah! This would kill a human if one were to drink it the wings might pierce through another part of the body. I will need to work on it more later, it is too unstable. Is that the only trap door that needs repair? Why not make a new one?

Amethyst raised her head and looked over to her twin sister who stood behind the bar with massive multicolored wings and nodded in disagreement. The gem stones on the twin's foreheads began to glimmer as they communicated with each other telepathically.

Ricochet does not like it when I cut into the floor boards or walls. I am not sure if it is because it hurts or tickles, best not to do that now while we're hovering over a settlement, might crash into some of the buildings.

Once the spring was repaired Amethyst placed it back on the mechanism of the trap door and stood up as the trap door closed. Dusting her hands together the apron disappeared and her hands were clean of oil and dust from the repair. Suddenly her attention turned to a floating spoon and fork just a few inches from her face.

What now?

Amethyst titled her head as she placed her hands on her hips, raised a dark pink brow, and bit her lip as she telepathically communicated with the silverware.

You want to be polished? Why can’t you do it yourselves we have a dish washer. It is not the same?! What is this nonsense, who gave you this idea..the napkins?! What do they know they simply get ironed after being washed surely you cannot iron out silverware that is quite absurd! NO you cannot take a bath with me and Citrine. Sure the tub is big enough, but the last thing I want is food floating in the water it is not good for my delicate tan skin I work so hard on.

Amethyst looked over to Citrine for approval on the matter but saw her too occupied with her chemistry set. A sigh of disappointment escaped the pink haired djinn’s lips as she walked over to the tavern entrance and opened the door for spoon and the fork.

If you want to be handled so delicately just leave to whatever world suits you, just know that you will not be able to communicate your problems like you do here. You are bound within Ricochet as animated silverware and you will be unable to move in any world outside. Just have in mind that people are not attached to their spoon and forks.

Amethyst closed the door and opened it again, the world outside was completely engulfed in fire and smoke. The door was shut quickly and reopened again only to find a city with towering sky scrapers. Amethyst was in awe as she watched men in women occupy themselves in front of desks like robots.

Hey! Isn’t this a place called Earth? Our mother and father told us stories about these people and how the live their lives for paper they call “money” until they die. It is not even magical paper it’s a worthless monetary item that allows them to get food and other necessities. So sad, they cannot even see Ricochet floating outside their large windows. I heard from a patron that they have what they refer to as a board game called the Ouija where they believe they are communicating with the dead but in fact they communicating with individuals from another realm and play pranks on the users. I want to do that one day Citrine. Hehe.

The door was closed and reopened again to the location they were in before with the settlement just below and was finally closed a last time upon confirmation by Amethyst.

So what will it be spoon and fork? Do you want to stay or not? I will surely think about getting someone to polish the silverware from time to time but until someone like that arrives you must wait patiently, you lived here thousands of years and Ricochet is under new management. Give us a break! We will have customers soon so get back to the cellar.

[Raspeyer]

Citrine's large pink eyes gazed just above the counter to peer at the rainbow of drinks she had lined up. So far she had made a cherry limeade that turned to gelatin when it entered the mouth and a hard cider with a cool mint aftertaste. Now she stared upon a blue bubbly liquid that looked solid and was misting over the top.

What do you mean balanced chemicals are better? I've met loads of unstable beings and they were way more interesting than normal ones. What do you know anyways, you're just a spoon. Now shut up before I get a proper stirrer.

The yellow haired Kyanite sister straightened up and took the spoon at the end of the drink line to blend her current concoction. Tapping the silverware on the edge of the glass, she set it down before testing it out. The young looking bartender's eyes lit up she struggled to swallow the foam trying to burst out of her mouth.

See that? Delicious and fun.

Citrine looked momentarily to the tavern door as her sister entered. She smiled and pushed up the sheer, dark green, transparent sleeves on her dress to just below her elbows. Waving away the row of glasses in front of her, she brought out a new glass and a clouded metal pitcher from under the shelf. Placing them in front of her, she once more picked up the spoon and conjured a small vial of brown goo from the cupboard. Citrine put a few brown drops into the glass before pouring in a multi-colored liquid and mixing it.

Taking in the exotic drink, Citrine felt an erotic pulse rush through her body before something erupted from her back and through the dark green silk of her dress. She looked over her slender shoulder and was greeted by a translucent wing that shimmered in the low light. She shuddered at the strange feeling of the two wings fluttering and looked over at her sister who had started a routine task of repairing a trap door.

Ah! This would kill a human if one were to drink it the wings might pierce through another part of the body. I will need to work on it more later, it is too unstable. Is that the only trap door that needs repair? Why not make a new one?

The alchemist's attention was quickly drawn away from her sister by the haughty silverware in her hand. It had gotten smug at the words too unstable, Citrine knew. Annoyed, she threw the spoon across the room and watched it clatter to the floor before disappearing in a puff of smoke to the cellar below.

It was about time to get some new silverware, the barkeep thought to herself. Citrine wondered just where it was silverware went when they died. Or did they die? Did they just stay shiny forever until they were left behind by annoyed owners like her? Or did they tinker off into a dimension full of dishes until they desired to serve again?

The fanciful genie wrinkled up her nose and magicked away the wings in the middle of her back. Pushing the unsatisfactory drink out of the way, she waved her hand and brought up a row of lagers. Tonight's special would be a tough choice if humans were the main guests. She'd never served earthlings before and if she felt feisty enough, it could turn into quite an entertaining night.

Hiking up her long silk dress, Citrine knelt down behind the counter to look at the various ingredients she had on hand. Powders in one group, liquid in another, semi solids just below and at the very end the misty enchantments. She had all the ingredients a cook could ask for and more in her room. Whatever she mixed was a recipe for wonder to whoever received it.

The opening and shutting of the tavern door brought Citrine back to the attention of her sister. The force of the door was creating a wind that circulated under Citrine's dress, causing the opening on her side to flutter revealing her curvaceous legs. Citrine ran her hands down her front to smooth out the disturbance and rocked slightly on her brown velvet high-heeled boots. She smiled in amusement, seeing that her sister was getting just as annoyed as she was by the increasingly demanding dinner utensils.

[Sólrökr]

The wind howled viciously, carrying with it iced embers in torrents. Heavily, they smeared themselves into a gloss, pattering against each and every outcropping in the barren tundra. This land had seen no sun in near seven months; engrossed in timeless night and overcast, the snow had solidified into permafrost. Once, this world flourished, but the winters grew heavy and the seasons shortened. Like all things eventually will, the seasons halted save the most desolate of them, save the death of heat. The fickle nature of life could not exist within this catatonic world, not even the most resilient predator could survive, for without a meal to suffice, it too would perish. Yet despite these unforgiving conditions, and even in knowing that nothing could survive, a single entity traversed this somber plane.

Like the outcroppings that bore two tones, chaotically frozen white upon the north and chilled translucently on the south, belying their true shale nature, so too did this wanderer. Near frozen upon one side, the hides it wore had been caked by the unrelenting wind, suspended in directional drift. The figure's pace did not waver, nor show signs of fatigue however, but gave a constant pace. Peering through slits of hide and fur, the traveler's eyes could view only the visible light that the clouds let permeate, illuminating the barest of details like silhouette shadows in the eerie night.

How long this entity wandered is without knowledge, and for how long it would continue is as equally mystifying, should the Ricochet had not been. Like intervening fate, it appeared from nothing, illuminating the darkness with a miasmal azure incandescence. Its light reached to the sky and all around, but returned nothing in the starless heavens, as if black had only been there in the first place; a void. Slowly, with great care and caution, the Ricochet slid across the wastelands, partially submerged and unhindered like the matter itself was opac. Yet still, the traveler's pace did not slow. No awe, no amaze...

Surely though, a veritable curiosity tinged. Its course veered.

Upon the steppe, the weather ceased. At the door, the handle felt of warmed metal, and with it open, out rushed the heat and humidity (and the converse rushed in, an intensely dry cold.). In, the traveler strode cautiously, tearing off the frosted skins from its face to breath deeply the moisturizing air. Hides in hand revealed the traveler to be a human male, roughly thirty years in age, and extremely ragged. The door behind him slammed close, the convex of different temperatured airs forcing it shut.

The traveler's hair was short but matted, both in knots and snow, but a vivaciously potent carmine. His jaw was rounded but only in that it ebbed his angular jaw. Despite his heavy attire, more pelts and hides, it was easy to tell he was of a skinny build, but his neck was proportionate and his shoulders wide, implying a naturally fit form. Tracing his eyes around his new surroundings, their green seemed almost brown as they reflected the dark circles under them. He could tell it was a tavern, and possibly an inn of some sort, but not by means of science or soul – perhaps magical enchantment.

Tilting his head to acknowledge the pink-haired woman closest to him, he forced a slight smile. "Are you open?"

[Count]

Cyquen began to run flat-out, shoes thumping against packed earth as he chased the enormous building across the hard ground. As Ricochet began to overtake him, he concentrated, and his eyes glowed a deep, ferocious cerulean, lips pulled back in a silent snarl.

A sleek, enormous shape erupted from within the young man's slender form, and suddenly, the man was running full-tilt next to long, slender dragon. He leapt onto her back smoothly, and suddenly they were flying, scything through the air towards the gently floating tavern. Esuni slid carefully up next to the massive building, and Cyquen leapt off, snatching at the railing to keep his balance as the world fell away. He struggled to walk through the door, but he had no success. Grimly setting his teeth, the young man leapt off and onto Esuni the dragon once more.

The snakelike sea dragon whipped at top speed around the gently bobbing tavern, eager to find a port, anything that might let her in. Finally, she found it - a door, different from the one that Cyquen had previously tried, and obviously the main entrance. The dragon zipped straight through the opening, and disintegrated into shining, cerulean fragments, with a blue core that slid gently into Cyquen's chest.

Brushing off the creases that the rough flight had put in his clothing and shaking off the icicles, he brazenly ignored all the looks and withdrew from one voluminous sleeve a sparkling sapphire pendant, inlaid with silver. Its shape was of the sun and full moon, combined with the stars. He clutched it firmly in his hand and marched resolutely up to the counter.

"Hello, miss," he said to the nearest Kyanite sister, shyly. "This is my most valuable possession, except for the things I physically cannot give up. It is a mere trinket, albeit an exquisitely beautiful one, and I should like for you to have it. My only request is that it remain what it is; I made it myself, purely for this occasion when I should have a chance to meet you." He bowed. "My name is Cyquen, Entitled Summoner, and I would be honored should you bestow upon me the title of patron of this delightful floating ship."

[Delve]

A broom and dust pan opened a side passage adjacent to the bar making their way around their first guest to pick up the snow that had fallen from his form which melted from the warmth of the tavern. Amethyst smiled upon the traveler holding furs and bowed slightly in acknowledgement raising her right hand she directed him towards the bar to be attended by twin sister Citrine.

“We’re always open. Welcome to Ricochet, Traveler. Please make yourself comfortable, my sister and I can provide you with anything you may need. Food, drink, and dorm is available upon bartering for those services.”

The door to Ricochet opened immediately after the first guest and Cyquen emerged surrounded in blue magic that crystallized and fell to the ground. The broom and dust pan picked up the crystals for a brief moment until it disappeared completely as Cyquen stepped forward and shyly approached Citrine with a sapphire pendant. Amethyst’s yellow eyes lightened in curiosity and simply crossed her arms while keeping her fingers of her right hand under her chin in wonder as she approached the bar counter and stood next to the summoner.

“How do you do?" Amethyst spoke sweetly, "Surely you must have heard of me and my sister before your arrival since you offer compensation so quickly. What is the story behind this valuable item? A gift for a lost love? Do tell. We often collect items with antiquity but we do make an exception if the story behind it is very good. It does look beautiful.”

[Count]

Cyquen smiled at Amethyst, shyness replaced by enthusiasm. He tapped the pendant with one slender forefinger.

"This pendant was crafted using a magical method of forging known to my people. The gems were easy to do, but my complete lack of fiery Summons meant that the metals took forever and a day. The design may seem complex, but it is a mere imitation of the glorious one that currently serves at the Celestial gate.

"As for your first question, I know of this place because I was caught up in it not so long ago, and traveled interdimensionally no less than three times. I started out in my homeland, before being smacked right into next week, right into Wonderland. After a short while, I found you once again, and caught you with Esuni just as you traveled back to my own land. That time, I managed to inquire among the patrons and learn of your unusual method of service, as well as see you for myself for the first time.

"As you can see, I created this marvelous trinket for you and your sister, with the condition that it not be smelted or refashioned in any way, but simply admired for what it is. Forgive me if you were expecting something more personal, but you are rather ravishing, you know."

Cyquen spread his elegantly clad arms wide. "I am an Entitled Summoner, too! I have the power to take energy from the celestial bodies and suffuse it with my own energy. This energy can be manipulated into physical form, a Summon, which I can use to do many things. Observe!" Cyquen's eyes began to glow blue, and he pointed at a spot in the midst of the hallway. From his fingertip sprung a small cloth bundle, which revealed itself to be a round rock wrapped in fabric with a lot of squiggly rock pieces. With a snap of the Summoner's fingers, it was suddenly surrounded with a warm glow, and then assembled itself into a seraphic shape, rock pieces surrounding the head of the creature with a sunlike flair. Two semicircular eyes opened up on the seraph's head, and it bowed low, despite having no legs and no arms.

"This is Kyrian. His skill with blades is quite renowned," said Cyquen nonchalantly, eyes still glowing blue. He nodded to Kyrian, who went into a rolling dive on nothingness and emerged with two long, slim blades, which appeared to be supported by nothing. Cyquen nodded again, and the blades vanished into the ether, the Summon waiting impassively for the innkeeper's comment.

[Sólrökr]

"Indeed," the Traveler responded to Amethyst, bowing his head slightly with his eyes shut, "I will be sure to–"

The door opened and slammed, an enigmatic azure light swelling from behind the traveler, and dissipating just as quickly. The broom and dust pan that had scurried to him to sweep away the ice and snow left in his wake lost interest quickly and darted to the new presence, obviously more interesting. The traveler's eyes fell to the floor, acknowledging and even tonguing the new presence, but not turning to see. It didn't stay in one place for long however, as it dashed by him and the Matron with pink hair, toward the one whom she called her sister. "...sure to ask. It seems she is now occupied however."

Just as the glow behind him had dissipated, a new one arose in proximity of the newest patron. Their work unfinished, the broom and dustpan rushed after the glowing newcomer again. The traveler's head tilted slightly toward the counter but still in correspondence with the first Matron to whom he spoke. "What is it that your establishment considers... and you're not here anymore."

The pink haired woman, like dustpan and broom, scurried off in the direction of the newcomer. The traveler gave a short sigh. After a pause, he moved to the nearest table and began to disrobe the heaviest and warmest of the pelts onto a chair, alleviating the sweltering heat that was beginning to cling to his body and neck. The noise level of the room began to steadily rise, mostly in the direction of the newest patron. The traveler pursed his lips slightly. Well, I'm here. I guess I should go see what the interest is.

Leaving his hides behind, he went to speak with the two matrons and his peer.

[Raspeyer]

Citrine smiled towards the cold traveler that had started to make his way toward her but was cut off by a more eccentric magical person. She smiled at him kindly and lowered her eyes to the trinket he had offered, requesting that she not alter it in any way. The alchemist Djinn tried to hide her disappointment that she couldn't play with her new gift. Her mood was instantly lifted when Cyquen showed off his summoner's prowess to conjure up a floating, congenital amputee swordsman.

Citrine took up the trinket in her hand and thumbed it casually, peering slightly over the bar counter. "I don't know that I could offer you anything but gratitude for this trinket. Your shoes, however, look as if they have been to many places. I could give you a wonderful drink if I had shoes like those."

The yellow haired barkeep motioned towards the summon that was on display and added "This trinket, can it summon up pretty little beings like that? If you gave me a summon I would offer you up many things." finishing with a flirtatious wink.

Citrine looked eagerly at the man hoping that he would give her and her sister a new pet for their bar. She turned her attention to the man holding the furs on his arm and gave him a small wave with her open hand. She held her hand up to pause Cyquen in order to address the new customer.

"What do you have and what'll it be, friend?" Citrine asked Sar enthusiastically.

[Delve]

Amethyst watched Cyquen for a moment as he summoned a limbless swordsman that wielded floating swords as if they magnetized to its form; it was much more interesting than the sapphire pendant. The pink haired djinn shook her head as she turned her full attention to Sar in unison with her twin. As Sar approached the bar she smiled in synch with Citrine. Amethyst took seat on the nearest bar stool and motioned for Sar to sit next to her.

“Have a seat.” Amethyst paused for a moment as she reflected on her thoughts, “To answer your question traveler, we barter items of deep sentimental value to our patrons, often something that is not easy to part with. If the item is of heavy value you will receive everlasting drinks, food, and dorm for as long as it remains valuable. It is not limited to valuable items, however, it may also have a long history which is something we value in turn. We have quite a collection amassed from our previous patrons which we keep in this massive fortress we call Ricochet. My sister and I may sometimes part with an item in our collection under certain circumstances.”

With a wave of her hand Amethyst motioned the broom and dust pan to the cleaning closet. A glass appeared on her hand and tilted the empty glass once. A green bottle in front of Citrine that dripped constant foam hovered in the air towards Amethyst and poured its deep purple liquid into the glass. The foam remained on the bottle while the liquid filled the glass. A single tilt backwards to the glass stopped the bottle from pouring and returned itself to the bar counter.

“So..do you two have names? We’re the Kyanite sisters, my name is Amethyst and this is my twin sister Citrine. Pleasure to meet you two.”

[Sólrökr]

Sar nodded in acknowledgement with the requirements for room and board, thinking to himself what could be worth bartering. The cost of an unusual place, not surprisingly, is of the precarious kind. Sar pulled a seat out across from Amethyst, but used it to prop his weight against instead of sitting, using his arm as a leaning point. "My birth given name is Sar of Cathan, and I carry little. The hides that I wear for protection against the harsh cold, a journal within which I log every day, and three swords."

Sar tossed a glance to Citrine, baring a single tooth in a slight smile. "It seems this one would desire more interesting things, such as long traveled shoes, or perhaps even my journal, but both are freshly made and without use. For that Matron, I apologize."

Sar's eyes traced back to Amethyst. He gathered his words carefully. "The swords are of a dangerous cast, and knowing even your strength as enchantresses, and from the looks of your sister, alchemy, I do not wish their evil upon you. Tyrfing would turn the two of you upon one another as enemies. Laevatein... it could raze your home, and all the worlds it exists within, to the ground, and I do not know that you could protect it from those who would use it foolishly. Thus I am at a loss as of what I can offer the two of you. What is your opinion, Matrons?"

[Count]

Cyquen grinned shyly, reverting to his original self like a turtle pulling into its shell. His hand closed around the trinket, but opened again slightly.

"It's possible for me to imbue this trinket with a little bit of the power of the heavens, if that's what you wish. I-I think that might be enough to begin the path to Summoning. Let me explain.

"Where I come from, Summoning is not inherent. You don't have to be born a Summoner, per se, but natural talent does help. We go to school to learn how to Summon, and then we begin Summoning, and, well..." He gesticulated at the shimmering sun-demon hovering behind him. "This is not what I had at first; I could summon this guy's head and a snake with wings and teeth. You've met her, I think. Anyway, I could probably teach you this." He seemed to warm up a little. "It would cost a pretty price, though. Let's say, room and board and a couple of rounds?"

The towheaded young man nodded to the glowing figure standing beside him, and then snapped his fingers. From their motion sprung a figure that was the polar opposite of the sun-demon in every way. Its well-kempt tuxedo was unoccupied by any material form, and seemed to be filled with a silver aura that surrounded it. Hovering atop the suit was a floating moon with semicircles for eyes. It bowed, nodding once, and then picked up the trinket with one invisible hand. The sun-demon picked up the other side, and there was a bright flash. The two Summons handed the piece to Cyquen, who in turn set it down on the counter.

"There. This has the basics in it now," he said, seeming somewhat strained. "It has a little bit of celestial power contained inside the gem - see how it glows, dark and light? If you work hard, you can use its power and create a strange and fantastic creature. Don't worry if it's small; practice and time will have it soon as strong as these two." He smiled. "That is, if you'll accept it. These shoes have indeed been through much, but I daresay you would find a more exciting story in some of your cutlery."

Kyrian and Stygian bowed and disappeared in a flash of light, silver and gold cores combining within the confines of Cyquen's slender form. The young man looked visibly relaxed now, ready to answer any question asked of him with utmost precision and clarity.

[Wildsword]

Cold filled and stung his nose as tiny frozen shards pelted him in a flailing wall of white against an endless grey, frozen horizon. It stretched on in every direction, a waste of frost and wind. Cold. All I smell, all I see, all I hear is wind and cold. His pointed ears folded down, shying away from the icy shriek of the wind, wailing across drab sea of ice. The wind hurled more frozen, stinging snow into his face, like a swarm of angry bees. Even through his thick black fur he felt their tiny chilled barbs as he slowly padded across the frost swept plains before him.

Every stride sent a staggering shudder of pain through his back leg. Walk. He commanded himself. If I stop, I die. If I walk to far, I will run out of blood. He had been limping for miles and every step shifted the arrowhead buried deep through his fur slowly peeling at the muscles beneath. A dark, thick flow of blood matted and stained his fur, spattering the bleak white canvas of the planes with splashes of red. He whined in pain, it hit his nerved like a crashing wave, violent and rhythmic. Walk! A guttural groan sounded his resolve and his paws began to move again in a hobbled, bloody gate.

The wind whispered softly, gently caressing the feather fletching of the arrow with light invisible fingers. A sudden gale followed and the fingers tugged the shaft back hard as the snow flurried forward. He yowled as the muscles in his leg yielded. He collapsed with a heavy thud coiled tight in the crippling grip of the wind. It reached deep inside his chest, prying at his lungs with icy tendrils. She trusted you. You can still save her. You can’t fail. You can’t die, you have to find them. Walk. His will screamed, but his leg would not move. WALK! His lips pulled back in a snarl, breath steaming out in frantic bursts of hot cloud as he struggled to stand on his exhausted legs but they were heavy with pain and fatigue. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. Sleep in the cold embrace and never wake up. With each growing moment the will was leaving him.

A twist in the wind's breath whispered of a sent other than cold. It was earthen, , damp and sour. Fur and sweat. Human sweat. Hunters! They’re tracking me, following the blood. He sniffed again the scent much louder than a whisper, crowding the air. They’re close. With a groan he forced himself to his feet and with shaking paws continued his lonely trek across the wastes. It didn’t take long before he spotted them, boot shaped indents being swept clear by the wind tracing a faint path forward. He followed, eyeing them and sniffing them as he went. The sour of sweat and ripe scent of hide filled each foot shaped crevasse in the endless blanket of hoarfrost. The smell was lingering and strong even in the howling wind. Still fresh, these are recent. He continued to follow and soon a shape emerged from the swirling snow and grey canvas of the horizon. A massive shadow of high, strong walls and sturdy foundation. A fortress. Good. She said it’d look like this.

As he approached, the shadow took definite shape of a set of stairs to a warm, inviting porch. With a labored gate he lightly pawed up the steps to the large door. Can’t go in like this, can’t talk in this form, gonna be damn cold though.

It wasn’t a paw that gripped the door but a shivering hand. As the door swung open the warm kiss of heat flooded his bare, freezing front. He stumbled in, leg buckling under the pain of the arrow. His thick black hair was windswept and matted with snow giving him a feral look. Blood pulsed from the arrow and ran down his bare leg in a thick current. His bare, muscled body shivering from the cold. He steadied himself on his hands framed by silver braided bracelets carved in the likeness of a dog’s head. An intricate silver torc of the same design circled his neck framing the small sealed vile hanging from a leather cord. His voice was a gruff rasp of exhaustion and pain.

“I’m looking for the Kyanite sisters.”

[Delve]

The lack of understanding among the patrons on what could be bartered and what was offered by Cyquen was pushing Amethyst's patience to the limit. The glass in her hand was firmly placed on the table as she listened to everyone speak carefully. The Kyanite sisters were looked upon as helpless young women by both of their patrons as they spoke of their own powers and possessions but neither seemed to know for sure what the twins were truly capable of. Sar was relatively close to what the sisters would barter with as he described the swords and although most of them would prove interesting to a human it was insignificant unless it had a story behind it. The moment Sar spoke of evil being able to overcome the sisters Amethyst's dark pink brow began to twitch nervously as her patience had run thin. Cyquen summoned a second creature and requested Citrine compensation for lessons on summoning and at that point Amethyst's patience was completely gone. Amethyst abruptly stood up and leaped effortlessly from her stool and stood on bar counter. The heel of her boot crushed her half full glass on the counter from the weight of her frustration catching the eyes of her patrons. The broom and dust pan appeared once more only to be shoved into the cleaning closet by force with a wave of Amethyst's hand.

"I thought I had made myself clear as to what we barter in exchange for services on Ricochet. But perhaps a proper introduction would clarify the misunderstanding. My twin sister and I are full blooded djinn! Not ordinary women that would succumb to money, diamonds, and powerful items. Surely you have heard of a story often told to children of a djinn, called 'Genie' of the lamp, who was bottled into an oil lamp. Anyone who possessed such an ordinary lamp and rubs it will be granted three wishes. Like all djinn we are powerful sorcerers who can create anything out of thin air and pure imagination. We may look young in appearance but we're thousands of years old with an unlimited amount of magic. However, we are limited in our powers, we cannot kill anyone, create life, or bring anything back from the dead." Amethyst reverted her eyes to sar, "Excuse me Sar of Cathan but although your two swords are dangerous to the average human, even if I were to wield Tyrfing and it possessed such evil I would not be forced against my will for as long as my djinn blood courses through my veins. You were fairly close when you mentioned your journal, in fact a page would provide you with food and drink for I cannot create a life's story nor can I create history. Even the food we provide has been bartered for and the ingredients my sister uses in her alchemy is gathered from items in our collection. Even blood is sacred here if its given willingly."

Amethyst walked across the bar counter and stood over Cyquen and Sar with a smile. "I do apologize for my straight forwardness but I sometimes cannot help it. Much like humans we are entirely capable of several emotions among other things as a weakness. Until the two of you provide something that is valuable to us please be advised that we do not welcome solicitors..." Amethyst leered at Cyquen with her yellow eyes, "We especially to do welcome anyone who offers their own services that are not beneficial to us or the tavern."

"We can exchange food and drink for your shoes young man, "Amethyst stared at Cyquen for a moment, "I will be able to enchant the shoes into taking the wielder to the places you have been in your life time for our collection, which proves more valuable than the beautiful lucky jewel that was crafted from your hopes and dreams that are kept in tact. If the jewel had completely removed your luck for the rest of your life time you would have food and board for as long as you live or even giving up one of your precious summons so that you may never be able to summon again would reward you the same. Surely you can try to negotiate with my twin sister but we're quite a like in our decisions, Citrine is more gentile than I so I will place the full responsibility with her. So do carry on with your conversation, never mind my interruption."

The pink haired djinn hovered in the air for a moment as she stepped down from the counter to the floor and took a seat on the bar stool much more relaxed after expressing her opinion. The glass on the counter was gathered in the air with a whirl of Amethyst's finger the purple liquid gathered in the same manner as it reassembled itself to its previous state. Amethyst took a sip of the drink as she held the glass in her hand before placing it back down on the counter and turned to face Sar.

"You mentioned three swords but only named two. What is the third sword?" Amethyst tilted her head as her pointy ears moved slightly against her pink hair. From the corner of her eyes the door had opened to a new patron and the smell of blood allured her sense of smell as she licked the corner of her lip in delight. In a flash Amethyst's form had left the stool but she remained seated in the stool adjacent to Sar and the expression of curiosity remained the same as if she never moved. A second form had risen from the stool a complete replica of Amethyst but still the same to every exact detail.

The second Amethyst kneeled before the new patron in her brown silk dress which was a much lightershade than the first Amethyst who sat by the bar. As she tended to the fallen patron who was wounded on the leg a vial appeared in her hand and the blood from his wound and traces of it on the floor boards began to drip upwards in the air coursing its way into the vial until full. The arrow had disappeared on stranger's leg as the second Amethyst placed a cork into the vial. A cloth appeared in her lightly tan hand and was the placed on to the wound damp with antiseptic to stop the bleeding with a bit of pressure on both sides. The cloth was then wrapped tightly around the stranger's leg which would heal on its own naturally.

"No need to have your blood go to waste. In exchange, I have mended your wound. Welcome to Ricochet. How rarely do patrons know our father's given name. Do you know of him? I am Amethyst Kyanite how can my sister and I be of service? What is your name?"

Amethyst's doppelganger cradled the vial of blood only to have it disappear and reappear in the first Amethyst's free hand. A smirk crossed her lips as the two pink haired djinn glanced at each other briefly. Although both djinn looked exactly the same the second seemed more playful in her mannerisms. The second Amethyst stood up and extended her hand out for the new patron to take a hold of.

"Please take my hand so you may stand. You will find that the pain is gone from your leg." Second Amethyst smiled revealing her pearly white canines.

[Raspeyer]

Amethyst's waning patience's for the new bar patrons and the subsequent outburst caused Citrine to smile nervously and wave her hand as if in dismissal. She could make use of the trinket Cyquen had conjured up for her own purpose even if her sister couldn't find much use for it. As Amethyst finished her outburst and returned to her seat, Citrine remain quiet, idly staring at the the items up for barter in her fingers.

"I could use this to help with gathering my ingredients. It'd be handy to have someone else gather for me without having to use up my own time and magic."

As if to demonstrate, the alchemist casually tossed the trinket over the counter past the summoner and her enchantress kin. Just as it was about to hit the floor, it popped and erupted into a large cloud of pink smoke. When the air cleared a small, wobbly contraption looked up at them,

It's white spherical body was topped by an equally round head. It's face was made up of only to two large eyes that gazed up at them in amazement and a barely noticeable darker shade of white where it mouth might have been. It rolled slightly backwards on what seemed to be caterpillar treads hidden halfway underneath it's core.

Citrine let out a huge smile and greeted "How cute! My own little gathering summon"

She leaned on the counter and gave the small android a second thought "You can't do much without any hands though, can you?"

Though the small creature continued with is large gaze, it let out a small bleep through some unseen speaker. It's large spherical body split to form to small fins that flapped gently as if to test itself. It lowered them to form a complete sphere again.

"Well that's nice but what can you do with them?" Citrine challenged.

The little creature bleeped again and turned it's head to look around at the room at knee level, looking for a way to prove its worth. It was at that moment the tavern doors opened and a large nude man collapsed just inside the entrance. Her sister quickly attended to the wounded man but for a moment Citrine's attention left the small robot for the newest attraction.

As the Amethyst clone filled the vials with blood and transfer it to the parent body's hands, the little droid rolled up to her and bleeped. It flapped one of it's little sides as if making a request. Citrine gazed back down at it and smiled bemusedly.

Put it on the ground, I think it wants to show us what it can do.

Citrine requested of her sister through their mental bond. Finally, she turned back to Cyquen and her smiled melted to one of glowing warmth.

"I'll accept this gift, though the summon won't do much but gather for now. Very handy for me. My sister handles the room transactions but if you'd like something to drink I can fix you something."

The yellow haired Djinn stood up straight and swept her hand in front of her, bringing forth a frosted plain glass mug. Her pink eyes studied Cyquen as if trying to figure out a drink best suited for him even before he had a chance to request one. A sparkle flashed over the her sight after a moment and with another sweep of her hand, the glass was filled with what looked like fog. The misty substance slowly poured out over the top of the mug.

"I haven't made this one for awhile. It'll turn you into an ethereal spirit." Citrine explained, pushing the mug tentatively towards her customer.

Her face had taken on a sultry appearance as if her creatures were more than a hobby but an erotic pleasure. Not a moment after Citrine had pushed the glass towards Cyquen, a memory flashed in her head and she smacked her hand over the top of the mug.

The one and only time she had ever given this drink to a civilian, the man had been able to go through walls. This, unfortunately, had included floors and the poor fellow fell through the tavern floor, through the cellar and the foundation until he had finally crashed through the roof of a troll's dwelling in the netherworld. The troll didn't have a taste for dwarfs and had returned the unconscious, beat up body to the girls with a sharp tongue.

Citrine's short pointed ears twitched and she rubbed behind her ear with a free hand. "Actually, this drink needs some fine tuning. If you have any interesting requests for a potion drink, feel free to request it."

A light brown hand waved to the end of the bar and Citrine added with a bored tone "Or we have normal drinks over there."

[Wildsword]

Vard felt the pain in his leg fade as the Djinns’ clone bound it tightly with deft, nimble fingers. As she quickly did her work his wild green eyes scanned the bar and entry hall. He took note of the two sisters and the patrons. A lean young Nord sat with Amethyst talking of swords the traveler had. His nose tingled and twitched as a faint, familiar scent whispered into his nostrils. He’s the one I smelled. That smell was quickly overwhelmed by a lavish bouquet of richly perfumed clothing and a wave of exotic scents he had never tasted. Its strength was stifling almost blinding him before the flamboyantly dressed man talking with the other Kyanite sister with golden hair.

His eyes returned to Amethysts. Bright yellow spheres blazing with imposing curiosity behind a bright, youthful face. A strange but beautiful face framed with long curled pink hair. The bright gem in her forehead glinted with the yellow light of her eyes and pink hair giving her an exotic, inhuman look. When she bid to rise he obeyed.

“I thank you for your hospitality.”

Manners Vard. You can’t afford to displease them.

“I am Vard, warden and servant to the sorceress Analba. It is on her behalf that I have come to you. I myself have little knowledge of your family but my mistress knew of you.”

He grimaced and swallowed the sorrow that choked his words.

“She was… killed by crusaders, religious radicals who destroy anything magick or those that hold to the old ways. Her home was sieged by a large force, I killed many but... it was not enough…”

His face twisted, eyes grew heavy with guilt and he bowed his head to hide his shame.

“Before they got to her she sealed her essence in this.”

His fingers caressed and held the sealed vial hanging on his neck.

“She told me that you may have the power to restore her to a mortal form. In exchange for your service she has offered me to serve as your ward and servant.”

He knelt, slowly and as gracefully as he could. His wild eyes were soft and pleading, silently searching Amethyst's powerful gaze for an answer.

“I was told that you require tokens for your services. Along with my service I offer you these."

With a slow ceremonial motion he removed the silver dog headed torcs from his wrists. As they left his wrists a faint howl and the clattering snap of breaking chains echoed in the minds of all present.

With a strong steady hand he set them on the floor in front of him and reached up and slid the elaborate torc from his neck and set it down encircling the wrist torcs making a design of three interlocking, circles like a broken link of chain. The howling echoed again, loudly, a long haunting cry of anguish echoing in the mind. He motioned to the wrist torcs.

"They bind me to my master. Once a new master is chosen and they place them on me I am magickally bound to them. I cannot refuse a command or leave their side as long as I serve them. A mental link is sustained for as they are worn. "

His fingers brushed the ornate neck torc in the center.

"This allows the master to control my transformations if they so choose and strengthens their influence over me. It binds the magick of the wrist torcs to the master and myself. It does not permit me to remove them, only the master can."

He bowed before his enchanted chains in offering to Amethyst.

"I humbly offer these items and myself to you in exchange for my master's life."

[Sólrökr]

Sar smiled endearingly at Amethyst while she ranted at him. He watched as she gave each of them a piece of her mind, returning in a very similar kind the presumptuousness that Sar had transgressed upon her. The irony amused him, and his smile drew wide, though he tried to stifle it.

She sat, finished, and repaired her glass. After a sip, she returned to a conversational pace. "You mentioned three swords but only named two. What is the third sword," she inquired, curiosity replacing whatever flurry of emotion had erupted before.

A nude man stumbled through the door, wounded, and almost as immediately as Amethyst had finished her sentence, a doppleganger burst from her form and dashed to him, readying aid almost mid-stride. Despite her previous rant, presumption, and disposition, Sar found Amethyst on his good side. His smile faded quickly however, as he pulled the third blade from out the sheath that rested across the small of his back. It was broken close to the hilt, jagged and rusted from age unintelligible, and radiated a cool red hue that made it seem as if the blade itself deteriorated right before the eyes, vaporizing into dust. "The name of this blade is Sólrök, and it is the blade my son used on the eve of his death, at the age of eleven, where he and his mother were slaughtered in my absence. It is a thing that carries ample portions of my soul, transformed by it, into a weapon with unfathomable power. It is not for trade or sale."

Sar stared at it for a moment. Eyes tracing its shattered form for a few seconds more than would have been comfortable, and then returned it to its resting place. Meeting Amethyst in conversation again, he nodded his head in considerate concession. "Know this. I am no peddler of cheap tricks. You say you are thousands of years old – as am I. You have unlimited magical power, and I have a soul so vast, Supremacies fear me. I did not belittle you with my caution, it was only that."

Sar's eyes flared as he deliberately paused, a serious tone emanating from his being that, should he please, could send mortals fleeing. "With that said," Sar's tone and disposition returned to its original state, "I think that I've found Laevatein's resting place – if you would have it. You seem confident in your abilities to utilize, and even protect it, so I will trust in that. What say you, Matron?"

[Delve]

The amethyst stone on the pink hair djinn's forehead slightly gleamed visibly in synch with the citrine stone on her twin's forehead which was partially hidden beneath her yellow fringe. Their bond was constant and their thoughts were often shared with the exception of their personalities and emotions. The twin Kyanite sisters were reliant on each other's existence for daily life activities. The drink in Amethyst's hand disappeared leaving behind a trail of purple smoke which she quickly fanned away with a wave of her hand.

My dear sister--is there not enough silverware for you to play with? What is this life-less creature for? Why should I give it this vial it might just break it. But if its what you want then it is out of my hands now, its not everyday we can take a patron's blood so willingly although most of it was from the floor which is naturally ours to keep.

The vial enclosed in Amethyst's left hand was released as it hovered in the air gently next to the mechanized round creature summoned from the sapphire stone pendant Cyquen had offered for food and drink. Amethyst's attention was still locked on her patron as she listened to Sar carefully word for word. The expression on the djinn's face changed from curiosity to empathy as Sar explained the third sword and painfully spoke of his son. The sword was truly priceless and although it was broken a shard of the blade would have been a life time supply of food and board, however Amethyst could not dare to ask due to the nature of its sentimental value. In the back of her mind she felt that she must overcome her greed for such a precious item since it seemed unnatural. Amethyst's yellow eyes glazed over slightly as she looked into Sar's and sighed.

"You have my condolences, Traveler. It is difficult when loved ones comes to pass. Death is only natural once life is lived to the fullest but for someone so young as a son is truly heart breaking and your wife..."

With a heavy heart Amethyst knocked on the counter once with her index finger causing a mug from the underneath to appear on the counter which hovered over in front of Sar to take hold of. A hot kettle from the cellar made its way silently up the stairs towards the mug and poured hot chocolate into it. The delicious aroma of vanilla, milk, and chocolate filled the room which would entice anyone with a sweet tooth. The kettle disappeared in a puff of smoke after a second knock.

"The hot chocolate is on me. It is not often for our patrons share their private life." Amethyst smiled gently encouraging Sar to grab the mug. "Perhaps your son would have liked this hot chocolate it is quite favored by children--of any age for that matter--young or old."

Amethyst turned in her stool and laid out her hands over the counter two feet apart and book burst out from thin air as if it grew out of nothing. The spine of the book read as "Weapon Catalogue #364" and the pages of the book turned themselves until reaching a blank page which was almost at the end. The book itself was five inches thick and contained nothing but weapons bartered by previous patrons. Words began to appear at the top of the page which read:


Weapon No. 545,410: Laevatein
Patron: Sar of Cathan

A quill rose from within the spine of the book placing its point beneath the second line of the entry prepared to write the history of the sword he had offered for barter from Sar's own words. After a moment of silence between them Amethyst looked up towards Sar, "My sister and I are collectors so I would never utilize such a weapon but I can surely keep it from the wrong hands within Ricochet. For food and board in Ricochet you must tell me of the history of this sword. Even as I sense this weapon in your possesion I can only think of death. How is it that you could possess something so powerful and not be taken over by it?"

---

The doppelganger was quite over taken by the new patron's explanation and plea for his master. Vard kneeled with the outmost obedience causing the second Amethyst to frown. The sorceress within the vial on his neck was far from the initial truth of returning to her mortal form. A sigh escaped her lips as she walked over to the harp in the corner of the tavern just a few feet from the entrance and placed her hand over the wall adjacent to the self playing harp. A wooden panel of the wall of twenty four inches wide began to move and pushed itself forward to the other side of the tavern parallel to the bar counter with a train of shelves behind it bearing different kinds of items which were mostly covered in dust. A book appeared in the second Amethyst's hands, the spine of the book read as "Organic Catalogue #60382".

"You do not need to beg for I can understand your current situation Vard. I accept your barter for a life for a life but the end result may not please you or the sorceress. Your master Analba was a bit misinformed. My sister and I can restore her to a mortal form, however we cannot create her a living body or restore it to its original form it is beyond our power since we were both conceived through a natural order of birth. I have here an organic catalogue which can provide the sorceress a physical body but it may not restore her original powers."

The book was placed on the floor before Vard right above the torcs which he laid out. The page had an illustration of a flower along the edge of the page and at the top of the flower was a small woman which was drawn to size with indications of height in inches. Across from the page was an illustration of a hatched egg which was scaled down to size with indications of height in feet which had an image of a little girl with colorful wings for arms. The page was then turned by Amethyst to a clam which was scaled down to size to an image of a little girl with a fish tail and across from this page was a shrub scaled down with an illustration of a woman formed from a larger tree with her skin made of bark.

"You must have an idea of which mortal form she would take. Unfortunately I can only place her essence in what is illustrated here and are irreversible. Two of these forms will start her back again as a new born and the other two are of a different humanoid scale. The flower sprite is a small form and the dryad form will take much longer to grow into a tree before she can rise from it as a female figure which is only at night. If none of these would please your master there is also an inorganic collection of robotic androids and porcelain dolls that are of humanoid scale--she would be like a ghost in a shell if either are chosen. I am afraid there are not that many choices."

On the shelves were the distinct organic items that were illustrated in the catalogue. A red palm sized seed was kept in a glass box on the top shelf. A brilliantly colorful egg the size of a watermelon was held by a circular pedestal which kept it in balance on the bottom shelf and adjacent to it was a fish tank with a clam equal in size to its counterpart. In the middle of the shelving was a small bonsai cut tree shrub that had a peculiar shape of a human with a unique feminine figure.

The doppelganger took the liberty of holding one of the torcs in her hand amazed by the intricate detail of a dog head. Amethyst understood the power the shackles had over the man but it was unlike the Kyanite sisters to take in a slave. She thought about simply having Vard work a normal job in Ricochet instead which would give him more freedom and these thoughts were shared with her twin to analyze. Her brilliant yellow eyes looked over to Vard who shivered slightly her free hand was raised over his back.

"You must be cold. Allow me," Amethyst placed her hand on Vard's shoulder and her sleeves began to unravel quickly weaving itself into cloth across Vard's masculine form providing him with brown pair of pants and a white linen long sleeve shirt. "If you are going to serve my sister and I within Ricochet you will be required to wear clothing. I understand you change physical forms so you will find that the clothes you're wearing will change with you."

The second Amethyst's silk dress was now sleeveless which made her appear much more unique from the original which caused the doppelganger to blush as she retracted her left hand from Vard's shoulder and massaged her right upper arm with the feeling of change.

[Wildsword]

Vard eyes shifted over the pages, the new forms she might take. What new skin would she be happy in? The thought only brought a weight of grief and guilt that hung on his whole being. He listened to Amethyst’s words in a brooding silence, too shamed to speak. Though his ears were attentive his heart dwelled on her. The fear in her eyes when the crusaders broke through, her scream of pain and panic when the arrow pierced his leg. He had never seen her afraid, overwhelmed by emotion. He remembered the warmth of her tears against his chest when he embraced her, possibly for the last time. They kissed his cheeks with a phantom’s caress and It was all he could do to hold back the tears. Show them no weakness. You are their ward now. Wards do not weep, they protect! But he had failed in that, failed his master, failed his love. I will not fail again. He grit his teeth behind a closed mouth in fierce resolution jaw tight with tension.

The light, warm touch of a gentle palm broke him from his thoughts. Amethyst’s doppelganger looked down with kind eyes as the fabric of her sleeves slid off her arm like uncoiling serpents weaving themselves around his body, their soft warm embrace chasing the cold from his skin. They stretched down the length of his chest wrapping around his hips and legs sealing his frame inside. The cloth tendrils climbed up his waist with reaching fingers sliding over his back and shoulders before running down his arms to the wrist. When she removed her hand he was clothed.

“My thanks.” He said shyly.

“For my master as well.” His voice was still heavy with grief and it weighed visibly on his face.

“As to what form to give her…I will need time to think on it…. But I thank you for your aid.”

He bowed his head to the doppelganger and to the yellow haired sister sitting with the lavish boy at the bar.

“If you are to accept me as your ward and servant we must pass the magic of the collars to you. It requires the blood of the master, just a drop will do, and the blood of the servant, willingly given, to bind the magic to them. It requires the servant’s blood first.”

He extended a strong, open hand out to the Doppelganger with a gentle raise of his arm.

“If I may?”

[Count]

Cyquen exhaled mightily as Citrine took the trinket and used it to summon a small white sphere. He wasn't sure if the gift would have been accepted, but it seemed as though everyone was okay. Citrine offered him a drink, but then called it unstable and pulled it back. Cyquen smiled.

"A word of backstory, if you will," he said, noting the summon's use. "Summons come in two forms. Celestial summons, such as yours, look like machines, suns, moons, and other things. The other category of summons, Bestial summons, look like volcanoes, animals, plants, and other natural entities. A Bestial summoner and a Celestial summoner must make the greatest effort to get along or they will believe their summon to be the greatest, which invariably leads to conflict of a great and terrible form."

He bowed and walked away so that Citrine might serve some other patron, summoning up Stygian with a simple snap of his fingers. The tall, elegantly clad spirit shadowed the summoner's movements, hovering gently several inches above the ground.

[Raspeyer]

Amethyst's concern over the small creature handling such a precious item was lightly brushed away by an optimistic thought.

It'll be fine if we keep a close eye on it. If it drops it we can always dissemble it's little ethereal parts for something else.

Citrine sent over the mental image of a devious smile and leaned over to watch her new summon in action As her sister set the vial on the floor, the small android rolled up to it and lifted one of it's fin-like appendages. A beam of neon green particles spilled out over the blood sample, causing it to hover up a few inches before it vanished.

The gatherer rolled back and forth across the floor as if demonstrating its' mobility before moving around the counter to stand in front of Citrine. Kneeling down to the android's level, Citrine held out an open hand and waited for the vial to reappear. She smiled in delight as a small port opened at the top of the the magical creatures' head for its' contents to be released. The alchemist took it into her possession and patted her new servant.

“How useful! Now I won't have to waste my time gathering simple ingredients. I wonder how you'll do in the outside environments.” She grinned.

Returning to her full stature, Citrine extended her hand out and the summon vanished in a puff of smoke to the trinket that it resided in. She placed it into her sleeve for the time being, intending to test it's limits at a later date.

When the summoner excused himself from the bar, Citrine gave a slight bow. She placed her hand on the defective drink she'd conjured earlier. Pressing down on it, the mug appeared to sink through the counter top. The alchemist felt disappointed that she wouldn't be able to serve up one of her many drinks that she'd worked to perfect over the years.

Citrine's attention was drawn to Sar as he laid out the sad tale embedded into his third, previously unmentioned sword. When Amethyst sent up a kettle of hot chocolate, she took the opportunity to pour herself a small mug. To give it a more preferential taste, she called up clear bottle and added a generous portion of vodka to the mix.

“Care for something to dull the ache?” The yellow hair Djinn offered before sending the toxin away.

The vodka hung in the air, ready to serve at Sar's request. Stepping away from the counter with her cup in hand, Citrine went to the two shelves that had been drawn out and with a free hand easily glided them back into the walls. Knowing the servant couldn't whimsically decide on a new body for his master, the Kyonite twin brought out another option.

“if these those beings don't seem a suitable suitable fit, you could always go and bring us back a proper vessel.”

Citrine finished her small task and now stood over Vard and her sister's clone. She stared warily at the shifters' open hand, unsure of how to proceed. She'd never seen or even fathomed a servant race such as the Djinns owning their own servant nor did she like the idea of such a custom coming into existence.

What a strange phenomenon. I think we should take precaution in this matter, sis. He came as a dog so what's to say he couldn't be a spider as well?

Citrine moved to the tavern door and drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the knob. After a moment, she swung the door open to reveal a lush canvas of forestry. The zenith sun's rays penetrated through the leaves to highlight an array of brilliant greens and browns. Beyond the trees, a large stone-step temple majestically sat under a wispy azure sky.

The trinket was brought out from the alchemist's sleeve and throw out the door. The little robot silently sat idle, waiting for direction. Citrine stepped aside so that Vard could see her compromise.

“I am in need of a few sacred ingredients that I would rarely endanger myself to get. If you take on the task of escorting my new aid, there is a possibility that you may run into a vessel to your liking. In exchange for bringing back the items that I ask, I'm sure my sister and I could transfer your superior's soul for you.”

Citrine narrowed her pink eyes at the servant and put a veil of importance to her tone “You can not forget these two guidelines.”

The yellowed hair sister head up her index finger “Djinn can not create life nor can they take it. Please don't bring anyone into this tavern against their will” she held up the adjacent finger “And don't drag in any half eaten corpses. Anything in between is acceptable.”

Lowering her hand down to her hip, she openly spoke her reluctance to take in a servant “I would prefer not to start a revolution of Djinn being slave owners so if there is another way we can come to an agreement...” She trailed off and simply nodded as if approving of her own resolve.

[Delve]

Amethyst's doppelganger returned the torc back to Vard and closed the catalogue book in front of him. The moment the book closed the organic collection shelves returned to the wall panel clearing the lobby for Citrine as she made her way towards the entrance of the tavern. The catalogue dissappeared in a light puff of green smoke which was odorless as it dissipated in the air. It was a bit disappointing that Amethyst was unable to aid Vard in his inquiry, she thought about the second phase of Vard's proposed agreement and she felt it unnecessary.

"No, Vard. We will not bind our agreement with the torcs although your master preferred it that way I cannot do it. I simply accepted that you exchange your life to save your master's life. I never mentioned how it would be processed and I do thank you for your offer. However, you will be taken in as a worker not a slave--"

Amethyst's double turned to her sister as she read her thoughts, "Citrine do not think of him as slave you know very well that is absurd."

The doppelganger returned her attention to Vard, "You will earn your food, board, and the survival of your master's new form. As a worker in Ricochet you must follow any rules we set forth and you will be able to leave the fortress at will whenever you feel like taking a break. This agreement does come with a price once we place your master in her new form and if you ever break your promise your master will return to the vial around your neck upon breaching our agreement. Is that understood?"

Amethyst smiled warmly as she helped Vard stand on his feet still holding the torcs in his hands.

"My sister already has a task for you. When you are out there think of what other form your master would take." Amethyst grimaced at Citrine's comment of a half eaten corpse for a form, "Personally I would not like an undead form they do not smell good but if you happen to choose that I would not hold it against you. Until then I will wait for your return."

The doppelganger turned away from Vard and Citrine skipping towards her original. Her body began to fade as it reunited with her original form. The original Amethyst remained seated by the bar still holding the same expression with the exception of a momentary glow surrounding her body which faded with time.

[Wildsword]

Vard listened in solemn silence. The sister’s refusal of his ownership confused him. They still have agreed to save her. She still is safe. If you don’t fail. Not a servant? Free? The word was strange and filled him with a lingering whisper of unease. No. You still serve. But as worker, free to go when he pleased. Freedom. The thought was alien to him, an unknown stranger, whispering temptation. To change when I choose… to run under the sun under my own will.

The sweet smell of pine and rich earth whispered faintly on the wind caressing his nostrils with warm, invisible fingers. His blood grew light and the weight left his body as if his skin was full of feathers, taking flight. A familiar heat rose in his blood his true form begging to be set free from its cage of flesh. The gold glow of the sun splashed the interior of the tavern, making Citrine’s golden hair shimmer and making pools of gold in her piercing pink eyes. The words of his new masters…employers of his master’s new possible form stole the elation from him and the weight of guilt returned in one sharp instant. Do not forget your duty. You made a promise to her. When your duty is done you can think about you, until then… it is her, only her.

He took the torc back from Amethyst with a slight, submissive nod and cautious, wide green eyes. He felt the weight of the item in his hand and all the weight of this worries rested in his palm as Amethyst placed it there. All in your hands now Vard. Her future, your future, all in your hands. The realization that fate had made him the master of both his own life and hers made his head spin and his stomach tense. Hiding behind wild, stoic eyes he nodded to Amethyst.

“If that is my mistress' command.”

He placed the torcs back on his wrists and neck. Slowly and deliberately almost ritualistically. When he was finished he turned to Citrine with humble obedient eyes. He approached her slowly his gaze never leaving her pink eyes flashing with sunlight. He stopped before her near the open door, the thick lush green and still breathing earth of the forest tempting him, the light warm breeze whispering invitation.

“What would you have me collect mistress? I am honored to serve.”

[Sólrökr]

The vodka hovered over the glass of hot-chocolate set before him. Their condolences for his son's death seemed shallow, perhaps in the fact that his son had died more than eight millenniums past. Sar took a breath, and waved the vodka off. It swept back with the motion of his hand, and dissolved into the ether of the air as if it had never existed before. Magic thrived in this place, set away from the dimensions it resided in. Sar wondered to himself just where this place truly laid, and what world it filled. Dimensions, usually, weren't this small... but the possibility existed regardless. Pulling the chair out fully, he took his seat the way it should be, and pulled himself in. Slipping his hand into the handle, he let it enjoy the heat that poured from the exterior of the cup. "Where were we then," Sar mused rhetorically.

He nodded knowingly. "Ah, how I came about it," he closed his eyes, recalling back to the beginnings of his life, "Laevatein was a sword crafted by the legendary smith Völundr, though I'm unaware of the truth of that. Though it's possible, Völundr would have to be an immortal like myself, and I have yet to meet him. Other works attributed to him, mythical blades like Caladabolg, Curtana, Almace, Mimung... they surely are potent and real weapons, but none compare to Laevatein, and Laevatein is vastly older than each of them, so how he could create his strongest blade first, I do not know."

Sar readjusted himself in his seat, sliding the cup to the left slightly as he rested on that elbow, his recollection demanding comfort. "The sword was given to Freyr, the god of virility and the harvest within the native mythos, though I doubt he had anything to do with any harvests. The time that I met him though, he certainly enjoyed being virile.

"Before Freyr, I don't know if it made any journeys, but with Freyr it slew many Jötuhn. Perhaps it was foolish of him to relinquish the blade, in retrospect I don't know that he would have, but he offered it to the messenger whom sanctioned the meeting of him and his betrothed. A forbidden love of warring nations. Love makes men do things they would regret."

Sar sighed, wincing at his own reflections. "Perhaps I should have opened with this. In my native world, a land of gods and mortals, there was a divination by the Allfather himself, Odin. He saw that all paths led to an eventual war – one that would wipe out every species within it, gods both good and evil – a retribution of sorts that would end all things. Though he tried, he could not prevent it from happening, this Ragnarök, or Twilight of the Gods. His actions had merit, and he changed much, but nothing could stop it.

"He would have pleaded with Freyr to not give up his sword, because Odin knew it would be Laevatein that slew Freyr upon the eve of Ragnarök; but it mattered not, because Freyr would have died with his sword regardless. A catch twenty-two in its own way. In this way, things were futile, as if fate would not let even foreknowledge alter its course. What Odin could not see though was Surtr's seething hatred. Surtr was a god unlike the others. He hailed from a land of inferno, and he worked toward the ends of chaos. The gods warred, the humans warred, even I fought, but in my youth and naivety, left Surtr still breathing. With his final breath, he incinerated all things with Laevatein in hand as a catalyst to channel his burning vigor – like the prophecy foretold, but Odin's actions spared some, so it all was not for nothing.

"Since then it has been unused, roughly eight-thousand years, but it is an ethereal blade and therefore does not rust or frail. It is not innately evil, and it is not powerful itself, but as a catalyst it is unimaginable."

Sar ran his hand through his motley hair, considering his words from before. "That's about as concise as I can get it, I think. Will that fare?"

[Raspeyer]

Citrine reached down into the front of her dress and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. She unfolded it with what looked like great care and held it out to her new helping hand. The paper was bare but for some browning from age.

"Within the braided forest roots you'll see some amphibious creatures. The thorn-tailed newt."

When the name of the ingredient left Citrine's lush mouth, words began to appear on the parchment along with a small, detailed picture of what the ingredient looked like. As she continued on so did the words, only taking note of the most important information.

"From these creatures, I'll need only their tails. Carefully approach them and place a light finger on the base of their tail. The sense should spook them enough that they'll flee and leave their tail behind. Do this a dozen times and be careful not to crush the thorn."

The bit of paper now contained the first of her most dire ingredients. In black scrawled letters, thorn-tailed newt appeared and below it in smaller writing were the instructions to reach only for the tails. Just off to the side was an elongated looking frog with a barbed tail.

"Beyond the forestry, in the shadow of that temple lies a modest village. The people there grow mystic herbs on the graves of their dead. The inhabitant might not take to you but if you ask for Nato and tell her my name you shouldn't have to use force."

Added to the list were the words ethereal herb and the subtext simply saying to seek out Nato. The paper depicted the herb as simply three blades of leaves with a strange star coming out of the middle.

"Nato is a level headed person with a good heart who happens to owe me a favor. Ask if you can collect moss from the graves in the temple under my stead and you'll hopefully be granted passage. The temple is the resting place of past leaders, nobles and spiritualist. A special moss that only grows that temple is easily flaked off the tomb stones. Despite it's emptiness, it's heavily protected so please be careful. "

A picture of a strange idol appeared on the paper. A thick bird's head with a intricate head dress appeared next to the words soul-eater moss. Citrine's eye narrowed at the discrepancy on her paper. She had never known her lists to error from her wishes and it was foolish to think that it would start now.

With a dismissive clearing of her throat, Citrine cautioned "I don't know why the list is giving you such a strange picture but I trust you know what moss looks like. I honestly have never ventured into that temple myself, I only recently heard of this moss. I'm sure Nato will help guide you."

For a moment, Citrine had a thoughtful expression on her face as she recalled what the last of her demands were. "At the top of that stone temple is the nest of a holy bird. The native's call it Alom's Condor and it's of an extraordinary size and age. Even the slightest misstep and you'll easily be swallowed whole."

The parchment this time correctly illustrated a small wispy feather with a long sharp quill.

"Approach this great creature with empty hands. Don't look predator or pray and you will walk be able to walk freely. Think nothing but the most humblest of thoughts. If the avian accepts you then it will offer a gift. With the greatest manner, reject the gift and ask for only a simple down feather. No matter what the gift may be this is most important."

Citrine spread her arms wide in demonstration "The down is easily this big and a bit heavy. The quill could easily be used as a sword, no doubt"

The Djinn lowered her arms, placing one hand on her hip and the other pointing out the door. "That little creature will pick up and store all but the last ingredient for you. Make sure nothing happens to it and everything gets back here in good condition."

Crossing her arms, Citrine's gave Vard a warm smile. "I know I'm asking a lot of you so if you'd like to back down I understand. However, I feel that a vessel for your princess lies somewhere in this dimension.

[Delve]

Amethyst listened to Sar attentively taking mental notes of the sword as it was being catalogued she shared her thoughts with Citrine. The twin Kyanite sisters knew of every item in their collection kept within dimensional walls of Ricochet which was only accessible to them and anyone that was permitted entrance.

The feathered quill began to write on the page based on Sar's own words the black ink beautifully formed into calligraphy letters. The catalogue summarized that Laevatein was not crafted to be evil but as a catalyst to the wielder's alignment. Amethyst sighed in relief as she originally thought that the sword would require her own powers to subdue its true might. However, her original question of how Sar remained unaffected by the sword remained unanswered. The history of the sword was sufficient for the trade and all that was left to finalize the transaction was the sword itself.

"The sword, if you will?" Amethyst turned to Sar waiting for him to retrieve the sword from his possessions.

"Once bartering is complete I will give you a room key. With this room key you will go to the door at the top of the stairs located behind the wall of the bar. Before you open the door you will think of your desired room and it will be anything you wish. You can store anything you want in this room and you will be the only one to have access to it. My sister and I will not have access to this room without the key so be sure to secure it. You can come and go as you please from Ricochet until you check out and when you do--you will be required to return the key after securing your belongings. Additional items will need to be bartered if you desire to check-in again. Is that understood?"

[Sólrökr]

Sar reached behind himself, and with the flick of two fingers, snapped a clasp apart that had not been visible. With a tug, an ornate sword slid from behind him, previously shielded from view by the tufts of fur and melting ice. The hilt was golden, swirling around the sword's blade in an almost fire-like appeal with silver linings sweeping through the crevices, while the pommel dipped down to a jagged cacophony of metallic flames. The blade itself was sheathed by a basic, black-leather guard. Adjusting his grip as he brought it into view, he grabbed the haft of the blade and eyed it curiously for only a second, before yielding it to Amethyst. "May it be a treasure to you, instead of a burden."

Sar handed the blade to Amethyst by the choke of the sheath over the table, letting her grasp the hilt. The weapon was of average weight, despite its ornate appearance and heavy stock, and thus easily handled. She took Laevatein in hand simply, and with her other produced a key for Sar in return. With a tip of his head, though ratty and unkempt, he took it with modesty. "Thank you."

His eyes saw through Amethyst and focused on the stairs, the stretch of the room, angled behind her. His eyes fell to his hot chocolate, and to avoid discourtesy, he brought the warmed glass to his mouth and took a sip. Setting it down, he nodded in conclusion. "I think I shall take my leave, for now, then. I could use a shower and fresh clothing. Thank you, Matron, for your services."

Sar smiled at Amethyst as a patron does, eyes pulled closed loosely in a distant familiarity. He pulled the seat out from under him, cup still in hand, took a slight bow toward Amethyst, and again at Citrine, though she may not have noticed, and casually regathered his belongings at the table closer to the door from which he had come. Hefting the hides and heavier equipment over his shoulder, he made his way up the stairs.

Sar ran his free hand along the wall getting a feel for the wood, the oak wood flooring and walls were slick and neatly crafted, unhindered by normal workmanship – most likely magical in design and construction, if there was even a construction phase; until he came upon the door at the top of the staircase. The door was inordinate and simple, of same make and type as the walls and flooring, but with a frame, a general iron knob and keyhole. He examined it visually with curiosity, probing for otherworldly traits, amused by Amethyst's phrasing of what would lie within, juxtaposed with the gate of its threshold – full customizability framed by complete generality.

A thought of home passed through his mind, a type of longing, of homesickness, and it brought a sly twist to his mouth; but he shed it quickly, because he knew the room would take on that visage if he kept the thought fresh. He wanted something he didn't know, something unique. For a being to have lived more than eight-thousand years, most things were stale. He receded his mind, going to a place of growth and calm, a place of inner peace, some could call nirvana. In this way, he placed his hand on the door, the key in the lock, and opened it, wondering what would await him.

[Wildsword]

Vard watched with curious eyes and followed with a weary ear as the instructions filled both his senses. He watched the ink bleed and take shape into the images and words of his new mistress. She may not be pleased to hear me call her such. But that was the current way of things. The warm caress of the sun, tantalizing whisper of the breeze and the rich earthy perfume of the lush wilderness before him beckoned him forward. Eager has he was, he listened diligently until Citrine had finished her instruction a slight tease of challenge in her voice.

“I will do as milady commands.”

His nod was solemn and dutiful but he could not hide the eagerness in his flashing emerald eyes as they left Citrine and to the sprawling forest and task before him. The thought of Analba brought a sudden weight in his heart and a small flicker of anger at Citrine’s casual jape. Manners Vard, they’re your new masters after all. With an nearly invisible grimace he snuffed it out and brought his focus to the task before him it would do him good, his mind was a tangle of urgency excitement and pain, complicated and messy. He preferred things simple and clear but nothing was. Except for your task. He turned and nodded to Amethyst in a respectful bow.

“Milady.”

With that he turned on his heel and walked to the edge of the doorway of the tavern the warm kiss of the sun on his bare face and hands. A deep soothing warmth that gave him a comfort he had not felt in days. It lifted the weight from him the sun burning his soul pure of the pain. He looked back to Citrine from the other side of the doorway.

“By your leave?”

[Sólrökr]

With such limited perspective, it is hard to understand the mechanics of one's own subconscious mind. Perhaps this was the room's true nature, but more likely it was a literal interpretation of Sar's own mind. Its stark and bare nature painted the walls white, framing the boxed shape of the room with crisp, sharp edges. The room expanded in all directions as a single floor without separating walls, about a thousand square meters, and the ceilings hailed abnormally high; from a glance about fifteen. The door Sar entered through, still made of oak but from the room's side it was painted a similar white color, opened at the south-western corner of the room, and opposite of it, in the north-eastern end, was a small loft, held about halfway from the ground and ceiling, that most likely held his bed, and perhaps restroom, as it could not be anywhere else. The loft was connected by a ladder that fell from the opening of the walled loft, one of two autonomous entities within the room. Beneath it was, from a distance, what seemed to be a trunk. Perhaps for storage. There was no source of light, and yet everything was comfortably lit.

In the middle, of the great expanse of a room however, stood the only thing remarkably individual. Sar paused, taking it in from the doorway, scrutinizing it, unsure of what to make of it. Breaking his glance, he shut the door behind him, placed his half-empty cup on the floor, and began to disrobe the heavy furs and equipment, except for Sólrökr. The furs unraveled, the first torrent dropping to the floor soaking wet, still flush with unmelted snow, while the next few layers became increasingly less damp. After the fifth layer finally shed, and about four heavily filled bags with it, he could feel the heat amassed in his upper torso escape. It was pleasing, but it left him with a chill, despite the room being temperate. He turned to look behind him, not sure how he was going to unwrap his legs next, only to find a white chair behind him, camouflaged in its pure white skin. He nodded with a smile, and sat. Reaching into the furs and pelts that shielded his legs similarly, he thumbed open a clasp that was hidden beneath, unlocking a belt. Another clasp flipped open, and another, until a myriad of belts began to slip off of his legs from no longer being tightened. The furs followed easily.

Sar tucked the hides under the chair, totaling in weight to be about 70 pounds, give or take based on the amount of water that saturated them, and moved the leather-hide bags onto the chair itself, which could have easily held a similar amount of weight. Without them, Sar's figure slimmed down to match his neck. His cloths hugged him tightly, having been pressed so long, but were not naturally so, and certainly not as naturally wrinkled. He wore black, thick material pants, perhaps as thick as canvas, and they were heavily stitched. They offered protection from the cold, but also afforded about as much durability as hard-leather. On his torso, he wore a black, long sleeve shirt; thick and cross-stitched with a second material to conserve heat. He contrasted heavily with his new surroundings, and his rubious hair bit at the comparison with fervor that seemed to dye the air itself.

Again, a chill swept through him, now having lost all the pent heat from his lower body as well. He shook it off, enjoying the sensation, but he could no longer ignore the individuality that stood in the middle of the room. This entire time, though concentrated on removing his bindings, his mind's eye could not leave it. Something from it spoke, a harrowing voice of familiarity.

He strode forward, his boots still wet, to meet it. He needed to touch it, to examine it, to define it. An urge. Something he relished, and shunned - a cacophony of feelings.

It was brown. The kind of brown that resembles black, but speaks its truth upon examination of its grain. Made from, he had no idea what, Sar pressed his hand against it. It was cool, like the room – nothing unworldly about it. He slid his hand about its crevices, circling it with curious thought. It was a top-heavy piece, exploding upward from a rather conservative base. A circular base, in fact. Small and finite, like a thick disc. A thick disc, and then a break, and then the mass began. Swaths of material erupted from facets of the extended base, growing ever larger the higher the piece rose, like a swirl, with more jutting swaths stemming from the previous swaths, until it exploded above Sar's head. Beads of the material floated just above it, at the apex of its growth, eerily, in rescinding sizes, until it dissipated to nothing. He couldn't tell what the implication was, for shying into nothingness, nor what the rest of the piece meant.

But it nagged at him. It nagged at his subconscious. It begged for his meditation. To be self-actualized. Because it was his self, and his subconscious. They crafted it to be deciphered, like the individual cells of a being generating a message for the being itself. It was art. Art that the whole, devised for the self.

[Raspeyer]

Citrine gave a slight nod of her head to signal Vard that he was free to take his leave. Before he could start, however, she snapped her fingers and held out her palm. A small, oval shaped, honey colored gem laid in her hand.

"Keep this on you. If something dire should happen, call out my name and I'll appear to you."

The young Djinn smiled kindly, assuring that the shape-shifter would not lose his life during his quest. The little robotic summon gave a series of bleeps and made it's way into the depths of the forest.

"I guess that little guy will be leading the way." Citrine watched the bot and finished "Be safe and good luck."

[Sólrökr]

The human soul is organic. It grows, strengthened and stunted by environment, circumstance, and nourishment. Like most things living, it must be maintained, and for humans especially, as it is necessary for happiness and fulfillment. Like a tree, it grows at a constant, but gradual pace, dependent on a vast array of variances.

Consider though, that the tree is at the base of an infathomably deep well, with enough light to sustain it, but the growth of its trunk is restricted to a certain size. The tree will grow, and it will fill the well as time goes by, but throughout its life, it only rises upward. It will be marked by obstructions innate to the well, innate to its environment. Perhaps the well was not perfectly laid, like lives sometimes are, or perhaps a piece of rock juts from the wall, carving into the tree, forever scarring it, forcing it to grow around, narrow its path until the passage opens, or perhaps cease growing at all. Sometimes trauma such as this can be broken, or grown over and then fill in the missing space when able, or it can wither the soul, narrowing it for the rest of its days. These are all metaphors for life and mental health (for which, the soul is synonymous). The soul exists in such a way that life carves into the soul, limiting it more often than expanding it, as conditioning can only be undone. Through time and epiphany can these limitations be exposed, and the soul reach the true boundaries of the well, but never farther, and never over the top. This is the hard-line limitation of mortality. A limitation Sar had long since surpassed.

As sculptures are carved from a mass, reduced to a shape with meaning and, sometimes, purpose, Sar's soul reversed this process, having grown so large, the pressure from within slowly pushed upon the walls of the well, until the day that they gave beneath the force they could no longer contain. Like an eruption, his soul cut its way through rock and soil in swaths. Epiphanies no longer cleared the well, but cut into harder rock, limitations that were hard-wired into human instinct. Unraveling the building blocks of the psyche.

It represented his soul.

Finite at the base, as a child, simple and only as narrow as his world view would allow. It was a salute to the world in which he was born, followed by a break. A moment in time where his soul was doused, where a vast mass of iron was forced before the tree of his soul, stealing its nourishment and crushing its vitality. Death.

At the base of the sculpture, just after the end of the first thick disc, it seemed as though the piece floated. Perhaps it did, or perhaps the tenacity of the material was more than normal, or it held a specific magnetic property, but if the eyes squinted at just the right angle, it seemed as though a slim piece of the material connected the two discs. As if a needle pierced the iron mass. And from there, the soul continued, and exploded. A point in time he remembered, one that culminated in his acquisition of the sword Laevatein.

Sar's eyes drew vacant. He'd uncovered the meaning, but it gnawed at him in a way he recognized. It was a representation, but also a calling. His body was beckoning him to delve further, dig further, unravel the last few layers that stood before him. The last few epiphanies that would lead him, to he knew not what. Apprehensiveness knotted in his stomach, but it was a desire that he couldn't quench, and the anticipation started to build. He turned an eye to the loft, and with a nod made for the ladder. He'd shower, clean himself up, and begin meditation immediately.

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