Cydnar
03-25-10, 08:33 AM
It was dark, more so than the jet set in the sceptre of a midnight king, and more silent than the great expanse of nothingness above. Cydnar moved without disturbing the senses through the streets, a flicker of deep purple and cowled form in the slumbering city of Donnalaich. His reflection flickered around him in a hundred repeated forms, a mirage of elven guilt emblazoned into the many faces of the great crystalline shards that stood intermittently between all the buildings of the faery folk.
The events of the past few weeks had been a blur of non-chalant committal to a cause he had quickly abandoned, eager to return to the mundane reality of his workshop and servitude to the wealthy. He was one of the few Hummel to live on the surface, offering the geomagnetic boons each of his kin received to construct new and more elaborate structures across the surface of Dheathain, little towers to the glory of the unseen. He had been just as quick to abandon any hope of recognition here, but how quickly that had changed in the bridling war with the necromancer Xem'Zund.
He pulled into a dimly lit stable on the corner of two converging residential streets and stood on the verge, his boots half in the mud and half on the sawdust and straw flock that covered the workshop. A small gnome and two dwarves were converged around the central table, discussing in low-toned voices an object of an alien nature before them. Cydnar coughed politely, all teeth and no guile.
The squattest of the fellows looked over his shoulder, recognised him and waved him over, "if you be wantin' owt go through to the shop, the master will take your order Cydnarrrrr. We be discussin' a new type of-" he looked to his colleague, who finished his sentence, "a perambulator," they both chuckled at the thought, and didn't seem to notice the elf slip through the side door into the better presented shop, which was adorned with shelves of various intricate shapes and sizes, a counter, and a man he very much wished to see.
"Excuse me," he began, stooping through the doorway and adjusting himself into a humble stance. He'd browsed the wares many times to know the thing he was searching for would be in a more secure location, "I am looking for nill-water, or the possibility of en-ruing the blades I carry to arms with me, I hear from your workmen that this is the place to enquire," he unsheathed Freya slowly, and presented the haematite blade vertically, with both hands for inspection. "I seek to emblazon this weapon with an inscription, and perhaps some small can-trip; depending on ability and of course, price." The thick accent covered the attempt at simple common, and the serpent stitched into his robes told the shop-keep all he might need to know of his customer.
The events of the past few weeks had been a blur of non-chalant committal to a cause he had quickly abandoned, eager to return to the mundane reality of his workshop and servitude to the wealthy. He was one of the few Hummel to live on the surface, offering the geomagnetic boons each of his kin received to construct new and more elaborate structures across the surface of Dheathain, little towers to the glory of the unseen. He had been just as quick to abandon any hope of recognition here, but how quickly that had changed in the bridling war with the necromancer Xem'Zund.
He pulled into a dimly lit stable on the corner of two converging residential streets and stood on the verge, his boots half in the mud and half on the sawdust and straw flock that covered the workshop. A small gnome and two dwarves were converged around the central table, discussing in low-toned voices an object of an alien nature before them. Cydnar coughed politely, all teeth and no guile.
The squattest of the fellows looked over his shoulder, recognised him and waved him over, "if you be wantin' owt go through to the shop, the master will take your order Cydnarrrrr. We be discussin' a new type of-" he looked to his colleague, who finished his sentence, "a perambulator," they both chuckled at the thought, and didn't seem to notice the elf slip through the side door into the better presented shop, which was adorned with shelves of various intricate shapes and sizes, a counter, and a man he very much wished to see.
"Excuse me," he began, stooping through the doorway and adjusting himself into a humble stance. He'd browsed the wares many times to know the thing he was searching for would be in a more secure location, "I am looking for nill-water, or the possibility of en-ruing the blades I carry to arms with me, I hear from your workmen that this is the place to enquire," he unsheathed Freya slowly, and presented the haematite blade vertically, with both hands for inspection. "I seek to emblazon this weapon with an inscription, and perhaps some small can-trip; depending on ability and of course, price." The thick accent covered the attempt at simple common, and the serpent stitched into his robes told the shop-keep all he might need to know of his customer.