Brick By Brick (Closed)

[Leopold]

Prologue

“I distinctly remember you telling me ‘she’d never reply.’”

Leopold shot Duffy Brandybuck a glance.

“You misheard me. I said I didn’t expect her to reply.”

The two men returned to their respective tomes. Leopold found his place in Economics for Ye New Age, and Duffy comfort in a well-annotated copy of Lysander’s Flock. It was telling of the duo to be reading, with too much self-praise, books they had penned themselves.

“But she has…,” Duffy said with a sigh. He was jittery, and when he was jittery, he could not let things lie. He closed his book with a thud, and set it onto the ottoman on which he rested his bloodied shin. “Luned Bleddyn, a woman that has twice near gotten me killed, has replied.”

The incidents (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25330-The-Prayer-(Closed)&highlight=The+Prayer) the bard referred to had become a thorn in Leopold’s side. Not only did Duffy never shut up about it, his wife, one Ruby Winchester, gloated about the triumph (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25662-C***-Drunk-Love-(Closed)&highlight=The+Prayer) repeatedly. In truth, Luned had little to do with it. Duffy was not one to blame only himself for his misfortunates, which may cost a scribe and a tiefling dear in the days to come.

“We don’t know if it’s good news or bad news.” Leopold tossed his book away. Instead of falling with a crash, it vanished through a black portal. “For all we know, she could have agreed to meet us to give us a stern talking to.” He had been at the wrong end of the journalist’s righteous indignation enough times to know he did not wish to go through it ever again.

“What did you even say to her?”

Leopold let his head flop back against the cushioned armchair. He stared up at the ornate ceiling wistfully. They sat in the reading room for what seemed like hours, waiting with increasing impatience for the scribe to arrive. He picked out the detail in the fresco, and admired the fading mix of blue skies and eggshell fields. He had no inclination that the scenes on the roof were childhood memories of the library’s founder.

“I…,” he fell silent. He threw his mind back to the gates of Adelman (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24370-A-Tale-In-Shrink-(Closed)&highlight=tale+in+shrink), the city of giants. After they had so happily reunited Gurdon with a place to call home, they had talked. Their incorrigible and belittling back and forth all the way from Salvar fell to one side. They had, and the merchant would never admit it, started to get along. “I asked her if she would bring her spirit to help more people in need. I asked her to help with a venture I was starting.”

Duffy chuckled. “You told her fuck all, didn’t you?”

Leopold pursed his lips. He had simply rephrased his intentions into terms the scribe would appreciate. Had he begun to discuss organisational structures and economic utilisation of hedge funds, and charity to augment social stability, she would have trekked back to Salvar out of stubborn indifference.

“I told Luned Bleddyn all she needed to know to get us exactly where we are.”

Duffy ran a finger over his piercings, musing on their location. Of late, he had found himself placated, solemn, and quite. The grandiose, fire-lit surroundings were not helping him to be his usual, outgoing, and jovial self. He was very much on Leopold’s battleground, and he did not want to try to fight the merchant at his own game.

“Okay, I’m sorry I made light of it. Tell me, though…do you think she’ll buy into this save the world malarkey?” Duffy had already agreed to help, but even he had to question his motives for doing so.

The bard’s accent returned to its Scara Braen twang. That, in Leopold’s estimation, meant he would get no more lip from the upstart. He narrowed his gaze, turned to his left, where the fire roared thirty feet away, and snorted.

“I don’t think Luned Bleddyn could resist putting her quill to paper on this one. I’m not just offering her the chance to change the world Duffy…,” the firelight danced in his eyes. His sunken features, born of long hours and little sleep, flickered with moving shadows. He turned to look at his companion. “I’m offering her the change to help rebuild it.”

Duffy raised an eyebrow, ruffled his fringe, and then sank into his chair with his arms folded across his lap.

“Brick by brick?” he chuckled light-hearted.

Leopold nodded. That was precisely the sentiment he hoped to invoke. The cavernous reading room began to heat up as the sun set over the horizon of Underwood. The trees, for a few precious minutes, danced with gold and amber. The dome of the Underwood library (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24396-Levity-Logistics-and-Grace-(Closed)&highlight=Levity%2C+logistics%2C+and+grace), Regis Daili’s pride and joy, shone like a diamond, and then fell once more into dull, rusted obscurity. Though the wonder in the sleepy town died and fell to sleep, possibility lived on in the stacks and the stairwells of time’s chronicle.

[Leopold]

Brick By Brick (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xLaeOrDmWQ4)


http://images.wookmark.com/141795_library-fantasy-art-books-artwork-4000x2500-wallpaper_www.wall321.com_39.jpg


Closed to Luned Bleddyn (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25706).

Set following the events of Tale in Shrink (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24370-A-Tale-In-Shrink-(Closed)&highlight=tale+in+shrink), Wandering Isle (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25225-The-Wandering-Isle&highlight=tale+in+shrink), and the incident in Radasanth (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25294-Dread-Sovereign-(Closed)&highlight=dread+sovereign).

[Luned]

"What if I told you there would be an opportunity waiting upon your return to Corone –– a chance to help more poor souls like Gurdon?"

Luned could still see the frosty froth of condensed breath escape Leopold Winchester's mustachioed mouth as he made the proposition. She'd tucked it away into a time capsule left buried after the stress, trauma, and teary relief of the eventful months that followed. It seemed an age ago, that caravan across the tundra to deliver a lost giant to Adelman. Had it really only been a year?

The scribe whom Leopold met back in Berevar had since transformed from plucky journalist to solemn survivor. It showed in the prowl of her stride and the scars which ran from her jawline to collarbone, adding a previously uncharacteristic fierceness to her otherwise prim exterior. Her finely tailored blouse and gray-blue skirt, belled over dark stockinged knees, certainly didn't betray the coarsely mended person within.

"You're early," she observed as she stepped through the threshold of the reading room, drawing the pale wool capelet from around her shoulders. The crackling warmth of the room put flame in her dark hair and eased the rosy chill from her freckled cheeks. "Good to see you again, Mr. Winchester." He had changed in appearance since they last met –– younger, thinner, and tragically lacking that perfectly manicured facial hair which her memories had forged into some sort of trademark. But, still, it was undoubtedly him. With a courteous smile, Luned draped her cape over one arm and offered the other in greeting.

The addressed man rose from his chair, a notion followed with less enthusiasm by his colleague. "It's a pleasure as always, miss," he returned the smile, grasping Luned's hand in his and patting it with the other. "May I introduce my associate, the illustrious Mr. Duffy Brandybuck?" He redirected her attention to the less jolly occupant of the room, the youthful man's lips curled to hide what grudges he bore through an expert guise of pleasantry.

She nodded and extended her hand a second time. "Are you also in on this strange business, Mr. Brandybuck?"

[Leopold]

Duffy took Luned’s hand with trepidation. He had pent up so much anger and frustration at her over the previous months; he had been entirely unprepared for her beauty and charisma.

“I…,” he fumbled. He shook her hand, but without any effort behind it, which Luned noticed. “I am, yes.”

Leopold rolled his eyes.

“Forgive him Luned. He can slay Thayne and capsulate thousands with his ‘theatrical talent’, but Mr Brandybuck’s greatest weakness is the humble woman.” He would not say it, but that peculiar weakness was the product of being a eunuch for five centuries.

Luned frowned. She retreated. She turned to Leopold.

“So you invite me along, of all the women in the world?”

Leopold chuckled. “Well, yes, I thought we’d only do with the best of the best.”

“I am right here, you know?” Duffy clucked. He sat, folded his arms across his chest, and returned his damaged leg to the by now bloodied and battered ottoman. It had been antique once, before the bard had arrived and claimed the best seat in the reading room as his own.

“Yes, yes, we’re well aware.” Leopold said dryly. He gestured to the seat to his right, which faced the fire, and waited for the self-titled survivor to sit.

She sat, crossed one leg over the other, and bounced her foot lightly. She folded her arms politely across her chest, and watched the fire burn away the last of the pine logs that gave it fuel and function. Luned felt awkward. She was not sure if the exchange between the two was normal, or her arrival had unveiled long hidden tension between the pair.

“It really is good to see you again, I must say.” Leopold smiled. “Forgive me for sending a second letter. After so much time had transpired, I simply couldn’t help myself.” He could not have made his desperation clearer, save for getting down on his knees and begging her to come. “Welcome, too, to the Underwood Library.” He gestured wide.

Luned finally found herself mesmerised by their surroundings. She had spent a great deal of time in similar places. Books became her second home. The dusty stacks, weighed down by literary opus, were her sanctuary. The fresco on the ceilings were nothing compared to the gold leaf moulding on the columns, the slate surround of the fireplace, and the lacquered wood which set each section of shelves apart. The reading room littered with seats, arranged in small squares for study groups and academic head banging, and the great fireplace was ample enough to heat the cavernous space on its own.

“I’ve had the pleasure,” she dropped her gaze from the ceiling, “of meeting Mr Daili on occasion.” It was customary for librarians of renown to visit other libraries as part of their responsibilities. The grey haired whispery man had visited her mentor, for what purpose she could not tell, several times over previous years. “Will he be joining us?”

Duffy interrupted. “Mr Daili is not one for crowds.”

Leopold nodded in agreement. “What we shall discuss this evening concerns Regis, by all means…,” he paused, to muse on his thoughts. “But, the man is one to support, not take direct action. He has allowed us to utilise the library for our purpose, and to access the wealth of knowledge contained within.” He pointed a grubby finger at the book near Duffy.

“One of my own,” the bard smiled. “Every book you could want is here. Every tome of knowledge and comedy is on these stacks, and the stacks in the rooms beyond.”

Luned smiled. “A perfect setting, though I didn't expect two strangers,” she placed her cloak across her lap. “But given what Bleddyn has told me about you,” she stared at Leopold with curiosity, “I'll give your transformation the benefit of the doubt, Mr Winchester. But…why have you asked me here?” As ever, Luned cut to the chase. In that brief moment, Duffy forgot he was supposed to loathe her for ever name-dropping Aurelianus Drak’Shal, and took a shine to her. He even managed to find his voice.

“Leopold and I have started to see a like-minded gathering of people come together…” He turned to Leopold. Leopold smiled.

With a demure grin, and with considerably less ample girth than on previous meetings, he slapped his stomach. “We want to rebuild Salvar.”

“We want to settle political strife in Corone,” the bard continued. Their lines rehearsed, as you would expect from a thespian and a theocrat.

“We want you to be part of Chronicle.”

[Luned]

With admirable poise and impregnable shrewdness, Luned took her sweet time to consider the proposition. How funny, she mused, to receive invitation into a vigilante organization bearing the name of the journal she circulated in Radasanth. For a long moment, the only sound in the great reading room was the hoarse breath of the fire.

The offer was tempting –– too tempting. She forced herself to pull back, take a deep breath, and gather all necessary information before betraying her enthusiasm for such a concept.

"What would you expect of me and my participation in this Chronicle?" Luned remained in her relaxed position by the fire, arms crossed lightly over her chest, blue eyes drifting critically between the two men.

Leopold rubbed his palms together. "We are rather in need of a secretary of sorts, and you do have such nice handwriting," he teased. The joke rolled over the young scribe, inciting little more than the sardonic lift of a brow. He sighed. "You would be an agent of change, Luned," the man offered in earnest. "Important, necessary change. There are millions of Gurdons out there––"

"I've grown out of Gurdons," Luned interrupted, something deflating in her posture as the weight of the world settled over her shoulders. Now, more than ever, she realized what a burden knowledge could be. "Did you know of the living conditions in Ettermire? The chemicals in the drinking water mutate their children, disfigure them. They suffer and die without hope of help, and it's only getting worse."

Duffy thought he might have caught a shudder run through her as she recollected such a sight. "Exactly," he said, leaning forward as much as his poor leg allowed. "That is what makes Chronicle right for you, and you right for it."

She frowned, reluctant. Pledging herself to these causes would, in a way, make her responsible for them, and the prospect of that kind of pressure nearly made her go gray at the thought. "Who else is involved?"

"Our ranks excel in quality, if not quantity," Leopold explained. "Thus far, we have Otto, a most talented blacksmith and exceedingly competent head of security; Regis, here, though as more of a resource than coconspirator; and, last but not least," he added, "we needed a firecracker of sorts for our work in Salvar. That acquaintance of yours fit the bill quite nicely."

Suddenly the vast room filled with a tension so palpable that it all but smothered its inhabitants –– Luned gathered the man in question even without mention of a name. Her expression transformed, face paled, eyes narrowed. "Are you insane?" Luned hissed, fingertips white as they assaulted the arms of her chair.

Taken aback by her reaction, Leopold cleared his throat and settled back into his own seat, allowing himself a moment to breathe. Duffy, on the other hand, felt a level of smug validation for his own trauma at the hands of one particularly notorious half demon.

"I can't," Luned shook her head, coming to her senses. "He's an anarchist. Any relationship you forge is nothing more than a joke to him, a means to an end –– to which, I guarantee, you will not be proud for contributing. Do you realize that he is the precise wrongness in the world that you allegedly endeavor to vanquish?" As she spoke, she stood, pulling her capelet back around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you. This obviously isn't the organization I thought it was."

[Leopold]

With Luned’s response, Duffy felt his admiration wane. He remembered, all too quickly, that her reaction was exactly as his had been. She spoke the truth, the unequivocal truth.

“You’ve no need to worry about the tiefling, Luned.”

Luned turned to Duffy. Her discomfort visible, her sigh audible, she stared expectant for further clarification.

“Let us just say that his anarchy can exist outside of Chronicle.” Any good employer allowed their ranks to do as they pleasured outside of work time. “Mrs Winchester has seen to his fealty.” He corrected himself. “Sorry, I mean to his compliance.” He did not wish to imply that anybody owed Chronicle anything, nor Chronicle a debt to its people.

“You really have no idea.”

Duffy made to interject, but Luned made her leave. Before the light in the room could respond to her motion, her cloak clasped once more across her shoulders, and her boots once more clicked over the marble tiles towards the door.

“Luned Bleddyn.”

For some reason, Luned stopped. She had gotten barely fifteen feet away from the chair before Leopold’s voice called her to heel. She clenched her fists, huffed, and turned on contemptuous thermals.

“I said I am not working with him.” She bore holes in Leopold’s forehead. “I sa-”

“-id this organisation is not what I thought it was.” Leopold shot upright. “I heard you well enough.” He walked around the low table that stood equidistant between their chairs, and stopped by the side of Luned’s now vacant wingback. He gestured to it. “Please, have the courtesy to hear me out. I invited you hear to speak of Chronicle, not the political affirmations of its current membership.”

Only the crackle of embers and logs in the hearth prevented the library from falling into complete silence. The red will-o-wisps shot up the chimney and caused light shows and firestorms unseen in the dusty funnel.

“His 'political affirmations' aren't the problem –– they're only the red flag, the tip of the iceberg,” she sighed. “But if you're so certain your poor choice of ally is inconsequential to my involvement with this ordeal, I'm all ears. How, pray tell?”

“Because change and revolution comes only through anarchy.” Duffy finally stood, with much discomfort, and turned to Luned. He bowed politely. “When I say I have more reason to hate…no, to loathe that ubiquitous wastrel, heed my words – his comeuppance will come in the years to come.” He hoped that comeuppance involved thumbscrews, long hot spikes, and the sorts of tortuous delights that pleased the torturer, and not the plane walker.

Luned hesitated. Something about Leopold both intrigued and frustrated her…Duffy, on the other hand, was another level of irritation. He had a weird way about him, one that made it hard for her both to resist, and to object. In truth, she was curious about what Aurelianus had done to the cripple.

“Five minutes…,” she erred.

Leopold wasted no time in lurching forwards. “Let’s vacate this room; it is hardly appropriate for the gravity of the situation.” With a lanky step, he advanced towards the distant archway on the north wall. The entrance they had taken stood to the east, and lead out into the foyer, and the muddy lanes of Underwood. “I know just the place.”

As Leopold and Luned made to depart, Duffy clicked his fingers. A black cane appeared literally from nowhere, sparkled white, and fell naturally into his right hand’s grip. With a grit of his teeth, and a trickle of blood falling in his wake, he scuttled after them, two heavy hobnails and a steel click against worn and aged marble.

"If you're taking us to the business studies section again I swear I'll crack our ribs Leopold!" he heckled after them.

[Luned]

Irritated and disheartened, Luned followed. Accustomed to offering an arm to Bleddyn to ease his own ailing legs, she resisted doing the same for Duffy, aware of how condescending such a gesture would seem. But even with that assurance, each step he took pained her empathetic nerves, and she purposely walked a step ahead as not to notice the trail of blood behind them. She was skeptical that the man had more reason than her to distrust Aurelius, but the last thing she wanted to do was lose herself in a contest of who wronged whom to the most traumatizing degree. Instead, she settled for silent, reluctant curiosity, and hoped he didn't notice. Something about him didn't motivate her to give him the satisfaction of that.

The trio passed through the foyer and into a courtyard, flora wilted and sleeping under the chilly autumn ground. Without the sun to coddle the breeze, it nipped at Luned's nose and ears. For a moment her mind wandered; would tonight bring the first frost of the season? Skeletal shrubbery lined the walls, their leaves crisp and rustling as they danced in eddies at their feet, and before Luned knew it, they were inside again.

This hall, unlike the other, did not pass unnoticed in the peripherals of her preoccupation. Massive bay windows, washed indigo from twilight, each contained small libraries of their own. This left the embrace of the grand space open for its centerpiece: a glittering, glowing orb, nearly as wide as Luned was tall, perched and swirling atop a marble base. Its shifting, multicolored light dazzled across the polished floors and played off the spines of the thousands of tome, blinking eyes on perpetual watch.

The scribe hesitated as she took it all in, fully aware that Leopold might have thought to play dirty in their negotiation. At the same time, something manifested her chest, an anxiety which set her hair on end. The strange sensation inspired her to deflect to humor, her voice small and echoing in the grand chamber. "Are you attempting to seduce me to your cause with shiny toys, Mr. Winchester?"

[Leopold]

“Oh please, Luned…,” Leopold winked at the scribe. “I’m happily married.” He clapped, and the door out into the courtyard slammed shut.

By the time Luned’s disgust faded, Duffy caught up. He stood behind the duo, a little beleaguered, and entirely ready for their well-rehearsed sales pitch to continue. His pallid skin, marl eyes, and lanky hair shone the spectrum of a rainbow in the light of the glowing orb at the centre of the hall.

“So he likes to tell himself,” the bard chuckled. He found just enough pleasure in the retort to bite through the pain. Though blood was running freely from his wound, like all things in life, he fought through it. It was part of his curse. It was part of his burden. Soon enough, should she agree, Luned Bleddyn would come to know what that felt like. Unless she already did, and once again, Duffy had under estimated Leopold’s trust in others.

“This is not a mere toy, Luned.” Leopold began to circle the orrery clockwise. His obviously too big overcoat danced with grey and gold threads. His eyes, sunken still from the long hours of his depression and isolation, began to show just a little colour. “Look into the maelstrom of light.” He appeared on the far side, and pointed to one particular section that swirled inside the glistening dust.

Luned gave him the benefit of the doubt and took a step closer. Duffy did too, though he faked his interest.

“What am I looking at?” she enquired.

For a moment, the hall felt mundane and trite. Regis Daili’s choice in interior decoration notwithstanding, it appeared lifeless and dull. Abandoned, half-read books mottled the shelves and bay window reading lounges. Rickety ladders, left leant against the walls rattled with frustration at months without use. At the northern end of the corridor, the large stairway remained cold and echoic.

The moment Leopold spoke, everything changed.

“This is a wellspring of the Tap.”

Luned blinked.

“The Tap?” Leopold could not be certain if her question was born of interest, or uncertainty. Luned grew increasingly anxious at the turn of events. There was an uncertainty to the passing of every second, and a deep echo in her chest as something not quite there seethed and writhed at the orb's presence.

Something about the source of magic in the world, and the entire calamity that had followed in the pursuit of its power’s wake was common knowledge. Leopold assumed Luned was privy to that collection of myth, hearsay, and fable. Duffy circled the Orrery anti-clockwise. He passed Leopold, nodding politely with male insight. When he re-appeared on the far side, he stood equidistant between Leopold and Luned, forming a triangle around the dais and its ocular wonder.

“Here…in Underwood.” Luned forgot about her need to understand Duffy’s rivalry with the tiefling. She forgot about the cold jaunt to Berevar. She even managed to put aside the trip into the maddening, salt strewn world of the wandering isle. She stood face to face with something entirely more frustrating. A supposed impossibility.

“There are a handful of places in the world where the Tap can still seep out. This is one. Another lies in Berevar, in the Ice Henge.” Leopold paused, to check Luned’s reaction was not drifting too near to outright disbelief.

“Tell us what you know about the Tap, Luned. Tell us what you would do if you could utilise it, not for war, and power, and chaos like the Forgotten Ones…” Duffy ran a finger behind his ear, to pull aside his fringe, and tried to come across as sympathetic to her surprise. He could hear her mind trying to make sense of it all. It was a sound like gears grinding. He heard that sound every waking moment of his agonisingly long life.

“But for the good of the common man,” Leopold finished the grand speech, arms spread wide, puckered grin half-arsed, and tattered military garb given life and spectacle in the Basque of the very thing that had undone most of the communities they were now trying to help.

[Luned]

Something happened then, a tangible field of static building up and outward from the very center of her being. It rolled off Luned in waves, prickling their skin and crackling in their ears; invisible as it was, Duffy and Leopold had no doubt in their minds that something entirely unexpected was occurring.

"Tell you what I know?" Luned repeated as she stepped closer to the orrery, her hands reaching for it. Their grasp did not speak of want, but of a strange compassion. Where her skin met the source of light, it shone white, stark against the ever shifting aurora. "It lived, once." She gazed into it, as if seeing something quite different than the others who had looked before her; she peered deeply, through the tracks of time and ages of creation, as if gazing into another person's eyes. She sought a glimpse of its soul and found nothing but a void. "But now it's just a dead thing."

The scribe recognized the sadness in her voice not as her own, but belonging to the entity she carried within her. She drew away from the orrery, hands dropping to her sides, and allowed herself a deep breath. The buildup of magic around her did not retreat; it embraced her, giving lift to her hair and brightness to her stormy eyes that was unsettlingly inhuman.

Her hosts offered one another equally baffled glances, unsure what to make of her unique response to their absurd question. To Luned, and whatever unseen passenger she bore within her, the Tap was not simply a source of power for the advantage of Althanas' creatures. It was a being of unimaginable consequence, comatose after millennia of abuse. The melancholy of it all was nearly unbearable.

"I would not, will not use the Tap," she continued, soft voice powerful in the dusky silence of the great hall. Her eyes still remained on the captivating pulse of the orrery, but nevertheless, she seemed more herself again. "I will use what I already have." A hand drifted to her chest and she pressed her palm against it, as if keeping something from escaping. "Salvar will no longer bleed, Radasanth will see its freedom, Ettermire's children will grow. I won't waste ambition on arbitrary concepts like justice; it cannot prevail because it does not exist. What the world needs, and what I will bring, is balance." She blinked, then again, then finally drew her gaze away from the window and to the men before her. "And I'm going to do that with or without Chronicle and your Tap."

[Leopold]

“What better solution that to make all that change, to bring balance, than with friends?”

Duffy looked at Leopold, as though to suggest his sentiment was unnecessary. The bard had seen enough of the world to know that Luned was hurtling through a cavalcade of emotions neither of them could hope to understand. At least, not now. Perhaps when he was at war, and the very heavens fought against him, he might have reached a consensus with the scribe. All he felt now was pity, and a dash of envy.

“Not to mention,” Brandybuck erred, “you won’t have to use the Tap.”

Duffy doubted Luned could, even if she wanted to. Only five beings in the history of the world, the ages of civilisation, had managed to survive more than a hair’s breadth with the essence of the Thayne coursing through their bodies.

“Consider it an elephant in the room, if you would?”

The merchant and the bard began circling the orrery once more. They swung wide of Luned, who remained armoured, or perhaps concerned about the scintillating sphere. The click of cane on carpet, and the sound of well-worn boots ruffling barely pile added a strange, rhombic ambiance to the room.

“What do you want with it?” she asked, after a long, awkward pause. She pulled away from its aura, and found herself, once more, entirely Luned Bleddyn. She looked at Leopold first, and then Duffy, turning with a fluster to keep an eye on both as they continued their strange patrol.

“Duffy and I are…linked to the Tap,” Leopold hesitated to speak further. He was surprised she was taking everything so well. The last time he had tried to explain what the glowing sphere was to someone mortal, he found himself exiled from Ettermire and forbidden to mention the whole affair.

“We are the Tap, in a strange sort of way.” Duffy stopped circling the orrery. He stood to Luned’s right, cane to his front, both hands firmly embracing the silver tip. He reflected on the woman it reminded him of, and found strength in the same cold incivility she had shown him decades ago. “I am a part of one of the Forgotten Ones, who sundered the world in this ‘essences’ name.”

At that juncture, at the end of their rehearsal’s limit, Leopold appeared to Luned’s left hand side. He, with less charisma than his wife’s best friend, leant into the aqua and jade swirl. The moment his face washed clean of sickness by the Tap’s swirl, miniature depictions of history’s greatest theatrical triumphs formed on his cheeks.

“I am an Old God,” Leopold said. His voice echoed through the orrery, and reformed on the far side with a hushed tone. He stepped away, his features still incandescent with raw possibility.

The hallway seethed with tension born of possibility, as opposed to aggression.

“You are both immortal?” she enquired. It was almost too ironic to consider. It certainly explained why Leopold had a new form, and why Duffy and his ilk appeared in books stretching back centuries, not calendar years.

“And as such,” Leopold hand waved the question, “when we say we have Althanas’ best interests at heart,” he smiled, “we mean it.”

“We speak for no sense of justice, Luned.” Duffy had never spoken a truer word. “We don’t care for politics, religion, or ideology. The Tap, and the Thayne, are our masters no longer. Chronicle is an idea, one which aims to right all the wrongs of our forefathers and to make sure it never…,” he trailed off. Something caught his eye in the tapestry of yesteryear that danced through the patterns of stars of the stage. He saw himself, for just a brief moment, and it astounded him.

“To make sure it never happens again…” Leopold wrinkled his lips, disgruntled at Duffy’s easily distracted nature. “We want to destroy the Tap…or at the very least, make sure it remains…as you put it so elegantly, ‘a dead thing.’”

From the look on Luned’s face, Leopold swore he was finally turning her around to the idea.

[Luned]

Luned pursed her lips, staring at the orrery again for one long moment before returning her gaze to Duffy. She despised them both a little for their theatrics, being one for straight talk, herself... but there were important stipulations to make. "He can't know," she said, glancing to Leopold. "I request that you seriously consider what error you've made in recruiting Aurelius, but I trust he'll make it clear enough on his own before long. Until then, he will not know I am involved. Can you promise that?"

Leopold considered her demand. It was a valid one, but it would cause problems he didn't have the faith he could solve down the line. "Aurelianus Drak'shal will be a name on our lips, but not a fire in our hearths, you have my word."

Duffy chuckled. "If he so much as steps foot in the castle, me and Ruby will do a little number on his entire chronology." His malefic grin did little to ease Leopold's anxiety. The merchant frowned.

"Castle?"

Her question earned a smile from the elder man. "We have a headquarters of sorts, and I believe it is time we schedule an occasion for Otto and yourself to pay a visit. It serves as a base of operations, but also as a refuge," he explained, clasping his hands neatly at his waist. "It has its quirks, to which you shall be introduced, but it is a homely sort of place and I believe you will like it quite well."

She glanced between the men –– her colleagues, apparently –– and suddenly felt quite self-conscious. "And to think I thought I'd had my fill of haphazard ventures," she lamented. When she looked down, she wondered if her face appeared as sickly as the emerald light's reflection on her pale skin. What had she gotten herself into, now?

"At least the position comes with a housewarming gift," Leopold added with an enigmatic grin.

At the scribe's inquisitive glance, Duffy deflected. "You'll see."

Luned conjured a wistful smile and adjusted the clasp on her cape, pulling the lavender wool tightly around her shoulders. "I trust you'll be in touch, then?"

"Surely," Leopold winked. "Quite soon. Clear your schedule, young lady, for we have great work ahead of us all."

A reminder of what this commitment added on top of the daily maintenance of the library made the scribe's head spin, and she could've swooned as the stress returned. It was most certainly time to hire some help. "Take care, then, and I'll look forward to it. It was a pleasure to meet you, Duffy."

He returned her smile most cordially, as thespians are so skilled at, but in their last shared glance, an unspoken treaty formed between them: the next time they met, they'd talk. "Safe home, Miss Bleddyn."

After a warm handshake, Luned settled her hood over her hair and stepped out into the chilly courtyard; the men remained silent behind her until the door closed. Night had truly fallen, and the scribe walked slowly to let her eyes adjust as she stepped through the leaves and yellowed grass. They crunched underfoot, and as she drew further away from the orrery, the ache in her chest returned. At first she thought it was sadness again, but as it laid itself at the mercy of her fast beating heart, she truly recognized it for what it was: fear. She shrugged it off as not belonging to her, choosing to ignore the possibility that perhaps the sensation was shared between herself and the entity she hosted. Perhaps they'd synced and truly understood each other, if even for just a few meager seconds: the anxieties of Carcosa's immortal nothingness, and Luned's painfully human and improbable wish to transcend.

The scribe donned the sparkling darkness as a mantle and then, without a trace, she vanished homeward.

[Mordelain]

Workshop complete (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25827-Brick-By-Brick-Workshop).

Mr Winchester receives 676 experience and 100 gold.

Luned receives 728 experience and 150 gold.

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.