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Twilight Glimmers; [Semp]
Topic Started: Jul 7 2015, 01:20 PM (321 Views)
Nherva
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Breathing in, then breathing out. Inhaling and exhaling with the flow of time and energy around him, Rurik felt himself slip into his meditative trance easily. He thought he'd have no need for such times of quiet and peace again once Murrine had come to him. He'd been wrong. Murrine had filled a torn void within him that he hadn't even realized was there, but he was still imperfect. He would never discard the imperfections that marred his soul, but shedding the layers of stress, worry, and other negative energies served to clear his mind and keep him at the top of his game...even if it bored the hell out of his dragon, who had no need for such things. Her mind was clear as far as she was concerned, but she'd never had to fight her own soul--to find a balance between being a complete animal and a civilized human being. She was what she was. She was a dragon. She knew her place, and whether she admitted it openly or not, her weaknesses and strengths.

"Are we reaaaalllly doing this again?" the Glass whined. Even though they'd just finished with a difficult day of training, she still had more energy to burn. Rurik might be on the downward slope for the night, but the Glass felt like she was just getting started. He ignored her, which she expected him to do now that he was too busy listening to the bugs and the birds and sounds of the stream flowing nearby. Nothing existed when he reached this point, nothing except whatever was in his head. "Well, while you pick apart your latest issues, I'm going hunting." She knew he heard her, but he wasn't listening. She'd be back before too long.

As evening flowed slowly into dusk, the sounds of the jungle began to change. Different insects, different birds, different animals, all of them awoke while others began to sleep. The shadows at the bottoms of the ancient trees deepened, blending more seamlessly with her already dark scales. The dark of those glossy scales was broken by lighter hues of cerulean, teal, azure, and violet, breaking up her inky shadow with patches of light that only further allowed her to blend in with her surroundings--all except for her ruby red eyes. She could close them and see if she wanted to, but she chose not to. Only when she got close to prey would she bother, switching completely to her heat-sensing pits to strike with pinpoint accuracy.

The Glass heard a familiar cawing and knew the Skadi had joined the hunt, though one of his own. He would not stray so far from her rider, and she felt he was fairly safe in the glade he had chosen. He went there often once he'd found it. They were only a few miles away from the Academy, a safe and easy flying distance. True Taints would be daft or stupid to get this close. The wildlife hadn't really ever been an issue...especially not now that a dragoness had hunted there on occasion. The other predators knew better.

Murrine folded her wings tightly against her serpentine body as she wove through the undergrowth, her many legs and large paws distributing her weight so well on the forest floor that she made hardly a sound as she slithered through. Even the leaves brushing against her smooth scales barely whispered with her passing. She was a shadow, only about hundred times more dangerous. Tuning in to the sounds around her, Murrine tried to locate something worth hunting. She wasn't terribly hungry, but she could eat, and it was better than waiting all night for her rider to finish whatever he was doing inside his head. Honing in on something, Murrine came to a somewhat startling discovery.

There was something in the jungle, but it wasn't just a prey animal. It was huge. Far too large to be even a bull bonasus. Curiosity was piqued, and she followed the sounds that had begun as wingbeats in the distance. In all the times she and Rurik had come here, she had not seen another dragon and she wondered who it was. It didn't occur to her that it would be a Taint so close to the Academy. Quietly, she slunk through the trees after the other dragon landed. She only lifted her head slightly to try and see them, otherwise she was just another shadow. Her surprise came, however, when in the waning light of the evening, she was able to see a familiar silhouette. She crept closer, until the unmistakable sheen of crimson and gold made itself known. Slit pupils shifted as she noticed something flash next to him, but it was gone before she could zero in on it. There was another flash, followed by another in a different location until the jungle was alive with flashing lights.

Like tiny winking stars, fireflies filled the shadowed jungle, illuminating Gloire where he rested for however long he planned to rest. It had been some time since Murrine had seen her sire, perhaps it was time she paid him another visit. The young female Glass stalked forward, silent as a whisper under the twinkling insects darting above her. He was alone, she could tell. There were no other heat signatures as strong as his or hers. She gave him a wide berth, circling in the brush until she was flanking his left. Like ink spilled over parchment, the Glass slinked into the clearing, her coils flowing behind her. "Good evening," she purred suddenly, hoping not to startle him too badly. Sneaking was such a second nature to her, that she hadn't even realized that he might not have known she was there until the last moment. "Fancy seeing you here. How's my dear ol' dad this evening?"
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A single, clear, ruby eye inspected the packed ceramic crate with no small amount of overbearing scrutiny. An assortment of delicately placed flasks and vials twinkled gentle light of the nearby hearth. They were perfectly formed, but such a description was never one an artist would use for their own projects. He was skilled, certainly, and despite his shortcomings he never failed to produce quality products. But were they really without fault? He didn’t think so. He never thought so.

After a few quiet moments, the dragon reluctantly relinquished rigid criticism. The red glass picked up his completed crate and lifted it somewhat off the floor. Newly-formed glassware clinked in tender, cheerful notes as they were transported into a heavy stone box for their final curing. The dragon closed the warming kiln with a careful tap before allowing himself to deflate from the day’s work. Old aches and pains began to creak and prod now that the mind was free to wander; just one reason why he hated to be apart from his projects. He needed a break regardless of how he felt. The Glass let loose a shallow sigh before beginning the uncomfortable process of removing himself from his alcove.

Ravenous and weary dragons and riders dissipated into the halls before too long, quieting the roaring hearths and banging hammers of the forge as the minutes passed. The ex-Taint stifled a groan as his haunches struggled to obey his command. Moments passed before the stiff joints warmed up to the idea of movement. He did not like leaving the comfort of his home. Mild immobility made assured that he didn’t have to the majority of the time. However, a very small Rosemary assured him that regular stretching would help him somehow.

The dying forge filled with the characteristic off-beat hobble of a once formidable Taint. Stiff limbs scraped hooked talons across the ground as his tail dragged behind. Pleasant heat still hung in the air when he stepped outside. The gentle, humid warmth was a welcome reprieve from the dry, ashen forge. Wings held only loosely against his flanks slowly unfurled, and with a paltry excuse for a hobbling leap, the Glass managed to throw himself airborne. It was not a pleasant experience by any means. His wing joints creaked with the strained effort, particularly the mangled right elbow. Still, it felt good to feel a current beneath him again. Winds warmed by the lingering summer sun carried him gently southbound.

He came to land a short time later in a familiar clearing. Disused muscles along his back and chest floor ached as he back-winged over the jungle canopy. They failed him a little prematurely; the Glass lost his rhythm some meters above the grassy hill and he fell at once, toppling down in a jarring, graceless pile. His jaws clamped down upon impact and he tasted blood in his mouth. One hindlimb snagged on the edge of his wing membrane like a bumbling hatchling. The dragon wheezed as the wind in his lungs was returned to him and, after a moment, tried to dislodge his foot with a weak pull.

“Oh, why do I even bother,” he muttered beneath his breath. With a second, stronger tug, his hindlimb was freed. The Glass pulled his legs up underneath him and let his enormous wings drape to the ground. Warmth radiated up from the heated soil. He laid his head down upon his forearms and sighed, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. He struggled against the rising urge to fall asleep; he needed it, quite desperately, but he wanted to wait for something first.

Disturbed by the incredibly large intrusion, it was a few quiet minutes before the fireflies ventured into the open again. Little yellow-green beacons flickered into view along the peripheries of the clearing. Slowly, they became more adventurous and began to dance further out toward the Glass. Magic, perhaps, drew their faintly buzzing wings toward the dragon. A small number of them alighted upon his scales and illuminated the glittering pigment beneath. He remained as still as stone as they went about their business, save the deep, regular whoosh of his lungs.

He hadn’t realized he’d nearly fallen asleep until a curious voice interjected his peace. The elder Glass did startle, though not as severely as he had during their first encounter. Clouded eyes snapped open. He jerked upright, stiff tail and neck balking to face her with muddled attention. However, upon recognizing the intruder, he deflated like a popped balloon. “O-oh, Murrine. Good evening,” he greeted weakly. He hoped she hadn’t seen his deplorable gut reaction. The scales along his body flattened back into what little alignment they had as he mustered up the volume to speak to her again. “I am fine. I just needed some fresh air.”

The Glass shook his head and examined Murrine with fresh eyes. Even though he knew that she was no longer a hatchling, because of course she would mature in the span of two years, it was a little different seeing his own child at her full growth. His heart skipped a beat in his chest. She was no longer a tiny hatchling. The time had passed in the blink of an eye. Her proclivity for mischief, however, still seemed to run strong. He couldn’t blame her for that. She was his daughter, after all.

He tore his eyes away after realizing he’d openly been staring at her without comment. It wasn’t a good habit to get into. People didn’t seem to appreciate it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What are you doing here?” His remaining good eye quickly scanned the underbrush behind his daughter for an accompanying figure. “You are not on ill terms with your bonded, are you?”
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The much younger Glass lifted her frills in curious response to the other's reaction to her presence. She expected she might surprise him, after all that had been her intent, but she saw no reason to draw attention to her notice. Her own frills dropped in tandem with his own scales leveling out against his hide once more when he realized she was no threat to him. "Ah you and Rurik both," she snickered at his explanation for needing some fresh air, coiling into a comfortable heap of black scale against the trees at the edge of his chosen clearing. That was always the excuse her rider used to coax her to fly him out this far every once in awhile. She really didn't mind it, but he seemed convinced that she needed some sort of a ruse to get her out of her piles of sand at the end of the day of training.

In a way, though, she was glad she'd left her rider behind. He always seemed to get in conflict with himself whenever he saw or talked about Gloire. Murrine didn't know why Rurik got so caught up about things in his own head and she didn't rightly care except when he seemed genuinely unhappy. As far as her sire went, however, she knew it had something to do with him being an ex-Taint, though she still couldn't quite wrap her head around why that mattered so much. Sometimes things were much too complex for their own good, she thought. It took a moment before she realized Gloire was staring at her. He really was surprised to see her. Then again, the last time he'd seen her she was easily half her current size, perhaps he was just adjusting to that.

Then he spoke again. "Oh, just waiting on Rurik." She told him, "Nah, he's just a stick in the mud," she looked around as though someone might be listening, then giggled, "But don't tell him I said that." She had not left him far behind, and if he needed her, Murrine had no doubt Skadi would show up to herd her back. "I got bored so I decided to do a little hunting. Then I heard you. Of course, I didn't know it was you at first...but it's good to see you again." The young female shifted uncomfortably. She realized if she wanted to see either her mother or father, she knew where to find them and they knew that. But her lack of visitation wasn't a lack of wanting to see them. "I am sorry I haven't gotten to the forges lately. We train all the time..." It sounded kind of lame when she said it, but it was true. "Now that we're Fangs, the training never seems to stop."

Rurik had put in for a position with Soleil wing and they'd been inducted as Fangs, the special operations type. They were still green as could be, however, and still had yet to be truly tested in the field. Rurik refused to fail on their first assignment, so he insisted upon training and practicing every day until they knew exactly what they would be set to doing in the future. Murrine would never be a quick flying strike-fighter, but she excelled in stealth and her rider in subterfuge. That was where they would shine, once they had the opportunity to prove themselves. "How have you been? Still hard at work at those forges I presume?" She watched him and the fireflies winking around him in the darkness. She had no idea how old Gloire was, or even the things he'd seen over the course of his lifetime. All she had were stories, half of them little more than rumors. She didn't think it was her business to ask, though she worried most after her father.

Anastesia didn't carry the stigma Gloire did, nor did she hobble quite so much. Gloire was a veteran of war and it was clear in his scars, but Murrine only cared that they pained him, not where they were from. As far as she knew, it seemed the forges were his solace and sanctum. If she heard that he'd stopped going there, she might then be truly worried.
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As Murrine began to speak, the Glass found his body deflating of it's own accord. His scales settled with a soft twinkling, his wings drooped back into the soil. His posture relaxed and he turned his upper body, slightly, to face her better and to hear what she had to say. He listened to the dark dragoness as she talked about herself. A number of things coursed through his mind; incredulity at how big she'd grown; relief at her relationship with her rider; pride for her accomplishments and promotion to Fang; but, perhaps most prominently, shock that she carried on with such a normal conversation. It was almost as if she didn't know, or, at least, didn't care about who he was. Whatever the reason, he was quietly grateful for it.

He missed it. Being treated like a person, that was.

It wasn't often that people spoke to him; at least, with any great deal of interest. Guttural grunts, barked orders, and hissed curses comprised the vernacular of everyday smiths. Talk was usually strained when directed toward him. "Take this," "make that," "are you done," and "tend the coals" were the most intimate of scant queries. He didn't blame them, though. His reputation preceded him, and not in a good way.

Lost to internal monologuing, he hadn't realized that his eyes had glazed over and he'd taken on a vacant expression until she turned the conversation toward him. "I am...alright," he replied. He shifted, pulling his tail out from underneath him. His wings shuffled uncomfortably. "I am kept busy. There's never a shortage of work, but I find it soothing. It gives me something to do, and the more I do, the less I...worry." He paused, then quickly attempted to correct himself, "Not about anything important. It's just an old habit." He didn't want her to guess. It came out a little more forced than he would have liked, but he hoped his sudden enthusiasm wasn't too suspicious. Maybe. Maybe not. She was a perceptive one.

The Glass blinked as a firefly decided to land upon the bridge of his nose. The clouded right eye failed to focus on the flickering yellow-green light, but the left did, lending him a sort of cross-eyed expression. He was quiet for a moment. The small insect's antennae wiggled without fear. Eventually, it wandered off and climbed his remaining horn. "My apologies," he said, a little sheepishly. "I have a fondness for these creatures." He looked back toward his daughter, and then remembered something.

"I have a surprise for you." The Glass began to raise himself to his feet. His limbs were not terribly cooperative, but they weren't on most days. His left arm wavered as weight was placed upon it. It held. "I know this may sound strange, but I have had something for you for a while now. I've left it in that direction." The red Glass nodded toward forest path behind him. A series of hills rose some distance in the northerly direction beyond it. "Would you care to join me? You don't have to come...I-I can just get it, but it might take me a little while. I'm not as swift as I used to be."
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Murrine squinted her ruby eyes at Gloire when he said 'worry'. Whatever could he worry about? She wondered. The younger Glass decided it best to leave it alone, then she noticed his gaze wandering toward the glowing insects floating around them, their tiny pulses of light turning the forest clearing into a field of stars. "They are very pretty. I have never seen this many in one place before." Murrine admitted. Normally, at this point of Rurik's meditation in the wild, she would have fallen asleep somewhere. She always missed the light show the little insects put on this time of year.

The young Glass's frills rose at his next comment. "For me?" It was unexpected, and a flash of guilt gave her pause. Gloire had not known he would meet her tonight. She hadn't even known she'd see him. That probably meant that whatever he had for her, it was something he'd had for some time. He turned toward the path and Murrine started forward. Then she heard Rurik's voice sternly in her mind. He would be telling her to think twice about going with the elder Glass on an ambiguous comment that he had something for her. For Rurik, the statement would have been bait and he didn't trust her sire, she knew.

But Murrine had never seen Gloire hurt a fly. Obviously her mother had trusted him enough, and he'd never done anything bad in the Academy to her knowledge. Ex-Taint was just a word to her. Without knowing the true scope of the things Gloire had done in the name of the Dark Lord Nidhogg, it would remain just a word to her. She trusted him.

"I can come with you. I'm sure you could use my company." She chuckled lightly. "I am in no hurry." She started moving forward again, uncoiling her length from its resting position. If Rurik asked her where she'd been, he might be disappointed, perhaps angry for fear of losing her, but she could simply remind him how much training they had done lately. She would also remind him that Gloire was a much older and much slower dragon thanks to his injuries and it would be absurd to think she couldn't protect herself if he tried to hurt her. Not that that would actually happen. Her daddy loved her, and she loved him. "Lead on."
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Something in his chest constricted. He wasn't sure which emotion prompted the involuntary reaction, but it was clear enough that what she'd said had had a profound effect on him. He looked down at Murrine and blinked away an inconvenient haze in his remaining good eye. "Oh," he began. He didn't really know how to respond to her unconditional affection.

It was a long moment before he realized he'd gone quite silent, and a long, awkward pause pervaded the small clearing. The Glass deflated upon the release of a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Hot steam flared from his nostrils, scattering the fireflies that still lingered on his muzzle. He looked toward the forest behind him, and then back at Murrine. With the grace of a kicked puppy, he winced, and then said, "My apologies. But…very well. If you'd like to come along, I suppose you could."

The Glass began to limp toward the northern end of the clearing. "I never used to pay attention to them," he said. He glanced at the departing swarm of fireflies with an expression that might have been read as wistful, but the smile he bore didn't quite reach his eyes. He didn't remember everything from the past twenty years. Some memories persisted as he sleep and were so frighteningly vivid that he often woke with the taste of ash in his mouth. Others were hazy, like an afterimage if he stared too long into a fire. He did, however, remember enough of his Tainted life to know that he hadn't cared to stop and watch tiny, blinking insects.

“Some people in the eastern provinces believe that they are restless spirits of the dead. It was thought to be an ill omen if you happened across a number of them.” He quickly added, “But it’s just a coincidence. I think it’s far more likely that they are attracted to magic.”

The Glass hobbled along into the forest. The path he followed was quite old, but lacked the trampled pattern of a route well-used. His earlier stiffness eased the longer he remained upright and moving. Humid heat warmed his joints and eventually, gradually, stepping over roots grew less tiresome. "Yes, I do have a gift for you," he said. He didn't really want to prematurely spoil what he had for her now, even if her excitement was infectious. He bit the inside of his cheek and carried on. It required a bit of an explanation, and as he thought about it, it might have held more meaning in the context of it's location.

He had little trouble finding his destination. Despite the passage of years, his feet still recalled the frequent pilgrimage made into the heart of the rainforest. Muscle memory guided him northeast. It would have taken twenty minutes to fly to where he was headed. He hazarded nervous glances toward Murrine every so often. While he didn’t mind taking the trip on foot, he was quite painfully slow. He hoped she didn’t mind.

Eventually, he found his voice again. "I apologize for the length of this trip. I'm really not in the shape I used to be." His tongue felt dry, sluggish. Small talk wasn't something he'd had much practice with. Fumbling for something to say, he added, "It has been a long time since I visited this place with someone other than myself. It is nice. Thank you for humoring me with your company."

It was nearly dark by the time they finally reached the sound of crashing water. A swift, cold river carved a wide, high-walled ravine through the dense jungle, eroding the bedrock beneath the plush soil over years and years of persistent coaxing. Vines draped down the sides, reaching, stretching for purchase in footholds and cracks.

"It's just down the river there," he announced quietly. After stiffly unfurling his wings, the Glass gently pushed off from the ledge and glided down to the opposite riverbank. Worn pebbles kneaded his toepads when he landed. The physical sensation brought back a host of suppressed memories. His vision clouded. He tried to shake it off before his daughter had the chance to see, but he wasn't sure if he was entirely successful. He turned without explanation and continued east along the river’s edge and led his daughter toward a pile of rubble in the distance.

The dragon stopped beside one of the larger boulders butted up against the exposed ravine wall. It was rough, matte; unlikely to have come from the polished riverbed, but too large for him to have lifted on his own. The surface that faced them was etched with a series of long, thin scars. Lines of a pale blue pigment marred the center of each score, much like the trail a nail might make on emery board. This remnant, however, glittered faintly in the twilight sun.

The Glass tried to look elsewhere. With a weary huff, he bent to wedge his shoulder against the lower curve. His talons scraped against the hard gravel as he tried to push it out of his way. When the boulder refused to budge, he grudgingly shifted his stance and pushed again with the strength in his hind limbs. The mangled joint of the right stifle was not cooperative and, after a moment of straining, faltered beneath him. He buckled slightly. The boulder rocked in its comfortable ditch, but all that effort produced little more than a mild crunch of disturbed rubble beneath it.

His head swiveled toward Murrine with a low bob. “Would you mind lending me your assistance? I can normally move this on my own, but I seem to have spent my energy for today.”
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As Gloire moved through the clearing, disturbing a cloud of sparkling insects, Murrine blinked serenely at the scene. The way the flashing bugs reflected off her sire's glittering scales was entrancing, but his words kept her grounded. "I think you are probably right." Murrine agreed. She hadn't really been one to consider restless spirits and neither had her rider. To Rurik, there was magic, then there was hocus pocus. He often referred to an old friend of his as a purveyor of hocus pocus. Bonded to a Gravity dragon just made the other man's 'magic' more believable to the gullible masses. It was all bogus. But dragons had real magic, magic like the mysterious hybrids had magic--though it was far less potent and limited by the school of their element. Even so, Murrine had overheard talk of how Glass dragons' magic was not limited to spewing hot, liquid glass. It had more subtle properties. Creative ones.

The darker Glass followed Gloire through the brush. Her curiosity made it difficult to keep pace and not dash ahead. But getting ahead would be pointless since she didn't know where she was going. The elder Glass moved slowly through the jungle. Murrine could tell his measured pace was age and battle scars from skirmishes past. She wanted to ask him about them. Her glassy fins lowered sadly and she snapped her maw shut before she could ask. Rurik told her over and over again that she didn't want to travel that road, lest she learn things about her beloved sire that would color her opinion. Rurik preferred she live in ignorance and Murrine was both curious and afraid of the truth. While she was sure nothing could change her opinion about her father, she was more concerned that she might anger him by asking. It was one of the few times her solicitous nature was held in check. Gloire's feelings mattered to her.

"I don't mind at all!" Murrine said when he apologized for the length of the journey. She was young and strong and the trip so far to her had felt quite short. "Go at whatever pace seems fit for you. I haven't taken a walk like this in a long while." In truth, she flew pretty much everywhere she needed to go. Otherwise, she buried herself in her nest of sand in her quarters and slept. Rurik also wasn't much one for walks unless he was on patrol. If he went anywhere, it was to sit and meditate at length about whatever in the world was bothering him any given day. Murrine grimaced to herself. If her rider would just talk to her when she asked what was wrong, he wouldn't have to sit in silence with his eyes shut and not sleeping for hours on end. Surely there would be something she could do or say that would be helpful.

When they reached the river, Murrine followed. A quick snap of her wings and a short leap later, she was on the opposite shore with Gloire. All six limbs touched down and she folded her wings against her lengthy spine. She caught the elder Glass's pause and worried that he might have hurt himself on the landing. "Are you all right? If you need to you can tell me where it is and I...might be able to find it. I don't want you to push yourself harder than you should," she told him, mistaking his pause for being purely physical. He seemed determined to continue, however, and shook it off. She followed quickly, like a puppy on the heels of its treat-bearing owner. She watched him as he stopped before the etched stones. The area was nondescript and not out of the ordinary for passerby, but upon closer inspection, she could see the small etchings in the rocks.

He shoved his shoulder against one large boulder and she watched, waiting for it to move. When it did not, he asked for her help. Murrin bobbed her head, "Oh, of course!" She said, sidling up to him and trying to find a good place to push her own weight that would help. "Ready?" She asked, waiting for his command so they could push together.
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The Glass pressed the wide, flat portion of his palms against the boulder. “I’m fine,” he said. Although visibly drained, with wings drooping and voice beginning to adopt a slight wheeze, he failed to pull away from the stone. “I’ll be fine. Ready? One, two, three—"

The boulder shifted against the combined weight of two dragons. It rolled to the side with the strained crunch of gravel, exposing a dark crevasse cut into the rock. The Glass had to bend to duck inside. Scales snagged against the opening with a shrill squeak and clinked to the ground. He hissed, but wiggled himself free and pressed into the entrance. It wasn’t a particularly long tunnel, but man, did it feel like was. Bending down was already hard enough – the added strain of arthritic joints did not grant any favors. Fifty feet into the tunnel, it began to widen.

Cobwebbed crystal lights (not unlike the torches that filled the Academy) dimly illuminated a room that would have been comfortable for one dragon. The floor was horrendously scuffed, matte, and coated in a thick layer of dust. A flat stone bench jutted out of from the rock wall on left side of the chamber. Scorch marks pockmarked the rough surface. Buckets of sand had at one point been hastily shoved beneath the table. A series of long, thin iron spokes and tools rested in a haphazard pile on the opposite end. Shelves had been cut into the far wall and stuffed with too many materials to count, though the majority seemed to be wood, metal filings, strips of brass, leather, and bowls of crushed, pigmented glass. The gentle curve of dusty, red-tinged spheres poked through some of the shelves, though it was hard to see if they were filled without brushing them off. The wall along the right was split like the entrance had been. Ash, charcoal, and glittering debris flowed from the crude, long-dead forge.

He began to fret around the cramped cavern. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had much time to clean it up. But I was thinking – if you took after me, what would I have really wanted at your age?” He lifted a cast iron cauldron from a shelf and began to toss clutter inside. Parchment, hides, shards of glass, and more than a handful of tiny red scales. “My youth was cut a bit short, but I found solace in my own place to work as I pleased. It's crude, a bit smaller than I remembered, and very much out of use, but it still has it's use. I think."

He set the cauldron down by the forge and scooted back to the bench to pick up another. He pointed back toward the entrance without looking. "You can take water from the river out there to cool your glass and instruments. The forge will need to heat up for a few days before it's really usable. But, uh, don't worry about the smoke when it first starts up. My sister helped me clear a small tunnel up from this crack to the cliff above. You might have to let it burn out, first. Who knows what's climbed in there since I last used it. There's---uh, oh, where did I put it?" The dragon placed the cauldron back down and reared up to shove his nose into one of the higher shelves. Putting perhaps too much effort into it, or forgetting his current height, his head smashed into the ceiling and dislodged a fine powder of dust across his back. He huffed, shook off the mild discomfort, and continued to rummage. "Ah-," he said, reaching into the back. "Here, there are stacks of old parchments used to smoothly shape glass. You'll need to wet them before you start, though. First knows how easily these would burst aflame."

He pulled them out and placed them on the workbench. They were hastily scrawled and crumpled parchment, the sort a writer tosses out in droves in a fit of planning, were yellowed and brittle. He pushed the stack aside, revealing several sets of crude plans outlined in charcoal. "Uh," he said. "Well, some of these are actually still good. Some of my notes survived the moths. You're welcome to these, too, if you really want them. If not, you could use them for shaping. It doesn't matter to me.

"And these--," he said. Almost jumping from one thing to the next, the Glass dove into one of the buckets beneath the workbench and wrenched forth an enormous handful of multicolored scales. Violets, reds, orange, silver, blue, greens, opalescent whites, and blacks. Some were striped, some flecked with dichroic pigments. Most were uniform, but few appeared to be the exact same size. None appeared to have faded, despite the length of time they had spent sitting in the bottom of a bucket. "These are excellent for adding color to your work," he said, bending to show Murrine. "I used to collect them around the Academy. The east used to be full of our breed, you wouldn't have believed it. There were as many of us then as there are Sonics nowadays. I don't know if their original owners of these are still alive. They probably aren't, given the state of things, but you'd do them justice if you made use of them. Better utilized in a new work than sitting in this dusty old cavern."

“And this--my gift to you, Murrine,” he said, voice lifting. He gently put the scales back into their deep bucket and hobbled over toward the far wall. "I had the Academy cartographers make this for my rider. She never saw fit to use it," he said. The Glass plucked a thick, rolled tube of parchment from one of the shelves and offered it to Murrine. Tied around the center was a leather strip with a tiny, ruby-red scale set in the face of the clasp. He explained, “This is a map to find your way back here, should you need it.”
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