Legend of Ransera

It was strange to walk the halls of Tavárinoikos, and called different things. In his youth, he had been Cenítë, the lowest of the apprentices. Upon his return with Torin, in acknowledgement of how far he had come in the time since he had left, they had called him Essendë, a higher rank of apprentice. Now it depended on who was speaking to him. Most of the alchemists and other arcanists called him Master, for he had earned it. Most of the artificers only afforded him the highest rank of apprentice.

As a scrivener, he knew that words mattered. Some semantics were only minor, but words shaped thoughts and thoughts shaped the aether. When they called him different things, they changed him in different ways.

In the workshop, though, all was quiet and he was alone with his work. There weren't even a great many spirits in the workshop itself; they were gently nudged away so they wouldn't accidentally shift circumstances or flows of aether when delicate processes were underway.

The silence was golden.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called. If his peace was disturbed, he didn't sigh about it. That was just the nature of peace: it was a soap bubble that popped.

Looking up from his own delicate work—delicate clockwork, in fact—he looked rather silly. It was unlikely the Princess Akantha, who came in along with one of the master artificers, would like his hat. It was a series of straps, really, that bound a complicated array of lenses in front of his eyes so he could magnify tiny things.

Just now, it merely made him look as though he were a bug, blue eyes huge as he blinked.

"You have a royal visitor, apprentice," the woman said.

While Sivan stood and bowed, fumbling the magnifying optics off of his head, which only made his golden hair messy, the master asked, "Would you like a sitting room prepared, ma'am? With tea or other refreshments."

Akantha knew the drill, of course. She could have a conversation wherever she wished, but if she wished to be comfortable while she did it, that would be arranged.

"As you wish, ma'am." The artificer bowed deftly and saw herself out. There was no outward indication of it, nor was it bubbling near the surface where it could be easily sembled, but many of the makers of the workshop were of mixed feelings about Sivan and, by extension, Torin Kilvin.

Sivan had been, by the estimation of one of the makers who remembered him when he first entered the workshop, as sort of a charity case: a muddy blooded young elf whose magical education had been less formal than most of their apprentices. Why he had been the one the Master had elected to make his final apprentice and take gallivanting around the continent rather than secure his legacy before death was anyone's guess, but Sivan certainly hadn't deserved it by anyone else's standards.

Then he returned, his artificing only half-mastered, having half-mastered alchemy with a tutelary dragon for saints' sake. While he had been perfectly respectful and dutiful, some of the alchemists had ended up learning from him as they put him through his paces and they saw the elegance with which a blue dragon created in the alembic.

Then, there had been his insight that led to him recovering precious workable mithril, saving the workshop a literal fortune. Then, there were the commissions coming for apprentices like him and like Torin, from foreign envoys and from royal princesses.

The makers were gracious, but they were not without envy. They were also circumspect, at least when a princess was nearby.

Sivan set the spectacle set carefully aside and tried to rake his hair back into a semblance of order with his fingers, lightly greased from his clockwork.

"Your Royal Highness," he greeted. "Thank you for coming. Ah, I completed a masterwork for the alchemists, but haven't had a moment to rest before turning my hand back toward artificing. But that is not a complaint; I am blessed. The Work is long. I hope you are also well. This must be a busy few months for you and your family."

When he saw her attention focus on his work, he made a silent request of a light spirit, carved a sigil out of the aether with his bare hands, and between his scrivening and the spirit's collaboration, he made a sort of incorporeal lens through which she could see the minute work magnified into sharp relief.

"No magic yet," he informed her, "but my old master said the best makers did as much of the mundane work themselves, the better to understand what they wrought."

Sivan nodded in agreement. The Princess was wise.

"Oh, this..." He allowed her to look through the magnifying effect he had created with the help of the light elemental. "...this is a prototype. The idea of a perpetual motion machine is theoretically impossible. I am attempting to make a more efficient sort of thing as an engine for a golem. The less energy lost to the frictions of reality, the easier it will be for them to maintain a steady output of power, at least within the bounds of their structure."

He didn't go into minute detail. Her question was answered and if she asked for more detail, he would give it, but he also didn't know how much she knew about functional clockwork and didn't want to either condescend or assume she knew more than she did and make her feel ignorant.

Etiquette for one of a lower class was always more fraught. Kindness was a virtue espoused by the elite, but espousing an idea didn't always mean they practiced it.

"Oh, that experiment went well and the client was quite happy, as was Kalor." She had flipped a switch, it seemed, and would have to either let his clockwork run down or interrupt. "I taught the elemental how to work the clockwork body, and by all accounts, he enjoys it. Sometimes it's his more physical avatar on this plane, other times it's a home where he can safely rest. In a similar experiment, a made a compact with a dying phycaal whose spring was drying up. They wanted a chance to see more of the world without being bound to one place, and so they elected to accept my invitation and are now bound to a runeforged trident for the Lord Envoy from the Neptori. They ought to see some travel together and aid each other. I don't know that it will become a regular sort of creation, but..."

Oh, no, she had smoothly interjected her desire.

Sivan paused to consider it.

"Oh..." He reached for his notebook and began to scribble furiously, and likely it would be indecipherable to anyone but him as he was trying to also maintain respectful eye contact.

"Well, I am certain we can figure something out. I have crafted plenty of aerial automata. Finding the proper spirit to inhabit the thing will likely be the greater challenge for me. Not that any spirit wouldn't be happy to serve Your Royal Majesty," he bowed again, "but they can be temperamental and there are limitations to what they are capable of. An air elemental, of course, would be the easiest to train to fly even if it never had wings of its own..."

Before he could exhale a cloud of words, he took a breath and asked, stylus poised.

"Could you tell me more about what you would like, aesthetically, functionally, and such?"

Sivan nodded. All of the extant Dragon Houses had claimed the Phoenix Throne at one point or another if their histories were to be believed, but that was not something he was going to point out to a Sol'Eilran princess. It wasn't something he would remark upon in general. Sometimes speaking a thing made people think one had an ulterior motive for saying it, and the last thing he wanted was to be seen as seditious.

While Silfanore hadn't always been kind to him, there were quite a few unknowable variables that would come if one of the other Dragon Houses took the royal throne. A Sol'Valen ruled by a monarch from Inokova didn't sound too terrible; Makers would certainly be even more revered. But if Aerion became the Crown City, would all his works be turned toward a war machine he hoped was never needed...?

None of these thoughts flew up into his surface thoughts, however. He was attentive to her words, wanting to catch as much nuance as he could.

"Would Your Majesty have tasks for this spirit or would its purpose be to mimic a tiny phoenix like a pet?"

There was no derision in his words; he was merely attempting to get a clearer picture of what she wanted the armor-clad spirit to do so he could ensure it was possible either by the nature of the spirit, the capabilities worked into the golem body, or a combination thereof.

It was important to understand the 'ask' before ideating how to answer.

Athalia had wanted a sort of pet or companion, but one she could teach and one whose fiery nature she could use. That reminded him: he needed to send a spirit to Solunarium to see how Kalor was doing. Hilana had intimated that all was well, but that had been a season and a half ago.

He also needed to see how her summoning was progressing, but those were thoughts for another time.

He focused on Akantha and her royal commission.

Sivan nodded. None of this sounded terribly difficult, though it would require time and effort, to be sure.

If she was seen with a golem with a spirit indwelt rather than a proper core, it would only be a matter of time before other artificers were collaborating with summoners to copy the technique. Perhaps others already had; he just hadn't seen them.

While Exael hadn't immediately become his aidolon, he had preferred to remain incorporeal most of the time. Perhaps he would have been more comfortable animating a golem body, or perhaps not, but it had been one of the inspirations for the work.

"Then, I would suggest we focus first upon the golem body, tailoring it to your desires, and then I can find a spirit of suitable temperament who would enjoy having a corporeal body to play in. Then, I can either broker a deal between you and the spirit or, if you do not wish to have a personal bond with it, I can arrange something more open-ended. In most cases, so long as you feed them aether and treat them well, they will be content."

As for plushies, his eyes widened a bit and he shook his head slightly.

"I have not tried my hand at them, no," he admitted. "Most of my work has been in metal. My master found I had a talent for clockwork and focused my studies there."

An animated stuffed toy seemed like it would wear out quickly, too, but he supposed a princess had the wherewithal to spend coin on its maintenance. He just didn't want to admit that his greatest creations were farming automata who worked alongside the villagers in Torin's valley.

Silfanore had its gardens, but most of the agriculture of the nation occurred far from the cities. Of course, nothing was ever too far with so many Travelers and so many stable portals, but still.

"And I would not suggest using any sort of textiles for a phoenix. While it could be fireproofed, there would still be quite a lot of cleaning to do. Singe marks, soot, et cetera." He could certainly work around that if that was her desire, but it was incumbent upon him to give her information so she was aware of what she would be spending her money on.