Shining Green

It’s all well and rutting good to say that I asked for it, because I did. Made myself clear, and he understood precisely what I’d asked for. The mistake wasn’t his for taking ruthless advantage. It was mine for not phrasing my request in such a way as to safeguard my need against his schemes.

Went to him moons ago and asked for a design. Pattern, more like. A sequence of geometries, I’ve learned, can be employed to coax aether into just about any shape or form for myriad purposes. The effect which I was after was beyond my paltry skills – I’ve no talent for what I’m learning – but I knew that they were beyond others’ skills, as well. The energies involved are staggering, and the one arcanist I’ve known to handle them almost killed both of us in doing so. So I approached someone else… the cleverest of them, and the most devious.

Mountain’s Shadow gave me the knife not long after I made the request.

That’s not to say that he reneged on our deal, or that he subverted the terms. Gods, no. He gave me the pattern on a slip of parchment… but he knew that the odds were good that I might require more than the one schematic to work off of, and that in the heat of the moment I would be too hard-pressed to produce more geometries on my own. Right there in front of me, he took this blade and he cut himself with it. From the wound slipped a sliver, and by that sliver he pulled forth the parchment.

I suspect that there’s no ink involved.

There’s the crux of the matter, then, the heart and soul of the reason for which I have delayed. The knife has been in my possession for several fortnights, now. Though I’ve not had it looked over for fear of treachery or at least the betrayal of my intent, I have no illusions about the design, the parchment, or the knife. Somewhere in here is advantage for him.

The most obvious plot is the siphoning of the energies which I intend to steal. It cannot have been said before that the Strength of Rhalgr cannot breach Mealvaan’s Gate, for one art is ancient and slept for a time, while the other is young and has yet to be tested. But, as mentioned, I’ve… personal experience with the matter. This isn’t theoretical. It’s more a question of whether the application is practical. My concern is that there might be instructions hidden within the geometries for the egi involved. Thirteen chakras’ worth of aether is no laughing matter.

The less obvious and more subtle machination has to do with the blade itself. Is the intent the collection of blood, or is the knife’s secret purpose to mark those it cuts by way of the introduction of some agent? Both possibilities chill me to the bone, but I cannot know for certain without consulting others. That I haven’t done so… there’s no good excuse. The bad excuse is that I am avoiding the usual objections and arguments which might follow, the indignation thrust into my face though they know full well and would admit, were it anyone else other than that man, that they themselves lack the knowledge, the skill, or the strength to fashion me the weapon I need.

It’s not that I’m keeping secrets. It’s that I don’t trust others to pick which leashes we should wear, which demons with which we should bargain. Hammersmith is right, after a fashion: I choose violence because what I want is the power that comes with it. Can I suffer breathing in the ash and come out the other side alive, or will I be burnt for my insolence?

Thing is, I’m also right: danger is coming for me now, whether I run to meet it or turn aside to flee. I’ve not kept a low enough profile, and everyone knows how vulnerable a man with wife and children can be.

‘Everyone’ includes Gunnar Bloodblade.

How much has Ulfarr told him? How much does he know? When and how will he apply pressure? That he will isn’t a question, it’s a certainty. I know this because that was how I used to think when I was Problemsolver.

One more problem to solve, one more hand to feed, and I might just emerge unscathed with everything I want.

There came a knock at the front door. Three quick raps followed by a single hard knock.

Mountain’s Shadow opened the door without asking for a name; the man was dressed in elegantly casual attire and seemed to have been studying. His head tilted curiously. “Master Melkire. This comes as a surprise.”

“These are beliefs that I shall never utter to another – save perhaps Grave. We are all – every one of us, the Gods of this star. For we are the star, and the star is we. It is all an interconnected system of recycled energy within which one entity seems to be the most influential and dominant. Well, perhaps two. Either way, as parts of this entity, we share in its sovereignity. Pity we as men cannot agree.