Aug 15, 2019 3:31 am
It was an arcanix*, simple yet marvelous in design, a centerpiece worth its weight in galifars a hundred times over. The device you painstakingly poured your efforts into for weeks upon weeks now sits proudly beside the other items in the exhibit. You stood proud, with eyes all aglow as you stared infinitely on your little creation, already imagining the commendations that will gifted upon you once it has been assessed. Not even the noise of hawkers and by standers, nor the continuous banging and clanging of the other makers could have distracted you in that cardinal moment. Nothing and no one, except for a particular someone that callously nudged you aside.
"Is that what you're going to show the masters, my dear kin? A complex combination of patchwork held together by spit?", sneered Bargaile. Your image of glory cracking in a thousand places and your eyes reaching up to the heavens in a wish that there were gods to spare you from your snidely cousin. You know him all too well. He is neither blessed with ingenuity nor compassion. All his passion is focused on single-handedly out-foxing many a competitor with guile and cunning, rising up the ranks by walking on backs of others. And in this place and time, you have been singled out as his only competition.
"This town is truly a waste of my breath. A pitiful exhibit for the masses. Humph! The lordlings in the Tinkers Guild must be out of their minds to drag me to this hovel." Bargaile haughtily exclaimed, highlighting his vexation with a wave of his ring bespeckled hand. Bargaile snorted and stomped off away from the fair grounds, heading towards the only decent inn within a hundred leagues. With Bargaile taking leave and obviously carrying the animosity of the town folk with him, the atmosphere quickly sheds back to merry making and the all the colors that come with it.
But the sour taste of Bargale's words rang true and further lingered into the early evening. An artificier of your talent should not be here as well. But you still obeyed and boarded a lightning rail train before dawn even struck, transferring onto a trade caravan and reaching the town of Evershire before the day was at its peak. You were exhausted when you arrived and yet your passion drove you harder to establish your business even when the others sought refuge at an inn. The though of your achievements on the first day made your heart beat stronger. You finally smile and begin to shrug off the cloak of doubt that Bargaile supplied.
By the time you have felt that you're self worth has been regained a sudden realization leaves you perplexed. You are no longer in the fair grounds nor are you no closer to the inn. As far as your senses can tell you, you are on a field outside of town, about a good mile away. You feel a twitch and turn around to see a moss covered pillar of hewed stone. A brass plate sits at the base, and what strikes the wedge deeper in your mind is that the visible words embossed on the brass plate is the lastname of your mother before she became d'Cannith.
A cold breeze crawls about you as you try to make sense of every murky detail. You take a step back, then you hear a soft whisper in your ear. A voice shrill like the chirping of the crickets, and clear as the mystery you find yourself in.
"Welcome my lost child... welcome home."
