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Venn became conscious of another order of understanding. There was something new to his perception beyond the flowing colors of ara within every object. It came to him at first as a faint undulating tone but grew louder and stronger with an identifiable tempo, melody and modulation. Then it dawned on him that every object not only had a representation within the visual spectrum, but also audibly. Each thing sang to everything else, generating an intricate harmony that resonated around the paladin and the bardess. The anvil provided a deep sonorous sound accompanied by a solid matrix of color that shifted from black through to deep purples. The fire Avrie had started danced with a frenetic series of notes glowing with wild volatility as it skipped through the brighter colors of red, yellow, white and orange. The hammer and tongs hummed with a consistent tone, remaining a rich indigo. The stone structure showed a slate hue and seemed to amplify the sound of all the other objects. Avrie's energy flowed within her in a kaleidescope of colour, settling towards green and gold. When she sang however, a rich sun colored glow emanated from her and intertwined with every other element. All other sound became bound to her dominant lilting melody and her voice had the quality of flowing water. Venn himself found his energy visualized within a spectrum of blue and silver that ebbed and flowed to the rhythm of Avrie's song. Everything was pervaded by this symphony of sight and sound. As surreal as it might have seemed, it made perfect natural sense. The combined vision of the paladin and bard was synergistic creating within their mind's eye a heightened perception of the beauty of small things.
The new vision of things was simply overwhelming, but the sweet tones of Avrie's voice did in fact have a calming effect, allowing Venn to concentrate and allow the knowledge he had been given to move into action. As Avrie worked the bellows, Venn threw even more wood into the fire. He knew that the forge had to reach a very high temperature, one which impossible for their bodies to tolerate were it not for the large stone that insulated the heat. As the forge blazed away, consuming all that was thrown into it, Venn looked over the raw ore. The pattern within the ore was chaotic and unsettled but this was the nature of the element. Taking several chunks of rock, Venn placed them into a crucible that hung from chains secured to a pulley on a track overhead. He then hoisted the crucible and moved it toward the furnace. The fire within the forge had strangely become completely white. The wood they were using was not simply any wood, but was from the deadfall surrounding the Tears of Carmelya. The tree which fed the flames had been fed for centuries by the magical waters and the fire did not consume the arcanic energy, but released it in a unique fashion. The white fire generated not only light and heat, but something mystical. As Venn pushed the crucible into the flames with a metal rod and settled it there, both he and Avrie could sense a change in the arcanic flow. Although the fire began its natural transference of heat to the ore, the white light itself permeated it in a curious manner.
Eventually a dross began to separate from the element in the ore, but Venn did not move to remove it from the crucible. He did nothing at all, knowing somehow that he did not need to. The burning white element itself began to consume the dross so that it seemed to evaporate. And then it happened. The white fire leapt from the forge upon the paladin and he felt a searing sensation flow through his very veins until his very mind was on fire. Then all became dark.
He became aware of being very young. He was facing a wooden door he had always been warned not to open. Turning his head, he saw he was in his parent's room. There was sunlight filtering through the slats in the wall and there was the sound of sea-birds and the vast ocean itself as it lapped against of Trelore. There were small wet footprints behind him, the size of a boy's. He had come back early from the sea, having been left behind by the quicker mer children he had been playing with him and Ythri. His twin had somehow kept up with the school but he had not. And so he had come home early, alone and dejected. He did not seem to think it odd that a strange human bardess was there, simply watching him as he stood before the door. There was a slight opening since it was left ajar. It was never left open like this. It was always closed. But this was not what made the youngling forget his frustration at being left behind by his playmates. It was that sound of sobbing that piqued his curiosity. Laying a hand quietly upon the door to peer into the room, the first thing he noticed were the racks of weapons and armor the stood against the wall. Each was uniquely and finely crafted. These tools of destruction and war were strangely beautiful. In the middle of the small room no bigger than a closet, he saw his mother, still young and beautiful, hunched over with her back to the door, shaking as she looked through a chest of old belongings.
The half-Thelyri child looked up at Avrie with confused round eyes that were perfectly black save for his flicking irises. "What should I do?" he whispered in a barely audible voice. "I'm frightened."
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