Lady's Grace, cutters!

 

“A half-elf living in an iron palace? That's Factol Ambar for you:

part smith, part bard. He's not your typical factol.”

author of The Factol's Manifesto

 

 

Third Lower Day of Tithing, 126 HR

 

"Are you serious?" His deputy Ombidias looked at Ambar with a mixture of disbelief and disapproval.

He couldn't blame him. The story sounded more than implausible and basically downright crazy. Sighing, Ambar nodded, raised his shoulders almost apologetically and pushed towards Ombidias the small silver casket, in which lay - he and Lereia were sure - a small part of his soul.

The voadkyn scrutinized him sharply before taking the casket, opening it and staring inside for a while. Then he looked at Ambar again, his gaze now less angry, but clearly more confused. "You really mean it, do you?"

The half-elf propped his chin in his hands and looked at the small box. "Yes, unfortunately. Believe me, I wish it were different, but ... I'm afraid that’s how it is."

Ombidias took a slow, controlled breath, closed the lid of the casket and then leaned back with his arms crossed. "All right, then. If this isn't some strange bard's joke, but really serious, then I'd like to hear a more detailed explanation."

"Yes, I think I owe you one," Ambar conceded. "A glass of wine along with it?"

The voadkyn grumbled. "I might need something stronger to help me stomach this story. But wine sounds like a good start."

With a grin, the factol of the Godsmen rose and walked to the wine rack on the opposite side of the room. It stood right next to one of the large windows that looked down on the palace garden, and he briefly let his gaze wander over the trees, the flowering bushes and the small pond nearby. The planar faction headquarters with its sprawling greenery was always a welcome change from the dirt and noise of the Great Foundry, and not just for him. His confidants and many other members of the faction also enjoyed the peace and relaxation it offered them. A few years after he had taken office as factol, the former headquarters had been destroyed by a devastating ether storm - a disaster for the faction at the time. But also a chance for a new beginning, Ambar had told himself. So he had invested a significant portion of his considerable fortune in the construction of a new headquarters, and what had emerged in the end clearly dwarfed the previous planar headquarters: The long experience of the Believers of the Source in metalworking had created a breathtaking work of art. The Gothic style of the palace was reflected in the high wings, the intricate vaults and the stained glass windows. But Ambar - as a half-elf from an elven realm in the Outlands - had also added his own touches to turn this island in the Deep Ethereal into a little paradise. All the decorations inside paid tribute to elven aesthetics, with beautifully ornate furniture, artwork and flowering plants in every room. Outside the palace were gardens overflowing with flowers, so expansive that it was easy to forget one was even on the Ethereal Plane. The building had taken many years to complete, but the faction had created a structure that was rightly considered one of the wonders of the Deep Ethereal. They had searched for a suitable name for some time, but by then it had become common practice among the faction members to simply call the new headquarters "Ambar's Palace". The name had stuck, and although his bard's heart still ached at times because of the less poetic name, Ambar had realized that it could no longer be changed. The complex was much more than just "his" palace, of course. It was a huge structure with several wings and enough space for many of the factors and factoti, as well as common faction members, to live here. And that, after all, was the important thing: To have a place that all faction members could call home. Ambar tore his eyes away from the sight of the trees and birds outside, took two glasses and a bottle of Bytopian white wine and returned to the table where Ombidias was sitting, still looking at him seriously.

He poured a glass for his deputy and himself, then leaned back and sighed a little. "Well ... where do I start?"

"In the beginning, please," Ombidias replied dryly. "Because I really have no idea how something like this could happen." He pointed at the casket and measured the bard with a stern look.

Ambar nodded gently. The voadkyn always took the liberty of telling him his thoughts very openly and, if necessary, verbally reprimanding him if he did not agree with his decisions. This rarely happened, but Ambar appreciated Ombidias’ honesty and the fact that he always had his own opinion, even concerning his factol. That was why he had made him his deputy. The voadkyn was usually kind and compassionate, but at the moment there was more skepticism and a certain sternness in his gaze – understandably enough.

Ambar took a sip of wine, then put the glass down and turned it slowly between his fingers. "So ... I sent for Lereia because I wanted to talk to her about her gift. I told you what she can do - but neither she nor I are yet sure exactly what it means. And even less about what the thing with the zebra was all about. Then the Hive Wrangler Murders happened and we weren't able to deal with this question very intensively. And after the murders, Lereia stayed on the Prime for a while to sort things out before her ... well, permanent move to Sigil, I suppose you could call it. I'm sure it wasn't easy for her to turn her life upside down like that."

Ombidias nodded, warmer and less stern now. "Yes, I can well imagine that. She's still very young, for one thing, and also very inexperienced in the planes. It must have been a big step for her."

"Indeed," Ambar confirmed. "And one I wouldn't have pushed her into. But she obviously saw the need for it all by herself. And after that, I wanted to give her a little time to settle in here in Sigil and in our faction. Zena showed her the Foundry grounds in great detail, and I told her a few more things about our philosophy, gave her a key to the portal to the Palace and familiarized her with our planar headquarters. In the end, however, I thought it was time for us to take a closer look at her gift. So we got together to give some thought to these soul signatures, as we've come to call them."

"It's a fascinating subject," Ombidias admitted. "And what kind of thoughts did you have?"

"We wondered whether - and if so, to what extent - these signatures could be linked to someone's origins or personality. Lereia perceives multi-layered and complex signatures in some people, but very simple signatures in others. We talked about the three most complex ones that she senses because we felt that they would give us more clues."

"And may I ask who has these three signatures?"

"Terrance, Sarin and myself," Ambar replied, smiling almost apologetically. "Sorry, I didn't choose that. Lereia described it that way."

The voadkyn smiled good-naturedly. "I agree, especially about you and Terrance. And Sarin may be less affable than you two, but it makes sense, I guess. Do you think it's ... related to the spark? To its strength?"

"The thought did occur to me," the bard explained, still with a certain reluctance. "Even if it sounds a bit immodest, but ... yes. There could be something to it, right?"

"I think it's a very reasonable assumption," Ombidias said calmly. "And don't worry, you can say so openly. Your spark is very strong, otherwise you wouldn't be our factol. Can you tell me how Lereia describes your signature?"

Ambar nodded, remembering the words the young woman had found for his soul. "What she perceives in me is pure gold warmed by the sun under fresh birch leaves on a spring day."

Ombidias nodded with a smile. "That suits you, and very well, I think."

"Thank you," Ambar replied, and although he was used to compliments, this description once again made him feel almost embarrassed. As much as he thought the signatures of Terrance and Sarin were fitting, he wouldn't have trusted himself to describe his own soul in any way. "Lereia said that too, and admittedly, it sounds both poetic and very pleasant. And ... well, with a look into the casket, I suppose there's something to it."

The reference to the silver casket elicited a sigh from the voadkyn, but he ignored the remark for now. "And how did you connect that to your origins and personality? The birch leaves to Fayrill, the gold to your heart, the spring to your mind?"

Surprised by this prompt analysis, Ambar raised his brows. "Um, yes, partly. Connecting the birch leaves to Fayrill was also our first thought. Lereia associated the gold with the Palace."

"With your possessions?" Ombidias asked. When Ambar nodded, he shook his head decisively. "No, I don't think so. We are given a soul at the moment of our creation, and even though it may develop over the course of our lives, I don't think that the shape, the essence or the signature, as you call it, of a soul is influenced by something like that. That something like gold flows into the signature as soon as one comes into wealth, that seems too ... pardon my words, too profane. I'm convinced the gold in your signature represents this." He tapped his chest where the heart was and Ambar felt an inner warmth flow through him at this interpretation. Of course, it was more pleasant to think that his signature reflected his nature and character as well as his origins, not just something material. And the way the shaman explained it made perfect sense. Ombidias nodded gently, as if nothing more needed to be said. "What about Terrance?" he then asked.

"Lereia described his signature as tears of heaven on the seashore, scattered in the white sand and gently lapped by the water." The bard smiled warmly. "And I think that suits Terrance amazingly well. Since you were so intuitive - and hopefully accurate - with an interpretation for my soul, what would you say about Terrance's signature?"

"Tears of heaven are gemstones that can only be found in Elysium, and even there only rarely," Ombidias explained readily. "But you can find a relatively large number of them right where Terrance's former temple stands - and it's also near Oceanus, which has banks of snow-white sand. The signature therefore fits very well with his origins. However, tears of heaven also symbolize modesty and purity of heart, and water, of course, stands for curing and the art of healing."

"My thoughts exactly," Ambar replied with a smile. "I can see you seem to make a good soul reader."

"And I can't imagine what you are talking about," the shaman replied with a grin. "And now Sarin, please. I'm curious."

"Oh." Ambar raised his eyebrows. "I think it's also a strikingly good fit: blooming laurel growing at the edge of a path in the mountains, rustling in a sudden wind."

Ombidias couldn't help but smirk. "Yes, on impulse, I'd say that sounds like him. Would you like to do an analysis this time?"

Ambar leaned back, took a sip of wine and tilted his head a little. "You know, Lereia found a nice way of putting it, in her innocent way: Sarin's presence tenses her up, which is due to that military streak and because he seems so tough on the outside. The fact that he sometimes suddenly becomes so gruff and energetic is strange to her and intimidates her. Good, huh?"

The voadkyn had to laugh. "Indeed. I mean, we're talking about the Harmonium and its factol at that: Who could be completely relaxed in this case?"

"That's exactly what I said," Ambar replied, amused. "I told her that Sarin is a good person and that I would stake my life on that. But that he has to be so tough on the outside so that nobody thinks he's vulnerable, because that could be the downfall of a man in his position. The path into the mountains may symbolize this and the sudden wind what Lereia described as gruff and energetic . I mean, just think of the way this man enters a room: door open, bang, Sarin is there and everyone knows it. Woe betide anyone who doesn't."

Now Ombidias had to laugh heartily. "Has anyone ever told you how well you imitate the factol of the Harmonium?"

"Keep that to yourself!" Ambar warned with a grin. "If it becomes public knowledge, I'll have a problem."

"You have a problem with your constant tardiness anyway," the shaman replied with amusement before becoming more thoughtful again. "And the laurel? Is there a connection to his origin? Or does it symbolize the general?"

"Good question," the half-elf replied. "I'm not entirely sure about that either. I know Sarin comes from Ortho, but I don't know exactly what his homeland looks like. However, I find the connection to Sarin as a general very fitting. And what we shouldn't forget: The laurel is in bloom."

Ombidias nodded. "Another side of him, you mean?"

"Exactly. One that we don't experience too often, but can glimpse when we see him with his wife and children. A much more charming side that shows when he thinks he can get away with it. The knight, and not the general."

"Yes, that seems plausible to me," the voadkyn agreed. "And Lady Erin? What is her signature?"

"Unfortunately, we don't know yet," Ambar explained regretfully. "Lereia has only met her once, back at Berronar's . But she hadn't consciously focused on the signatures back then, as she now does with most of the people she meets."

"Too bad, I would have been really interested," Ombidias said. "After your next meeting together, you really must tell me what Lady Erin's signature is."

"By all means," the bard promised.

When he didn't speak any further, his deputy eyed him expectantly. "So?" he finally asked. "How do we get from analyzing soul signatures ... to this?"

He pointed at the silver casket and Ambar sighed. "Yes, well, that ... was definitely not the plan."

"I certainly hope so," Ombidias replied with raised brows. "Come on, I don't usually have to drag everything out of you. What happened?"

"Well ..." Ambar sighed again, but then pulled himself together. "I told you what happened when we first met in the courtyard of the Foundry. With the zebra ... I kept thinking about it, trying to work out what it meant. But I couldn't come to any conclusions. So I asked Lereia if she could deliberately bring about what she had done to the zebra by accident. And she suggested trying it out on me ..."

"She suggested that?" The shaman's gaze sharpened. "And you agreed?"

Ambar raised his hands defensively. "I didn't know what it was all about. I would never have thought that someone could cut off a piece of someone else's soul and then turn it into a pile of leaves. I mean, does that sound like a plausible scenario to you?"

"Admittedly not," Ombidias conceded. "But you ... the two of you must have had some thoughts about what happened to the zebra."

"Of course," the bard replied immediately. "The prophecy says that Lereia creates matter from scent and future and destiny from matter. Scent seems to be a euphemism for the soul's signature. I had the assumption that she uses the signature of a soul on an intuitive level as a kind of template or inspiration to create something material. But I was completely unaware that one could create something material directly from a soul."

"That's the very first time I've heard that," the voadkyn admitted and took a deep breath to ground himself and follow Ambar's report more calmly again. "So, how did that go?"

Ambar closed his eyes briefly to recall the moment - and remembered the pain in particular. Yes, pain had basically been the defining component of the experience. "We were sitting opposite each other," he explained. "Lereia focused on my souul signature, or so she said. At first I didn't feel anything. Then - probably when she 'touched' the signature for the first time - I had a strange feeling. As if someone was touching my innermost being, but not physically. Not even mentally, it went much deeper than that. It wasn't painful at the time, but it was strange. Unfamiliar. Not necessarily pleasant. Then the feeling got stronger and I had the impression that a hand was closing around a part of me ... and then the pain came. A pain that went far beyond anything physical. I can't describe it, there are no words for it." He took a sip of wine and felt his hackles getting up at the memory. Ombidias eyed him with concern, but did not interrupt. "I asked her what she was doing and whether it was meant to be like that," Ambar continued. "Then I recognized her horror and I realized that she was no longer in control. I asked her to stop, but she said she couldn't. Something was happening to her ... I wanted to get up, but I couldn't. I sank back to my knees and was completely powerless and defenseless. Eventually she was able to break away, pulled back ... but jerkily, suddenly, violently. The pain ... it was breathtaking. Blood ran out of my nose and I was absolutely certain at that moment that she was tearing a part of my soul away. And she was just as sure of it, as she explained later. There was a flash in the room, an explosion of light, just like back then in the courtyard of the Foundry. And then it rained gold dust and birch leaves."

"Your soul signature ..." Ombidias commented quietly.

Ambar nodded with a sigh. "Exactly. There was a part of my soul on the ground in front of us. It was ... disturbing and fascinating at the same time, I can't put it any other way. I was a little woozy afterwards from the pain and the experience itself. But Lereia ... my goodness, she was utterly desperate." He remembered the young woman's reaction vividly. She had been crying and completely distraught. He had immediately had the impression that he had to comfort her , even though she had gripped his soul.

Ombidias was more skeptical and looked at him inquiringly. "Desperate? Mmm, I see. So you think she didn't do it on purpose?"

"What?" Ambar furled his eyebrows. "Of course she didn't! Ombidias, please. Lereia is a compassionate young woman with a pure and good heart. An Eldath follower by conviction who would never intentionally harm anyone. She really would never have done such a thing on purpose. You've met her too, you must know that."

"Yes, we had two or three conversations," the shaman confirmed. "And I would have judged her the same way you describe her. You know her better than I do, and if you're convinced that she couldn't control it, that it was some kind of accident, then of course I believe it."

The bard nodded in reassurance. He realized that it was extremely important to him that Lereia did not come under any unwarranted suspicion. The matter of the prophecy and her mysterious gift was enough to worry her, and he had also encouraged her during the experiment the day before. He didn't blame her and didn't want anyone else to do it either.

Ombidias, on the other hand, did not stop looking at him. "Still, I think this ability is dangerous, if you'll forgive me for saying so. I'm not enthusiastic about it."

"It would be dangerous if it wasn't Lereia who possesses this gift," Ambar immediately defended his Chosen. "If someone possessed it who was irresponsible or aggressive or had a dark heart. But none of that is the case with her. I assure you, Ombidias, there is nothing malicious or sinister about Lereia."

Now his deputy smirked a little. "You like her, don't you?"

This question threw Ambar off stride for a moment. Not only because he hadn't expected it, but also because he didn't immediately know what to say in response. He cleared his throat. "Um ... yes. I mean, she's warm-hearted, helpful, friendly ... Well, and she still has a pure-mindedness that you don't often find in a city like Sigil anymore."

He wondered why he was answering this question so awkwardly and confused, he who was usually so good with words. Fortunately, he was spared having to find a retort to Ombidias' grin when Kayedi came buzzing in through the open window and landed on the table in front of him. The dark-skinned pixie with dragonfly wings had been his familiar for some eighty years and knew him better than anyone else. She was everything he had left from Fayrill and the carefree years of his youth there. That alone often gave him stability and security, despite the fidgety, slightly hectic nature that Kayedi - like many pixies - possessed.

She leaned against the silver casket and grinned at him cheekily. "Oh, that pure-mindedness , oh yes," she remarked teasingly.

Ombidias laughed and Ambar gently nudged the pixie with his index finger. "Don't be so sassy," he said with a grin.

"Pffft," she said unconcernedly. "I'm allowed to be."

"That's right," the half-elf replied amused. "And you shamelessly take advantage of that."

She shrugged, then turned to the silver casket that reached up to her chest and slowly stroked the cool metal. As a seelie fairy, she could touch it without danger, unlike her darker relatives.

"And then?" Ombidias wanted to know. "Did you ... pick up your soul and put it in there? How that sounds ..."

"It sounds absolutely weird, but that's what happened." Ambar nodded. "We picked up the leaves and swept up the gold dust with a soft brush. Then ... I took my soul and went home."

"Swept up the soul with a brush." Kayedi sighed and raised her tiny index finger reprovingly. "You carried things too far, Ambar. Whenever I'm not around to look after you, you do something stupid."

"Yeah, just tell him," Ombidias said with a laugh.

When the half-elf lowered his eyes with a pretended guilty expression, the pixie nodded contentedly and turned back to the casket. "May I see it again?"

Ambar raised his shoulders. "Feel free. It's probably a pretty rare sight, so ..."

She braced both arms against the lid of the small box, which was as difficult for her to open as a large, bulky chest. Her light blue dragonfly wings moved up and down quickly and frantically as she lifted the lid with some effort. Then she buzzed upwards a little, perched on the edge of the open casket and gazed in fascination at the golden dust and fresh birch leaves inside. Ambar noticed with some reassurance that the leaves had not wilted even after a day, but were still green and lush.

After a few seconds, Kayedi leaned over and picked one of the leaves out of the box, turning it in her hands and examining it from all sides. Then she smiled. "Your soul is beautiful," she said to Ambar with a warm look. "But I already knew that before. Otherwise I wouldn't have come to you back in Fayrill."

Ombidias smiled at her words and nodded gently. His rather uncharacteristic sternness - all too understandable considering what he had just learned about - had faded and made way for his familiar, calm and kind nature.

Kayedi now snapped her fingers against the birch leaf she was holding. "Hey, can you feel that?"

"Don't!" the voadkyn admonished her, almost startled, but Ambar listened inside himself to see if the pixie's actions had any effect on him.

However, he felt nothing. Either that part was really disconnected from him now, or Kayedi's actions were too harmless to have any effect. Ambar was briefly tempted to go one step further and experiment with the leaf. But he remembered the pain of the previous day and the undesirable, almost shocking result of the last experiment, and these memories overcame the bard's curiosity. So he gently took the leaf from Kayedi's hands and put it back into the casket. He would speak to Terrance about the incident soon. Apart from Ombidias and Kayedi, there was no one else he trusted so much and perhaps his friend could give him some new insights into the matter.

 

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based on the role play with Lereia's player on May 17, 2012