[Flashback] You mean you can store a spell in a scroll?

[Veldrys]

20th of Fall, 509 AV „That“, Nadia remarked. „Looks rather stupid.“ The young Symenestra looked at her brother critically. Veldrys was sitting on his bed, in a niche in their house, a multitude of papers and paints in front of him, furiously drawing something that looked like a random collection of lines, squares and triangles to her. His amethyst eyes were narrowed in concentration, and he furrowed his brow. „What are you doing anyway? What’s that supposed to be?“ The fifteen year old pointed a black claw at her brother’s current project. „I hate to tell you, dear brother, but you are not particularly talented. You should just go back to cutting people up and dealing with disobedient surrogates.“ Veldrys quickly tried to hide his drawings, but Nadia had already taken one of them. It showed two hands. One was obviously a Symenestra’s hand, pale and slender, with fingers that ended in black claws, the other one was a human hand. Both hands were a little out of proportion. Veldrys just wasn’t particularly good at drawing. „Weird“, Nadia murmurred and put the drawing away. „Why are you drawing hands? And ugly faces?“ She took another drawing that showed a Symenestra’s horribly disfigured face. In addition to his disfigurements the poor man only had one eye. „That’s none of your business“, Veldrys snapped, snatched the drawings from her hands and quickly hid them under his bed. „It’s a project of mine“, he said after a few moments, aware that Nadia wouldn’t leave him alone until she had some kind of answer. „For the Purging. I’m making drawings of the injuries I treat there. As for those lines and squares, I’m creating patterns for a friend of mine, for his clothes. He’s a weaver.“ He was aware that this sounded rather lame, but it was the best he had been able to come up with. Nadia tilted her head a little to the side. She looked as if she rather doubted this. As far as she knew, none of Veldrys‘ friends worked with cloth. Her brother didn’t even have a lot of friends. „Hmpf“, she made. She debated with herself whether she should bother him until he told her, but then she decided against it. It probably wasn’t interesting enough that it was worth risking an argument. She crossed her arms over her chest and walked away. Veldrys breathed a sigh of relief – and then he decided to throw the papers away. A couple of days ago he had talked to the animator Velarian. He’d told him of Glyphing, of a way to store a spell in a piece of paper or a scroll so that others could use it. Since then he’d tried to find out how Glyphing worked, but he was no closer to making a magic scroll than he had been in the beginning. He’d thought that if he combined Glyphing and Morphing he’d be able to help people that most conventional healers had already given up on, but it seemed hopeless. He’d never be able to do this on his own, and there were no schools where you could learn magic in Kalinor. There were just vague rumours. Would it be worth pursuing them? He looked around to find out if his sister was nearby, and then he quietly snuck out of his house. He didn’t have to work at the Purging today, and trying to hunt somebody who knew Glyphing down was at least marginally better than what he had done so far. If it turned out that such a thing as Glyphing really existed. Which he wasn’t so sure of anymore.

[Arlecchino]

In Kalinor knowledge came in two currencies.

For one there was the coinage of the scholars, wisdom stored in scrolls and tomes and annals dating back to the valterian and beyond. It was the sort of knowledge everyone could find had he only the will and drive to pore over books so old their pages were brittle with age, with ink faded over the centuries. Such records would often focus on the history of a single web, on important individuals in the city's past, no matter if ruler, scholar or craftsman. Many were family chronicles and journals, as family – heritage – was of significant value to the Symenestra. Poor was the child who could not trace back his ancestors for at least four generations; and rare.

Written accounts not holding information on webs or their members concentrated on topics important to Kalinor's inhabitants. These works were about weaving, about sewing and working with fabrics. They were about hunting and food procurement. Arts and Craft. The worship of Viratas, the rituals involved. A fair share dealt with the harvest and all its aspects.

Magic on the other hand held very little relevance within Symenestra society. Sorcerers were mentioned in the annals, but they posed a minority among other professions, their skill not more prized than a hunter's. As a result there were more facile means of learning the arcane arts than searching the books for vague instructions. Mentors were, while hard to find and even harder to sway, the safest source for aspiring students. Which led one to the second breed of knowledge found in the underground city.

Rumors.

For many gossip was a welcome form of distraction, a way to pass time popular among men and women alike. To some, it was also a well of information. At least when one was able to tell the truth apart from mare tatter – not always easy done as it lay in the nature rumors to change over the course of their travel from mouth to mouth. It was not hard to find someone willing to talk about sorcerers and magic.

The majority of these stories turned out nothing more than fiction once investigated. The mysterious young man drawing bloody symbols on his bedroom floor proved little more than a solitary artist, a little crazy, but harmless. A rumored master of the arcane turned out to be a woman dabbling with auristics if nothing else. Some mages people talked about could not be found at all, remained phantoms and shadows of shadows.

Hours Veldrys spend searching, following leads picked up at the market, the tavern; other places. In the end, one last trace remained. Whispers about an old woman of the Orphine web, a crone called on when restless souls plagued the city as it sometimes happened when surrogates died. At least in case some anxious girls at Orchid Market were to be believed. They seemed rather certain about it, but then, most gossipers were certain their stories were at least partly true.

"She is the matriarch of her web. They live half way between the Place of Purging and the Nest. Large building. Impossible to miss," the oldest of the three young woman ended her tale, with a side glance at the healer.

"Mother said she once saw her paint strange letters too. On walls but also on paper. Is that what you have been looking for? I am sure she is some witch." Her two friends nodded their confirmation. They had heard the whispers as well.

[Veldrys]

Finding somebody who was knowledgeable in the ways of Glyphing turned out to be even harder than he had thought – and he had in no way assumed that it would be easy. If he had decided to study history or find out more about his patron god, he would likely have found a wealth of information within an hour, but magic, magic was an entirely different matter. There were a lot of people that claimed to know more about it, but most of the stories he heard turned out to be nothing in the end. The young man who drew symbols on his bedroom floor reminded him a lot of himself, a fool whose work didn’t have anything to do with magic. He found a woman that was familiar with Auristics. That was an art he was interested in and had considered learning every now and then. Another day he might have stopped and talked to her, but this time he was looking for something different. Finding somebody who knew how to instill a bit of magic into a piece of paper was more important than talking about auras. He tried to remember her name and where she lived for later though. Maybe he would study Auristics after he had found out what he needed to know about Glyphing. He went to the market. He went to a couple of different taverns, and he even went to the places where the surface dwellers stayed, but to no avail. He seemed no closer to his goal than he had been a couple of hours ago when he had abandoned his attempts at self study out of frustration. There were rumours about yet another Symenestra that painted strange things on walls. This time it was an old woman. He didn’t believe that she would be any different than the man he had previously encountered. He almost didn’t investigate that matter further, but then he told himself he would talk to one more person, and then he would go home and just accept the fact that he was not supposed to learn Glyphing. „The matriarch of the Orphine Web?“ he asked the young women he’d met at the Orchid Market. „And she painted strange letters?“ He wondered if she was like the man who’d painted strange symbols on his bedroom floor, but on the other hand she was a matriarch, not a meaningless fool. She wouldn’t be allowed to do anything of importance if there were doubts about her sanity. The girls wouldn’t be worried if she were just a demented old woman. Maybe she would be able to help him! „That’s exactly what I’m looking for. I suppose I need a witch.“ He smiled a little at the girls aware how it sounded, wondering what they thought of that. The matriarch of the Orphine Web didn’t sound like the kind of woman that you visited if you had a choice. „Thank you for your help.“ He inclined his head, and then he made his way towards the residence of the matriarch.

[Arlecchino]

The three girls looked at each other, the younger clasping her hands in a sudden, nervous motion. Their expressions hinted what Veldrys might already have guessed - neither of them could imagine why one wanted to talk to a woman with the matriarch’s renown, not without a good reason. No matter if the rumor was true. Or not.

“It really isn’t... hard to miss,” a dark haired girl nodded in confirmation of the healer’s questions. She made a vague gesture away from the market. “You should be able to see it, once you are near the Nest.” Hesitantly she smiled.

“Maybe you can tell us... if she really is a witch one day.”

“I don’t need him to tell me that. I am sure she is one,” proclaimed her older friend when Veldrys had already turned away. They continued to argue on the subject whenever the old woman was a witch or not long after the medic had made his way over to home of the Orphine web, the young man entirely forgotten.

It was, indeed, not hard to find the large residence built halfway between Nest and Purging and still a bit away.

Like a dimly illuminated cocoon the structure dangled from the cavern ceiling, held in place by countless ropes and strings and panels of silk. Strong wind might have caused the sprawling complex to swing softly, but in the depth of the earth there was not breeze neither weak nor strong and the building hung still.

A young opened the door when Veldrys knocked. Introducing herself as Alyssandra Orphine she motioned the healer to come inside. “You work at the Place of Purging, don’t you?,” she asked while she gave him a quick once over. “Has been a while since the head medic sent someone over. We were expecting someone to pay us a visit much sooner.”

And you are not the one they usually tend to send to us either, her eyes seemed to say, but only for a heart beat - then she already turned to lead her guest deeper into the building. Here the walls were thin and from time to time one could make out dark shadows moving behind them, hinting the presence of other Symenestra even when there was none to be seen beside his young hostess.

“I take it you want to see mother?,” Alyssandra asked with another side glance. She stopped a small oak wood door. It was one of the few they had passed. Overall, the Orphine web seemed to favor curtains above doors, at least within.

“I am sorry. The matriarch I meant.”

[Veldrys]

The girls seemed to be a little nervous, and thus Veldrys smiled at them reassuringly – even though he was the one who would meet the witch, not them and probably had more reason to be worried than they. „If you’d like I’ll visit the two of you once I have talked to the matriarch“, he offered. „I’ll tell you if she’s really a witch.“ But they weren’t listening to him anymore. They were too caught up in their argument. He could still hear them after he had turned around a corner and was well on his way to the home of the Orphine Web. Fortunately the house was easy to find, just as the girls had said. He glanced at the cocoon-like structure for a moment, finding it quite similar to his own home, before he approached the door and knocked. „Good day“, he greeted the young woman who opened the door and stepped inside. „I do indeed work at the Purging, under Hellebore himself. But ...“ He was about to tell her that he wasn’t here to look after her mother, but simply talk to her and question her about her magic, but something about her words caught his attention and made him furrow his brow a little. Was the matriarch ill? „What exactly is the problem?“ he asked Alyssandra as he followed her deeper into the building. He had come to the decision that he would just play along for now and pretend that he had been sent here by the head medic, as she apparently assumed. „I’m afraid they didn’t inform me of the details ...“ He looked at her apologetically, sighed and averted his gaze for a moment as if he were a little embarrassed. „And yes, of course, I’m here to see the matriarch. I take it she’s behind this door?“ He gestured towards the door in question.

[Macabre]

Alyssandra gave a curt nod as the oak door creaked under the gentle push of an ashy hand. She seemed reluctant to bother whatever lay on the other side of the door, but doctors had visited her mother’s bedside on several occasions – she told herself this was no different. The room was small, smaller than one would imagine a bedroom that housed such large furniture being. A four-poster bed took up much of the room, simple in its design with tapered posts that nearly reached the low ceiling and a canopy made up of small, winding strips of fine silk. Blankets were piled high, despite the musky thick air that smelled almost sweet, hung stagnant and warm, and seemed to cling to Veldrys’ skin. Within the sweetness lingered the smell of burning wax, of incense, stale bread, and the unmistakable organic scent of an individual who rarely left their bed. An altar laid to their right, piled high in steps made of stone. Each step housed at least one burning candle or small glass bowls of blood, visibly old and spoiled as if they had been lying about for weeks. Had they been closer to the surface, bloodthirsty flies may have gathered to eat and mate and defile the altar but circumstances had left the construct to rot on its own accord. A stone statue sat atop the pinnacle of the altar, arms outstretched and holding yet another glass vessel of blood. If Veldrys’ inspection was particularly discerning he may have noticed it as one of the many representations of Viratas. Incense and dried leaves gathered at his stone sandaled feet, long burned away despite their odor still lingering. A sloppily placed iron bolt scraped against stone as the oak door trembled and shut. The relative darkness of the room enveloped them now; only now did the focal point of the room seem to drift into their line of sight. A woman shriveled with age sat beneath the tower of blankets, two long frail arms stretched out in front of her. Her skin was ashy, and sank between the lines of bone and ligament to gather loose at her elbows and beneath her chin. Deep golden eyes, startling in themselves, were deep-set in a wrinkled tight-lipped face. As they glittered in the candlelight Veldrys would notice that the altar was the only light source in the room, and yet the light danced off of the walls and cast shadows that suggested there was more than the paltry light of a few dying crimson candles illuminating the walls. Those golden maelstroms fixed on the frame of the young man, and no smile came to those sunken lips as she examined him. “Vervain.” The name oozed from her lips, like that of century old honey. There was something frightfully mystical about the woman, concluded in the fact that she had never met Veldrys, yet spoke his Web’s name in fond familiarity. Gold flashed to the other Symenestra in the room, and a bony hand lifted in dismissal. No words were exchanged between them as Alyssandra left the room. Her eyes remained on the closing door as the voice that held little weakness of age within its tone rose again. “I know why you have come.”

[Veldrys]

As Alyssandra opened the door, Veldrys stayed behind her. He noticed that she seemed reluctant to bother the matriarch. Why had nobody informed him about the matriarch’s health problems? If the girls had been so worried about her and known where she lived, why hadn’t they been aware of that? The smell was unmistakeable, the smell of incense mixed with the scent that a room acquired when a person was in it day in and day out and rarely left. He wondered what kind of ailment it was that the matriarch was suffering from and if there even was a way that he could help. His gaze briefly went to the altar where bowls of blood and a statue of his god stood, and he murmurred a silent prayer. He asked Viratas for guidance, that he'd give him strength, that he’d be able to help the old woman if she was in need of help and that he’d get what he wanted. And then he approached the bed and looked at the woman that sat in it. She was old. He’d hardly ever seen such an old woman. Most of his patients were necessarily young, women from the surface, in their teens or twenties. His own grandmothers might be about the matriarch’s age now, but they had died given birth to his parents. Amethyst eyes met golden ones as the young healer stood besides the bed, there, in the relative darkness. „You know who I am?“ He arched an eyebrow. He couldn’t remember ever talking to her or any member of her Web before that day. It confused him.He briefly turned around and watched as Alyssandra left, and then he took another step closer to the bed so that he was standing directly next to the old woman. Her body was frail, but there was nothing frail or weak about her voice or the way she looked at him. How could she be so old, confined to her bed, and yet sound so alive? „And why am I here?“ he wanted to know. Did she think he was yet another healer, sent to ease her pain or did she know about the true purpose of his visit, about his desire to learn her magic and why he wanted to learn it?

[Macabre]

The wrinkles that defined the elderly woman’s face shifted and her lips tightened in a thin smile as Veldrys offered a blessing to Viratas. She thought to respond to his pleads for strength, but remained respectful to the boy’s prayers. In all of her years as a practitioner of the divine magic, said to be passed down to mortals by the gods themselves, she’d never gained the attention of her beloved Viratas. To some, this would be discouraging—but the old woman knew better: He was no panderer to the whims of His worshippers. A silent protector of blood, of life and of connection; far be it from her to question His motives. It was indeed a sight to see a woman so old; most labeled those of middle-age and older as either barren or cold-hearted. Unable to love or be loved by a man—or perhaps she had gone off and birthed dirty-blooded offspring with another race—cowardly, was the last option many mulled over in their minds. The beautiful Symenestra girl that had assumed her place crouched outside by the hearth was a testament to the woman’s power. Three percent chance. Glimmering gold laughed as she leaned forward, the bronze shift that wrapped her paper-thin, ashy skin rumpling between arms that crossed over her chest. When she canted her head, a shock of silver-white hair drew across her bony cheek. Most of it was kept back in a neat bun, but with time, unruly strands would fall loose. “Of course,” the voice seemed to echo off of the very walls, but of course, anyone with a right mind would know it came from the small woman and nowhere else, “I would not have let you in had I no idea why you have come, Vervain.” That was a very strange thing to say, indeed. Hadn’t the girl let the young man in? She continued, “You seek something from me; something so many others of our kind fear.” Fire sparked in gold and a flash of perfect teeth—at least for her age—drew a white line between a widening grin. Veldrys’ aura dripped with apprehension, tones of orange-yellow wafting and shifting around his thin frame. It was palpable; she could even taste it. A bony hand reached out, patting the bed’s mountainous covers. “Come now, sit. I have no more need for the doctors they continue to send than you do, to take away my blood and—do what? Reverse aging itself?” A laugh erupted from her frail chest, so loud and ringing that it threatened to crack her very ribcage. “You want to know of magic, ask me. It would be a shame that I die before you spit it out.”

[Veldrys]

„And how do you know why I have come?“ he wanted to know. He hadn’t talked to Alyssandra or her about it. He had only vaguely mentioned his interest in her art to the girls he had met in the market, but they had been strangers. They hadn’t had anything to do with this ancient woman. Was this knowledge part of her magic? Did she have a way to read his mind or had he not hidden his interest in magic as carefully as he had thought? „No, it’s not wise to let people into your home if you don’t know what they want“, he agreed. „As for fear, people always fear the unknown. People always fear the things that they aren’t familiar with. It’s better to approach those things with caution instead and try to educate yourself.“ He shrugged his shoulders. There was just a moment of hesitation before he sat down on the bed next to her. „You cannot reverse aging“, he remarked and laughed a little as well. She didn’t seem to fear death at all. How could that be? The thought of growing old and dying, of ceasing to exist, scared him beyond measure. He couldn’t imagine being an old man. He couldn’t imagine not being here anymore. What if he died without accomplishing anything and people forgot him? „I’ve been told that you paint strange letters, on walls, on paper, on any kind of surface“, he said to her. „I’ve been told that you are a witch of sort. I’ve been looking for a way to ban my magic on paper so that others can use it for the longest time. Can you teach me how to do that?“ He asked that question calmly, but he watched her face carefully, waiting for her reaction. He couldn’t help but be a little nervous.

[Macabre]

“You don’t get this old by being stupid,” the crone laughed a dry laugh as she watched the boy take an apprehensive seat on the edge of her bed. As Veldrys explained the implications of familiarizing one’s self with the unknown, a smile creased thin lips. “There are few that come to me with well wishes. Often, it’s for blessing, though sometimes, sometimes.” The laugh rose in her throat again, resonating off of the walls themselves. “You speak beyond your years, Vervain. Tell me, what is your given name?” There wasn’t a Web in Kalinor she didn’t know; Veldrys came to her a stranger, but she could draw out the subtleties that marked his family. The Symenestra were not a large society, and many had taken to exploring the world above in recent years shrinking the population of their city even further. Few seemed to know much of her, as Veldrys had experienced first hand, but the crone had her ways of reaching out. “My letters,” her bleary eyes narrowed and darted around the room before settling on the nervous face of the youth at her feet. “Of course, darling; they’re called glyphs. I can show you how to store your enchantments on vellum for others to use.” Thin long arms crossed her chest and she sat up in her bed. As she shifted, Veldrys was able to notice that she was not entirely as frail as the large bed and dark room initially made her out to be. Beneath swaths of linen was a body well-taken care of, though old, she was not wanting for the grace so indicative of their race. “Show me what you can do,” she urged, bending to draw a scroll of wrapped vellum from her bedside table. Her only writing utensil was a quill, and the inkpot remained on the table after it was dipped once. “Please, dear, stop looking so nervous. It’s unbecoming of that beautiful face.”