with the beast wrapped around his right forearm. Whenever the koshi orm tried to turn its attention elsewhere, he moved his head in the same direction and redirected it back to him with a low, resonant hum.
It might have reeked with the scent of bug ichor thanks to its diet, but up close, the creature was beautiful, with jewel-like, green scales, shifting to black under just the right light. The tiny claws on its wings, which dug into the sleeve of the chronicler's coat, were opalescent, and its four eyes (two smaller and set forward with two larger ones on either side of its head), a vivid gold. What was beautiful to the sentient races were a warning sign in nature, broadcasting that this little beast was poisonous and not to be handled lightly.
“So you're a mesmer now too.” Rai was sitting facing him, outside of lunging range of the orm. Very few things actually attacked halfling caravans in groups, (as rumor had it, this was the result of deep history with both Pandemos and Sylph) but that protection didn't extend to accidents brought about by a foolish lack of caution.
Not breaking his gaze with the orm, Kaiel said, “I'll tell you a bit of a secret—but neither of you can ever, ever let Ru know.” He included Brin even though he knew her mind was elsewhere. There was no need to look up, he knew she was still at the top of the hill, watching what was on the other side. Nothing to do for it at the moment, they'd all agreed to wait on Taylin and Ru before deciding what to do about it.
“Deal.” Rai said without stopping to think. She had no personal grudge with Ru, but there was nothing more than an acquaintanceship between the two.
Kaiel chose to take Brin's agreement as implicit. Unlike Rai, she bluntly hated Ru. “Alright, the secret,” he paused to draw the orm's attention back to him. It wouldn't be long now, the creature was growing less willful by the minute. “Is that there are many specialties in the Bardic tradition. Pure bards just use the Song; they have songbooks and lyrical tomes full of magical music that taps the Well of Souls to have varying effects. Storyspinners—real ones, not just storytellers—use just the Word. They make up or embellish stories and weave it with power from the Well. All of them are different; you can't copy a person's stories exactly. Chroniclers like me don't have a magical tradition of our own; we study the past and the lessons that can be taken from it and might dabble in magic.”
He was interrupted as the orm started to get restless and had to take a few moments to wrangle it back into his control and settle it comfortably on his arm. It was a surprisingly willful little creature, but that was expected when one knew that they were supposedly to dragons what apes were to humanity, and the races derived from their stock.
“And that's just the edge of the blade when it comes to the paths the College offers, but to make a long story short, you then have the Loreman path. You start it after your fourth year and it might take a lifetime to get your first knot. That's the path I'm on now, and we need to know a bit of everything even if I'll always be a better chronicler than bard. And there's a benefit to that approach: we can use the Word and the Song, and the knowledge of centuries, from Saint's Landing to the lost secrets of the dragons. It lets us take advantage of one simple truth: the world is built on the Well of Souls and everything is based on it. So the power discarnate, if you know how to use it correctly, with the Word and Song, can do anything the other energies can.”
He locked eyes with the orm and felt a spark leap between them. The hum he'd been maintaining, even under his speech, was rapidly changing, expanding into a pattern of discarnate energy on its own. No longer afraid of a deadly bite, he reached out and brushed his fingertips across the creature's brow.
“Give me your will.” He whispered and closed one eye. Instead of darkness, he
It might have reeked with the scent of bug ichor thanks to its diet, but up close, the creature was beautiful, with jewel-like, green scales, shifting to black under just the right light. The tiny claws on its wings, which dug into the sleeve of the chronicler's coat, were opalescent, and its four eyes (two smaller and set forward with two larger ones on either side of its head), a vivid gold. What was beautiful to the sentient races were a warning sign in nature, broadcasting that this little beast was poisonous and not to be handled lightly.
“So you're a mesmer now too.” Rai was sitting facing him, outside of lunging range of the orm. Very few things actually attacked halfling caravans in groups, (as rumor had it, this was the result of deep history with both Pandemos and Sylph) but that protection didn't extend to accidents brought about by a foolish lack of caution.
Not breaking his gaze with the orm, Kaiel said, “I'll tell you a bit of a secret—but neither of you can ever, ever let Ru know.” He included Brin even though he knew her mind was elsewhere. There was no need to look up, he knew she was still at the top of the hill, watching what was on the other side. Nothing to do for it at the moment, they'd all agreed to wait on Taylin and Ru before deciding what to do about it.
“Deal.” Rai said without stopping to think. She had no personal grudge with Ru, but there was nothing more than an acquaintanceship between the two.
Kaiel chose to take Brin's agreement as implicit. Unlike Rai, she bluntly hated Ru. “Alright, the secret,” he paused to draw the orm's attention back to him. It wouldn't be long now, the creature was growing less willful by the minute. “Is that there are many specialties in the Bardic tradition. Pure bards just use the Song; they have songbooks and lyrical tomes full of magical music that taps the Well of Souls to have varying effects. Storyspinners—real ones, not just storytellers—use just the Word. They make up or embellish stories and weave it with power from the Well. All of them are different; you can't copy a person's stories exactly. Chroniclers like me don't have a magical tradition of our own; we study the past and the lessons that can be taken from it and might dabble in magic.”
He was interrupted as the orm started to get restless and had to take a few moments to wrangle it back into his control and settle it comfortably on his arm. It was a surprisingly willful little creature, but that was expected when one knew that they were supposedly to dragons what apes were to humanity, and the races derived from their stock.
“And that's just the edge of the blade when it comes to the paths the College offers, but to make a long story short, you then have the Loreman path. You start it after your fourth year and it might take a lifetime to get your first knot. That's the path I'm on now, and we need to know a bit of everything even if I'll always be a better chronicler than bard. And there's a benefit to that approach: we can use the Word and the Song, and the knowledge of centuries, from Saint's Landing to the lost secrets of the dragons. It lets us take advantage of one simple truth: the world is built on the Well of Souls and everything is based on it. So the power discarnate, if you know how to use it correctly, with the Word and Song, can do anything the other energies can.”
He locked eyes with the orm and felt a spark leap between them. The hum he'd been maintaining, even under his speech, was rapidly changing, expanding into a pattern of discarnate energy on its own. No longer afraid of a deadly bite, he reached out and brushed his fingertips across the creature's brow.
“Give me your will.” He whispered and closed one eye. Instead of darkness, he
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