03-17-2022, 03:29 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-19-2022, 05:17 AM by Aiden Finnegan.)
The Last Year of the Fifth Age
Late Spring
The Grand City of Gorias in the Northern Isles of Erie
![[Image: lugh_real.jpg]](https://arkanatheory.files.wordpress.com/2022/03/lugh_real.jpg)
Lugh Samildánach's Bio
The Spear of Lugh
Gorias, The First Great City
Lugh Samildánach, newly crowned King of the Tuatha De, stood there staring at a sharp chunk of golden metal. He wore nothing more than fine garments and his characteristic smirk. It was easy to be taken in by that smirk – at least that’s we had always been told. It had certainly served him well as he fought through the various political storms that had tried to bar him from the crown he now wore.
Esras, the Master Blacksmith of Gorias, sat a few paces off at a low, lacquered table counting out a pile of silver marks – completely ignoring the two gargantuan sacks of the half-marks, lead and zinc. His white hair all but danced about as he shook his head to the rhythmic murmuring of his counting. The man had a reputation for being shrewd, but surely even he could not balk at the modest fortune Lugh had poured onto his lap. Oh, it was apparent that Lugh's request was unreasonable for a man of Esras' talents - still, Lugh knew that the man could help him get what he had wanted.
“This is simply not fine enough, Esras,” Lugh said with an air of finality, tossing the spearhead over his shoulder to Esras. The blacksmith snapped out of his counting and fumbled to grab the spearhead without cutting himself. Lugh went over to the low table and pulled out a silken pouch from his side-bag. Esras began to splutter as Lugh started to push the piles of marks into the pouch.
“My King, but I have labored over this for a fortnight!?” Esras exclaimed as he tried to push the spearhead back into Lugh’s hands. The King finished taking back the marks and backed away without taking the weapon in hand.
“As your King, my judgement is final. This is made of pure gold. Do you honestly expect me to go to battle with this?” Lugh spat back – still wearing that smirk.
“But you asked for a badge of office? What is that if not ceremonial?” Esras all but begged for Lugh to take the thing.
“Oh, do not misunderstand me, Esras – this is fine work,” Lugh said smoothly as he waved his right hand over the glimmering spearhead, “But it cannot serve me. Do you know how many assassination attempts I have survived?”
Esras’ mouth moved, searching for the words, but Lugh rolled right over him, “Seven. Seven attempts on my life, Esras. I need both form and function. If you cannot come up with something that meets my needs, I shall have to simply look elsewhere. I hear that old Kerr’gan is taking on new commissions…”
“No! My King! No! Old Kerr’gan is dishonest and knows not a hammer from an anvil! He would sooner fashion you a tin spear wrapped in gold leaf! Trust me on this matter, my King,” Esras went on, his hands waving about in soothing gestures. Lugh stifled a laugh at the frantic manner in which Esras devolved. The citizens of Gorias were all too easy to manipulate. Once, they had been at the epicenter of technological advancement - but then war and strife had begun to break out across the globe. Powerful beings had begun to seize power from the local governments. Over the course of the last few generations, most countries had begun to devolve into fractured kingdoms - each ruled over by a singular God-King or God-Queen.
Due to the petty wars and squabblings over territory, the Isles of Erie were largely reduced to half-hazard remnants of their former selves held together by Standing Flows and the sheer might of their God-like Warlords. Despite the circumstances, Lugh had thought himself above the rest of the Warlords of the Isles. He had believed in an Egalitarian Meritocracy, much like the ones found in old mythologies. Many didn't believe such a system was possible - but just as many wished it were, and those that had wished for it found themselves employed by Lugh. Esras, although employed by him, bore no noble ideals. He only cared for marks.
“I want Heartstone, Esras,” Lugh said simply.
The blacksmith’s eyes widened.
“I know you’ve been selling it on the side – therefore you have a means to procure or produce it,” Lugh said before meeting Esras’ eyes. The methods of creating the mythic material were common knowledge, but not many citizens of the Erie Isles possessed the skill to actually produce it. Due to trade embargos, it was all but impossible to find among the seven islands. Esras was a well-known dealer on the black market; that had been the only reason Lugh had approached him, court etiquette or not.
Esras betrayed himself as he began to wring his hands, looking down and away from Lugh, “For that, you have underpaid.”
Lugh let his eyebrows rise despite himself, “Oh?”
“The thing of which you speak… I have to import certain… talents… And so the rate is much higher.”
“How high?” Lugh asked with narrowed eyes.
Esras reached for a slip of paper and an ink pen, scribbling furiously. He folded the scrap and handed it over to Lugh, still avoiding eye contact.
“Five hundred thousand platinum marks!?” Lugh exclaimed.
Esras nodded, plucking at the skirts of his long robes. The man seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at Lugh.
“Surely you must be joking, Esras. Why, this would be more than would be demanded if the Formorians took me or the High Council for ransom!” Lugh let his smirk slip as his eyebrows cocked.
“Heartstone. Fairy fire. Unbreakable. Sa’angreal,” Esras muttered in a mocking voice before turning to meet Lugh’s stare, “I am no God, my King. The things you ask are beyond my skill. I have my own methods, but if you cannot pay my sources, you will have to find and kidnap one who can perform such feats.”
Lugh’s brow rose and his tone sweetened, “My what a curious choice of phrase.”
Esras stiffened.
“Kidnap. Not find. Kidnap. You know someone that could do what I want, don’t you Esras?” Lugh said with a sickly-sweet smile.
“Yes…” Esras breathed, “Of course, my King.”
Lugh embraced the Power and wove filaments of Light across the ground. A miniature map of the Isles of Erie seemingly rose from the floor. Esras swore under his breath as Lugh took a step closer to the blacksmith.
“Where are they, Master Esras?”
The blacksmith looked up at his King and swallowed hard. He pointed a finger to the north-most island that appeared on the illusory map and his King nodded with satisfaction. He spun away from the blacksmith, striding along confidently to the front door.
“I liked your design, Master Esras,” Lugh called over his shoulder, “You better hope this contact of yours can transform it into Heartstone. If they can – I’ll require a haft. If they can’t… Well, be ready.”
Late Spring
The Grand City of Gorias in the Northern Isles of Erie
Lugh Samildánach's Bio
The Spear of Lugh
Gorias, The First Great City
Lugh Samildánach, newly crowned King of the Tuatha De, stood there staring at a sharp chunk of golden metal. He wore nothing more than fine garments and his characteristic smirk. It was easy to be taken in by that smirk – at least that’s we had always been told. It had certainly served him well as he fought through the various political storms that had tried to bar him from the crown he now wore.
Esras, the Master Blacksmith of Gorias, sat a few paces off at a low, lacquered table counting out a pile of silver marks – completely ignoring the two gargantuan sacks of the half-marks, lead and zinc. His white hair all but danced about as he shook his head to the rhythmic murmuring of his counting. The man had a reputation for being shrewd, but surely even he could not balk at the modest fortune Lugh had poured onto his lap. Oh, it was apparent that Lugh's request was unreasonable for a man of Esras' talents - still, Lugh knew that the man could help him get what he had wanted.
“This is simply not fine enough, Esras,” Lugh said with an air of finality, tossing the spearhead over his shoulder to Esras. The blacksmith snapped out of his counting and fumbled to grab the spearhead without cutting himself. Lugh went over to the low table and pulled out a silken pouch from his side-bag. Esras began to splutter as Lugh started to push the piles of marks into the pouch.
“My King, but I have labored over this for a fortnight!?” Esras exclaimed as he tried to push the spearhead back into Lugh’s hands. The King finished taking back the marks and backed away without taking the weapon in hand.
“As your King, my judgement is final. This is made of pure gold. Do you honestly expect me to go to battle with this?” Lugh spat back – still wearing that smirk.
“But you asked for a badge of office? What is that if not ceremonial?” Esras all but begged for Lugh to take the thing.
“Oh, do not misunderstand me, Esras – this is fine work,” Lugh said smoothly as he waved his right hand over the glimmering spearhead, “But it cannot serve me. Do you know how many assassination attempts I have survived?”
Esras’ mouth moved, searching for the words, but Lugh rolled right over him, “Seven. Seven attempts on my life, Esras. I need both form and function. If you cannot come up with something that meets my needs, I shall have to simply look elsewhere. I hear that old Kerr’gan is taking on new commissions…”
“No! My King! No! Old Kerr’gan is dishonest and knows not a hammer from an anvil! He would sooner fashion you a tin spear wrapped in gold leaf! Trust me on this matter, my King,” Esras went on, his hands waving about in soothing gestures. Lugh stifled a laugh at the frantic manner in which Esras devolved. The citizens of Gorias were all too easy to manipulate. Once, they had been at the epicenter of technological advancement - but then war and strife had begun to break out across the globe. Powerful beings had begun to seize power from the local governments. Over the course of the last few generations, most countries had begun to devolve into fractured kingdoms - each ruled over by a singular God-King or God-Queen.
Due to the petty wars and squabblings over territory, the Isles of Erie were largely reduced to half-hazard remnants of their former selves held together by Standing Flows and the sheer might of their God-like Warlords. Despite the circumstances, Lugh had thought himself above the rest of the Warlords of the Isles. He had believed in an Egalitarian Meritocracy, much like the ones found in old mythologies. Many didn't believe such a system was possible - but just as many wished it were, and those that had wished for it found themselves employed by Lugh. Esras, although employed by him, bore no noble ideals. He only cared for marks.
“I want Heartstone, Esras,” Lugh said simply.
The blacksmith’s eyes widened.
“I know you’ve been selling it on the side – therefore you have a means to procure or produce it,” Lugh said before meeting Esras’ eyes. The methods of creating the mythic material were common knowledge, but not many citizens of the Erie Isles possessed the skill to actually produce it. Due to trade embargos, it was all but impossible to find among the seven islands. Esras was a well-known dealer on the black market; that had been the only reason Lugh had approached him, court etiquette or not.
Esras betrayed himself as he began to wring his hands, looking down and away from Lugh, “For that, you have underpaid.”
Lugh let his eyebrows rise despite himself, “Oh?”
“The thing of which you speak… I have to import certain… talents… And so the rate is much higher.”
“How high?” Lugh asked with narrowed eyes.
Esras reached for a slip of paper and an ink pen, scribbling furiously. He folded the scrap and handed it over to Lugh, still avoiding eye contact.
“Five hundred thousand platinum marks!?” Lugh exclaimed.
Esras nodded, plucking at the skirts of his long robes. The man seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at Lugh.
“Surely you must be joking, Esras. Why, this would be more than would be demanded if the Formorians took me or the High Council for ransom!” Lugh let his smirk slip as his eyebrows cocked.
“Heartstone. Fairy fire. Unbreakable. Sa’angreal,” Esras muttered in a mocking voice before turning to meet Lugh’s stare, “I am no God, my King. The things you ask are beyond my skill. I have my own methods, but if you cannot pay my sources, you will have to find and kidnap one who can perform such feats.”
Lugh’s brow rose and his tone sweetened, “My what a curious choice of phrase.”
Esras stiffened.
“Kidnap. Not find. Kidnap. You know someone that could do what I want, don’t you Esras?” Lugh said with a sickly-sweet smile.
“Yes…” Esras breathed, “Of course, my King.”
Lugh embraced the Power and wove filaments of Light across the ground. A miniature map of the Isles of Erie seemingly rose from the floor. Esras swore under his breath as Lugh took a step closer to the blacksmith.
“Where are they, Master Esras?”
The blacksmith looked up at his King and swallowed hard. He pointed a finger to the north-most island that appeared on the illusory map and his King nodded with satisfaction. He spun away from the blacksmith, striding along confidently to the front door.
“I liked your design, Master Esras,” Lugh called over his shoulder, “You better hope this contact of yours can transform it into Heartstone. If they can – I’ll require a haft. If they can’t… Well, be ready.”
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