Myharl (prime)/A Hymn for Warriors (vignette)
Title: A Hymn for Warriors
Author: Myharl
This is a vignette reflecting upon events from the perspective of Myharl while investigating the Orb of Kai with his wife and others. Events take place in inside the arcane study within the Fenog's Regulars lodge located on the outskirts of Icemule Trace on the evening of Day of the Huntress, the 23rd of Phoenatos in 5124.
Myharl exhaled deeply, the frustration lingering in his expression more than apparent as he haphazardly swept the night-dark feathered mantle he wore back behind his shoulder while rolling his neck.
The artifact, while a masterfully rendered work of art, wasn't particularly impressive as far as magical artifacts went. However, the shifting weight within suggested that perhaps this sphere was simply a vessel for the true treasure vaulted within.
The orb was not solid. Intricately placed, smaller pieces of eonake comprised the overall shape of the sphere. Each individual piece seemed as if it should be easily shifted out of alignment, yet the complex design held each firmly interlinked, secured by the filigreed adamantine band circumventing it. The nigh unbreakable metal safeguarded the device from being levered apart or shattered. He admired the secure design.
As he slowly turned the sphere in his hand, probing the detailed rendering of muscled figures locked in mock-combat, he felt assured this design was in tribute to Kai. The arkati seemed to revel in the sport of wrestling, and the posture and pose of many of the figures reflected as much.
As the amber candlelight undulated against the metallic surface of the orb, Myharl's thoughts briefly returned to his first inclination to take the sphere to the forge. He was a master weaponsmith and knew that the eonake would become malleable upon the proper flame, however a steadfast concern that the heat may potentially damage whatever lies within stilled his curiosity in that regard.
No. This was a puzzle. Puzzles have solutions.
Applying pressure to the plates there was a bit of give as they depressed inward before locking steadfast. As had been the case every time before, as he released the pinioned segments and the orb restored itself, a melodic plinking emanated from within manifesting a short inspiring melody.
Tilting the orb in another direction and twisting the halves conversely, Myharl found some give before the pieces again locked into place. As he released the pressure the hemisphere slowly rotated back into its original position, again playing a strange euphonious song that resonated until its self-propelled motion came to a halt.
He repeated the process several times before his eyes widened. His gaze cast down again to the figures depicted in lifelike detail around the surface of the sphere. These were warriors. Not entirely unlike himself — a battle hymn is meant to drive, to rouse. These warriors were waiting to be inspired to battle.
Listening carefully to the notes the sphere played with each concentric movement, he began interrupting the sphere's regression, depressing, turning the sphere repeatedly. A pause before turning again, and yet another turn, each time allowing the sphere to shift back just long enough to piece together a more steady tempo.
Allowing his breaths to fall into the evinced cadence, he continued until he could feel the call of the battle hymn. Then, suddenly, there was a click; a foreign sound from the device...
Before his thoughts could process what had happened, his wife rang out inquisitively in a surprised tone, “Wh-what did you do?”
Shifting his eyes quickly to Jastalyn, he shrugged slightly and deeply replied, “The song was wrong. I tried to fix it.”