It seemed to actually work! Yrmellyn could hardly believe it was true, but she kept tuning in to the lock and listened with her attunement to the oddly clicking and metallic “music” she perceived it as. It wasn’t really what people would normally mean with sound, which they could hear with their ears. It wasn’t what people ordinarily would consider music. I was a magical experience of the lock...she would maybe find a name for it someday, but not right now in this stressful situation. Yrmellyn found it enough that she was somehow able do something, however weird.
The eidisi man proudly announced that there were only three more sets to go. The painter didn’t know what “sets” meant, but she figured her fellow involuntary lock picker knew at least something about what he was doing. She dismissed the possibility that he was just trying to fake it until he could make it. That was one scary thought. It was no idea to let it paralyze her. Actually, the spark of magic that was now in charge of Yrmellyn Cole’s brain seemed to approve of her being rational and not giving in to impulses to panic. It didn’t surprise her, because it wasn’t the first time she had felt the spark support her in situations when she needed to...not be emotional. It had helped her back in Cylus when she had been instrumental for the death of an insane mage in Rynmere’s criminal district. The spark had also been active that evening when she had broken out of the odd thrall she had been held in by professor Doran Thethys in combination with the content of an unknown potion they had tried to investigate in the laboratory of the university of Rynmere. She could feel the presence of the spark now too, colder and harder than the steel of the lock.
Her own mental power held her in an iron grip.
She stayed composed.
The eidisi started to move things again. She glanced at him. The man was looking like a very savvy vault lock operator indeed. It was perhaps partly due to his blue skin: everybody knew that eídisi were smarter than average and some also said they were even colder than the ice of that frozen city up north the race originated from.
She didn’t even know his name. He had seemed to work for the bank though.
The “sound” Yrmellyn received from the lock went more complex now. A kind of “screeching” sound joined the initial clicks. It sickened her to listen to it. The words “tortured metal” came to her mind and the sound spilled over to her sense of smelling and gave her an artificial whiff of burnt metal and something else unpleasant. She felt like she and the lock shared an acute wish to make this terror stop, so she lived her hand and told the eídisit to stop.
“Stop! Not that way! Turn that device the opposite way for immortals sake, or you will soon make an alloy of...devices. Just turn that...thing... the opposite way!”
She really hoped it would help. The magical sensations of screaming metal on the verge of a dramatic meltdown were killing her. The silence when it stopped was as shocking as the “sound” it had replaced. It remained to see if the peace would last, because she couldn’t know if the eídisi had just stopped temporarily and was about to resume what he had been doing, or if he would pay heed to what she had told him to do.
If he decided to not listen to her, and continued in the same manner a before the pause, he would see the painter stiffen like lightning had hit her. If he would do as she has asked him to do, Yrmellyn would seem to relax visibly for no obvious reason, and start to hum silently in concert with a secret and metallic music no one else than she could hear.
The eidisi man proudly announced that there were only three more sets to go. The painter didn’t know what “sets” meant, but she figured her fellow involuntary lock picker knew at least something about what he was doing. She dismissed the possibility that he was just trying to fake it until he could make it. That was one scary thought. It was no idea to let it paralyze her. Actually, the spark of magic that was now in charge of Yrmellyn Cole’s brain seemed to approve of her being rational and not giving in to impulses to panic. It didn’t surprise her, because it wasn’t the first time she had felt the spark support her in situations when she needed to...not be emotional. It had helped her back in Cylus when she had been instrumental for the death of an insane mage in Rynmere’s criminal district. The spark had also been active that evening when she had broken out of the odd thrall she had been held in by professor Doran Thethys in combination with the content of an unknown potion they had tried to investigate in the laboratory of the university of Rynmere. She could feel the presence of the spark now too, colder and harder than the steel of the lock.
Her own mental power held her in an iron grip.
She stayed composed.
The eidisi started to move things again. She glanced at him. The man was looking like a very savvy vault lock operator indeed. It was perhaps partly due to his blue skin: everybody knew that eídisi were smarter than average and some also said they were even colder than the ice of that frozen city up north the race originated from.
She didn’t even know his name. He had seemed to work for the bank though.
The “sound” Yrmellyn received from the lock went more complex now. A kind of “screeching” sound joined the initial clicks. It sickened her to listen to it. The words “tortured metal” came to her mind and the sound spilled over to her sense of smelling and gave her an artificial whiff of burnt metal and something else unpleasant. She felt like she and the lock shared an acute wish to make this terror stop, so she lived her hand and told the eídisit to stop.
“Stop! Not that way! Turn that device the opposite way for immortals sake, or you will soon make an alloy of...devices. Just turn that...thing... the opposite way!”
She really hoped it would help. The magical sensations of screaming metal on the verge of a dramatic meltdown were killing her. The silence when it stopped was as shocking as the “sound” it had replaced. It remained to see if the peace would last, because she couldn’t know if the eídisi had just stopped temporarily and was about to resume what he had been doing, or if he would pay heed to what she had told him to do.
If he decided to not listen to her, and continued in the same manner a before the pause, he would see the painter stiffen like lightning had hit her. If he would do as she has asked him to do, Yrmellyn would seem to relax visibly for no obvious reason, and start to hum silently in concert with a secret and metallic music no one else than she could hear.
