The meeting ran long into the day and afternoon, ending in the early evening. Henri had stood the entire time, getting more and more bored as the masters of the Ring of the Eight speaking to the hall, the forum itself raising up points, crosspoints and counterpoints to arguments, often devolved into shouting matches between different groups or individuals. The main topics had included which kingdoms needed to be led by the Ring's wisdom, about the news of a breed of Orc that were seen on the edges of civilization, and the subjugation of a nearby desert people that refused all attempts at becoming civilized. This last one came from a master of Alchemy, who Henri knew to be as greedy as he was ornery. Rumors among the apprentices were abound how he wanted to covet the desert people's inventions, along with more than half of the forum itself.
The news of an Orc tribe seen outside of various towns, but seemed to have no interest in attacking, created an uproar in the forum. Some called for slavery of the tribe, others for eradication, and still more for a study of the Orcs. It had been nearly two thousand years since the first Tribal War, and the hatred was still as strong and implacable as a mountain. The masters of the Ring of the Eight had stopped all mention of it, deigning to look further into the response of the tribe, to the boos of the forum. One of the masters spit on the floor while another started yelling in disgust at the majority vote of non-decision.
Before the forum was even let out, Henri's mistress had had enough, and she made it known to him. She stood from her seat in a tight rage, the forum mid-argument, and strode to the massive doors of the forum, the doors opening just enough to let her out, and onto the walkway to the outside ring beyond. Henri ran after her, focusing on keeping up with his mistress rather than look around again at the vista to either side of him.
As they got back to his mistress' workshop, she strode to her massive work desk, grabbing a chair in her way and flinging it against the wall. She scrawled quickly and heavily on parchment, then put it in an envelope and sealed it sloppily. Henri had never seen his mistress like this, and it scared him deeply, but he stood by silently, watching her work. As she finished the parchment, she spun toward him and held the envelope toward him.
'Take it, boy. Go to an shop, The Quilted Lion, give this to the owner, Lilian,' she snapped at him, her rage unmasked. He took it immediately, gulping as he did so, then backed away to the door. 'QUICKLY NOW, BOY!', she roared at him. His face flushed and he ran away as she continued to yell after him.
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Henri had completed his task, giving the envelope to a kind-looking middle aged dwarven woman in charge of what seemed to be a clothing shop. She took it, her gentle, motherly smile turning almost stony as she recognized the handwriting. She had looked at Henri for what felt like an eternity, before nodding tightly to him, telling him to return to his mistress. He ran back, still breathless from his run there, and had returned, a stitch screaming in his side. Gasping, he pushed open the door carefully, before noticing a blue and white light coming from the crack he had opened. Pushing through, he closed the door behind him, then looked into the room, his heart catching in his throat in intense fear.
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Standing in the middle of the room was his mistress, talking to two massive figures. They towered over her, and she was already not a short woman. They wore voluminous robes that slightly drug on the floor. They wore noseless masks over their faces that curled into thick, metallic horns swept to the left and right. They had hoods come up and over the middle of the horns, disguising their necks in layers of what looked like fabric, but...wasn't. In fact, their entire set of clothes seemed to act like fabric, but didn't...*feel* like fabric, which was strange to Henri, because he could swear he could actually feel it as it moved, without even touching it. Behind the figures was a strange shimmering in the air, like the pieces of a mirror spinning, turning, and moving. It was what was setting off the bluish-white light in the room, warring with the gold-and-orange light of the sinking sun filtering through the open window. He realized his mistress was speaking to the two figures, as he tuned his attention to her voice.
'--and at this point, I'm done with this farce! I'm ready to exist within the depths of the Meridian, to join your ranks. Damn this realm and all who live in it!' She ends her tirade, drool oozing from her contorted mouth, eyes shot red and half-crazed with rage.
The two figures look toward each other, then the left one turns toward the shimmering in the air. It lifts up a gloved hand from its robes, gestures, and the pieces of mirror crash together into a single, jagged figment. His mistress' face twists into one of a chaotic joy, and she strolls through, disappearing into the bluish-white opaque geometric patterns. The figure on the right turns toward it and moved through it, slowly and gracefully. The one who had gestured before turned to where Henri had hidden himself behind a stack of mechanical parts from a previous project, and held its gloved hand out toward him. It had six long, graceful fingers, with a small, round, strange jewel set in each knuckle of the glove.
The boy hesitated, looking at the figure in a mixture of fear and awe, and stepped forward. The figure put its hand on his shoulder as he stepped before the portal. He stared up at it, it's depths murky with a heavy, white fog. He looked to his left and far up, to the mask of the figure that stared down at him. He could feel an interminable patience radiating from not just the mask, but the figure's entire body. He looked back toward the portal, and stepped through, as all sound cut out from his senses.
As the boy stepped through the portal, the figure looked around the room, then stepped through itself, the portal shutting behind them, all traces of the boy and his mistress vanished, leaving only chaotic, half-finished projects scattered throughout the workshop.