Gem Tests [Ari]

"Falcon? Hawk? I don't bleedin' know, lass. Those're about the only kindsa birds of prey I know. The type what could lift a whole bleedin' animal up in their talons..." He shakes his head. Clearly, he was onto nothing here. "Bah. I guess it ain't matter. What I /know/ that ye are is Arianne."

He blinks, and a chill wind howls through the desert. "...I feel like I'm forgettin' why I'm here."
(Gerholdt)

"Falcons and hawks aren't eagles, Gerholdt- though they are birds of prey, yes." They were fair guesses. Though not correct ones. "It's a Harpy Eagle. I can award you that much, given that you put in the effort."

Oh. Right. They were here for something.

Arianne sits up, becoming less relaxed in her seat, and pulls the multi-faceted wonder of a gem from her pocket.

"I'd nearly forgotten after all that mess in Tarn."
(Arianne Martinet)

EXP Gain: [(225.5*1)+0=225.5]
"Oh. /Type/ of eagle... guess I ain't considered that kinda specific... blah." Discontented and dispirited, the Rajen slumps a little bit in his chair. Clearly it was a Harpy Eagle - how could he be so foolish? Not even the credit that she was willing to give him was enough.

However, he changes his tune precipitously when she brings up the gem, sitting up a bit more in his chair. "Aye, that's it. So, what exactly /can/ that thing do, lass? If it's even capable of a fraction of what that Niah lass did with the sand, then it must be a right dangerous thing if ye ain't know what yer doin'."
(Gerholdt)

The next reboot will be in 19 hours.
"It's fine, really. Not many even bother to ask. Or guess," she says with a shrug. Though soon enough his slump is shaken off when they set to the work they'd intended.

"Ladis told us a bit. And...well. I have been testing it. A little." More than a little. That hardly needed mentioning.

"The ring I was gifted controls the winds. This? It controls the sands- watch."

Hold it the bauble in one hand she gestures with the other to the ground in front of her, before the table. All it took was a flick of her wrist and the sand ripples, as if there were a distant stampede.

"See? Here. Try."

Arianne trusts it in the smith's hands. Perhaps even more than her own.
(Arianne Martinet)

EXP Gain: [(359*1)+0=359]
"Testin' it, eh..." He takes the gem in his hand, and decides to concentrate upon the gem itself. To feel for its signature and suss out just what made this little orange humdinger special. A mere mana-based parse, however, tells him precious little. It wasn't so much that the artifact was inscrutable, but more that it felt like it was... everything it claims to be.

It was an anomaly, but not anomalous in the sense that it made its oddness obvious. So he decides instead to use his own body as the conduit for its mana, and curls his other hand's fingers up. The sand nearby seems to 'clutch' inward like an antlion pit, collapsing in on itself.

"...Hells. It feels like the swivin' sands themselves are part of me limbs. Like I can just look at a place an'..." He flicks a finger up, and a tendril of desert grain rises steadfast from the earth. "It feels... natural."
(Gerholdt)

"Yes. Testing," she replies. The Martinet elaborates no further on the when, how, where, or why. It's not necessary.

He takes hold of it, he uses it, and he understands. It made the sands an extension of the self. Which was exciting, but a terrifying amount of power. It certainly made sense how the bandits became such a bane with this in their clutches. How anyone could.

"Precisely. You can do more than move it- you can loosen it, compact it. All with a will of energy and a thought. It works quite well in concert with this."

The Martinet tugs off her glove to reveal the artifact ring that lies hidden on her finger.

"The sands and winds of the Desica desert able to be controlled."
(Arianne Martinet)
"I gotta level with ye, Ari." He continues to toy around with the powers of the gem as he speaks. He twirls a finger around, and so a portion of sand near them seems to swirl and churn as if being drilled into the earth. "I don't know that I could just... research this, the way I would a weapon.

It's obvious that the 'mechanism' in the gem gives ye control. But this kinda control, to this kinda extent... maybe the most I could learn from this is the matter of attunement." How to further refine control over one's magical weaving 'aspect' - in essence, to let them will their environment in a more intimate fashion.

"Plus, that its potency seems to be limited to the desert means it's even more bleedin' specialized'n just a tome or a wand." Gerholdt clutches his fist hard, and bricks start to stack from the sand, rising from the earth as if it was always meant to be where the little three-brick-high wall now stands.

"Beyond that, though... makin' an artifact like this? I'd need to be a gods-damned spirit meself."
(Gerholdt)

"I'd expected as much. I certainly didn't expect you to be able to replicate it perfectly. That would be foolish, even as fine at your craft as you are," she states, watching the smith toy with the grains of sand with almost no effort at all.

"There is still, something I imagine you can learn. -We- can learn. That and until it's returned...we have full use of its power." Surely that shouldn't be squandered either.

The winds and sands of the desert, in their control? The possibilities were many. There's a spark in her eyes as her imagination runs wild and rampant.
(Arianne Martinet)
Gerholdt picks up on that spark well enough. It's something he can see from a mile away. "...Alright, then. I want to see what it is ye can make, then. Ye got hands to make nice an' delicate li'l things, an' maybe even weapons besides. So..." He hands the gem back to her in earnest, stands up out of the chair, and walks towards his tent.

Then goes the arduous process of packing everything back in, and shoving it all into a ramshackle backpack that he slings over his shoulders with relative ease. Once that rigmarole is seen through, he walks up to the Martinet and takes her hand. "Let's go find ourselves a wider space to play with then, aye?"

In short order, he ferries her deeper into the desert night, further on where fewer might be able to see them. To experiment with impunity.
(Gerholdt)

Arianne merely collects herself, and her thoughts, as the smith collects all his belongings and his tent. He seems to have the packing well enough in hand all on his own.

She rests her hand in his and, together, they trek further into the desert.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that sounds as if you're questioning my abilities," she remarks, giving him a sidelong glance. Of course she's already been at 'play' with the two relics.

The Martinet holds out her hand to take the artefact back from him and waits.

"Do you want something fine and delicate, then? Or something a little more...grand?"
(Arianne Martinet)
They go far, far, far out into the sands - far enough that they wouldn't be like to be found anytime soon. Not until they took the trek back up north, and given their tools, they had ought to do just fine. "Not questionin' 'em. More like challengin' 'em, maybe. I ain't sure how to feel about ye /actually/ retainin' a title of some kind. Ye know -- a queenship sort of deal, not bein' an owner of House Martinet."

"Mostly 'cause I ain't sure how the rest of Nalian would cotton to it. However, all that said..." He approaches the Avian, places the gem in her hand, and stands at her side... before pivoting behind her, and placing his hands upon her hips.

Leaning his head in from the side, he speaks softly, craning his chin over her shoulder. "But to me, yer a queen. An' while we know not to skirt too far into that whole 'queen of the sands' business that Niah went on about... well."

"Somethin' grand ought to befit a queen, aye?"
(Gerholdt)

The privacy and seclusion was ideal. Spirits forbid they were happened upon experimenting with not one, but two potent relics out in the middle of the desert. Depending on who wandered through, it might not be looked kindly on. Discretion was key.

"A challenge I am fine with," she says with a nod, straightening her back as they come to a halt out in the far wastes. Then she adds with some bitterness: "It's not as if many of them seem fond of me holding any sort of sway on the Council as is. Much less some loftier title."

But that can be visited later. This is the distraction she craves. Craft, discovery, planning.

The gestures the smith offers, and what he has to say puts a more positive ruffle in her feathers. Damn the gossip. Damn the ungrateful. She knows what she is and that's what matters.

With the gem in one and the ring on the other, the Martinet moves her hands about like a maestro, gesturing the winds and sands to the rhythm of her will.

They've made the trek out far enough. No need to not go full-hog. Arianne begins to shape great walls, parapets, and spires right out of the sand. If she's going to be a queen? Well, she damn well is going to need a castle.
(Arianne Martinet)
"Well, it ain't matter. They can think what they want -- somethin' like that is more'n a title or bearin' of some kind. More'n just people sayin' ye are or some kinda territory ye can claim to own." It was something of a far more conceptual basis; something that he's sworn time and time again that he can see in her.

Gerholdt holds on to Arianne as she weaves together her own particular sort of magic. And amid the plain, flat chill of the desert, the Avian conjures something special. He can see it taking shape - clumps of sand that come together and compress, heightening to make towers and spires.

It spoke to the ambition she holds in her breast, yes, but he's just as receptive to her attention to detail. The 'stonework' that slowly molds together and take shape from all the sand. The intricate packing and compression to ensure a strong, sturdy foundation.

Maybe the castle was an ephemeral thing - something that could only hold in proximity to the gem. But as he watches it slowly rise from the earth, he sees something that she finds herself worthy of. It's a terrifying thing to engage with, her ego. A terrifying thing to indulge, and all the same, something he couldn't in good conscience deny outright.
(Gerholdt)

"You're right. I have to remind myself of it. Their opinions don't matter, at day's end. They can flap their gums." They could talk and jeer. Arianne would continue forward.

She's no architect, so it might not be technically correct or structurally sound, but she's got ambition and imagination in spades. Powered by the two relics, those surely make up for any gaps. At least in the short term.

As she works her gripes with the smallfolk of Nalian, of the valley, grow distant. In this moment they don't matter. It's a dangerous and beautiful reprieve.

The Martinet has come a long way in a short time. There are realities she's had to come to terms with lest they overwhelm her, but her ego? While it's been tempered, restrained by discipline, it's still alive and kicking.

It's not a whole palace, but the façade of one stands out impressively against the desert skyline. It's about then that it dawns on her. Half the power was gifted, the desert winds hers to divert as she pleases. The other half was still borrowed.

It grounds her for the time being, lest she soar too high on waxing dreams. Arianne removes the ring, takes the gem, and offers them to the smith whom still holds onto her.

"And what is it you wish to make?"
(Arianne Martinet)

Now Gerholdt's own grasp on creative sense was to be weighted. The smithy, for his part, would not see that it goes wanting. He watches as Arianne erects a facade of compacted sand; it cuts a mighty silhouette amidst the landscape. An admirable monument to be sure.

"...It's a beautiful thing, lass. Usin' this to create shite instead of goin' around and just takin' shite what other folk have earned." Maybe it's not exactly what Ladis had intended of her creation, but it's what's happening now. "Ye want /me/ to make somethin'? Well... hells, I'll give it a shot."

Rather than look upon the sands to erect a structure directly, he shuts his eyes and lets his mind do the heavy lifting. Taking the gem in his hand, Gerholdt wills the sand to rise, and thinks of his every experience up to now. The rapport that he's built up with the Martinet, the little struggles he's had to endure against the bandits, every little relationship he's run into...

...and he digs just a touch deeper. The sands rise and grains coalesce some distance away from the facade of Arianne's palace. It is wrought rather quickly - the brickwork solidifies fast, and its fullest height turns out to be a rather humble thing.

A replica of sand: a modest brick house in the middle of the desert. A round and serviceable forge sits to its side, attached to the home. Wisps of powdery golden sand 'waft' artificially from the top of the home's chimney.

It's not something that the Martinet might be able to initially recognize. Maybe it's just Gerholdt's ideal home: an isolated place, calm and bellowing with heat.
(Gerholdt)

"It is. Isn't it? And of course. I can't be having all the fun, can I?" Technically they were out here for more scholarly reasons. For tests, for research. That didn't meant they couldn't find some enjoyment. Capturing those moments where she could find it were important for keeping her sanity.

Now it's her turn to stand watch. She stands to his side and just behind, resting her beak on his shoulder as the smith takes time to craft something all his own.

The sands shift at his thought as he closes his eyes and conjures up an image rather than sculpting it by waving hands through the air as she'd done. It's no less effective for what he aims.

Rather than the grand, imposing and regal walls she's constructed, he goes for something smaller, but no less meaningful. An idyllic home sprouts from dust and miniscule grains, complete with forge and what she can only imagine is a fire within. She's content to admire it in lieu of the palace walls.

"...I like that better."
(Arianne Martinet)