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Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

The hastily drawn sketch neatly folded in her pocket, Sylvan set out in search of a smith who was willing to work in silver. After several stops, she did find someone willing to do customized work.

She showed the old, stooped little man the drawing and asked if he felt confident that he could render her request. He gave her an odd look, after having studied the sketch, but nodded nonetheless.

"This work is very detailed, ye'll pay dearly for it lass," he advised her. Sylvan assured the man she was not concerned with the cost, as long as she had what she needed when she needed it. A time two days hence was agreed upon for her to come survey the work, and pay for it if she found it acceptable.

With all of her being, she hoped the medallion would be pleasing.

Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

Time ticked away at a ridiculously slow pace after she left the metalworker. She went home, paced around, tried to rest, and spent a good deal of time sketching and writing. Anxiety began to take a strong hold over Sylvan, a creeping and free-floating angst she could not quite identify held her in its thrall. As night approached she felt sick with mental and physical pain and set out to find her healer. Fortunately, she found him easily enough and spent a good deal of time talking with him.

When she took leave of his company, Sylvan felt incredibly healed and whole. For the first time in many years she felt completely strong and certain, walking with her chin up and her shoulders squared. With a strong conviction, she felt this was not a temporary fix--she knew in her heart that the time spent had left her ahead of her own personal curve, and she actually looked forward to the future both near and distant.

Smiling and not even realizing it, she arrived at her home and went directly to the third floor where she shed her clothes in a heap by the sauna door and walked in. Within minutes, she was dozing comfortably, enjoying a completely sublime contentment.

Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

The little man stood a few paces from Sylvan, wringing his hands in an absurdly worried manner. She lifted the small, polished wooden box and opened the lid very slowly, wanting to savor the moment. A combination of anticipation and anguish washed over her; if the item was not perfect there would be no time to correct it and the whole pursuit would be a lost cause. Before actually allowing herself to peer at the item resting on the soft velvety lining of the box, she made a point to toss a calculated look to the nervous man who stood nearby. He shrank from her gaze, and Sylvan suppressed the urge to smile, or for that matter laugh, at his tension. Finally the moment had come. Slowly, and with relish, Sylvan allowed herself to finally look at the finished piece.

A small gasp issued from her lips. The execution of the art she provided was meticulous, perfect. Beautiful.

Gingerly, she turned the little disc over and read the inscription there. Again, perfection.

"You've pleased me greatly, sir," she informed the metalworker. "Now tell me what I owe you."

The man gave his price. Indeed he was not kidding when he said his fee would be handsome. But given the purpose of the gift she held in her hand, she felt it was fair and well within reason. She tucked the box into the satchel she carried, and withdrew the correct amount of gold to pay the man. With a slight shrug, she added a generous gratuity to the sum and left the currency on the table at which she stood.

Now it was time to deliver the gift, there was still a little time. Sylvan flipped through her runebook and found the proper location, chanted the words that would take her there, and left the city of Britain.

Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

The medallion was given to the person for whom Sylvan had it crafted, and the necklace was immediately put on by its new owner. Words of thanks and welcome were exchanged. Sylvan quickly took her leave, not wanting to really hear her fears articulated into reality. Rather than go home and pace the floors, she headed off and spent some time trying to teach manners to titans, without any real results other than coming home with her pockets well lined with their hoarded gold.

A series of unexpected and strange events soon occurred which gave Sylvan grave concerns. She returned from these things, and sat to pen a letter to the craftsman who'd forged the medallion for her and requested an exact copy of it for herself, enclosed a check for the prior amount with an additional service fee she felt would encourage the order to be expedited. She then signed off with the date several days hence that she would be stopping by to check its progress. The courier was dispatched to the workshop, once again leaving Sylvan to her own devices.

Feet dragging from exhaustion brought on by many nights of inadequate rest, Sylvan went up to her room and locked the doors behind her. Collapsing onto the bed without even changing into her favorite sleeping robe felt so very good. The feather pillows welcomed her and before she realized it she was deep in sound slumber.

This night, the dreams were not quite so bad. Perhaps even pleasant, though when she awoke from them she would have no recollection of them, so great was the rest she gained. Waking many hours later, she sat up and ran her fingers through her tousled hair. Blinking away the sleep was ineffective; she flopped back down and was again asleep in moments.

Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

The chain slipped down over her neck, the weight of the medal bringing a strange sense of peace to her mind. The old metal smith had served her well for the second time, and she made a mental note to stop in and thank him sometime.

Sylvan closed her eyes and reflected for a few moments, and marveled in silence how many things the human mind can conjure up in a short span of time. One such thought was the irony of the medallion now suspended from the necklace. Was it coincidence or something more, that she decided to have one made for herself? She would never know.

But she would know the comfort of a familiar item, that was certain. There was that much.