Ambersmith

Chapter 1

(Cover by Mad-Moonknight, a wonderful reader no longer by that name.)

The party was flowing slower than a summer creek, and the air seemed colder than a summer day was meant to be. None if the guests seemed to notice or care about how the party felt, as they all milled in the dark with only two chandeliers lit above them, speaking in dead tones and putting on a show of trying to enjoy themselves. Music was lacking, as well as food, and the evening was not like any of them had expected.

Though, the reason the guests may not have complained was because this was a King-Tyrant's party, and only the most distinguished of monsters attended. Werewolves, vampires, demons, and even a few ghouls walked about in suits and gave polite greetings in hushed tones. Any air was chilly with only cold bodies packed into the ballroom, one modeled like a mausoleum.

The King himself walked about on the dark, smooth cobble floor, with his shoes sounding with distinguishable snaps. He was the largest being in the room, wearing a noir velvet cape lined with wolf-fur, and his presence brought awed silence to all who stood within five feet near him.

The massive, ancient being walked now towards the door at the back of the room. The king was heading towards the furnace- a room specially designed for one vampire. An ancient man who could mold amber and resins into anything the king desired.

The ambersmith was working his craft as the king entered. The nimble hands of the half-dead man were quick and at work on a piece of amber, transforming the slightly-sweet smelling piece into the most thin and well-shaped pen case with a small shuttle-shaped whittling tool.

The king moved closer, and the ambersmith slipped the pen lead into the casing, before facing his superior. His voice was unwavering and elegant, as the vampire was well-acquainted with the awe-factor his master radiated. "What do you wish?"

"Duchess Dorthy wishes for a locket in her image. She is to be wedded tomorrow." The king stated, before waving the sweet woman over. Her brown eyes glimmered, but her body was sunken and taught, like tight canvas over her bones. The dress she wore over her frame was large and covered her from foot to neck, and a wig sat on her head where she was bald. She was indeed a walking, living corpse; a ghoul.

The smith moved out a stool of hard rock amber, and gestured for her to sit. She did so, hesitantly, her hands in her lap and feet fidgeting. The smith met her brown eyes with his dark red ones and she froze.

"I shall make you a locket in the shape of an oval, with the design of your lace as a frame, and your face pointed to the left. I will use hot resin, milky and almost gold. Will this please you?" The smith asked. He carried the air of a master of his craft, though some said he sounded like a salesman.

The ghoul nodded, "The- The hole needs to fit on this chain." She stuttered, taken aback by his professionalism, presenting the smith with a circlet of fine silver. The smith noticed his werewolf side-man take two paces away, though the vampire's eyes stayed on Dorothy's face.

"As you wish." The smith rolled the chain between his thumb and index finger, giving the chain back before taking a seat beside the massive furnace that ran in the room. The guests flooded in eagerly to see the spectacle, and the heat of the flames was trapped within the wall of cold bodies now.

The smith's helper took a slab of a clear, hard resin, and broke the piece over his knee. He handed a small piece to the smith, who studied the piece before rolling the bit in a white powder from a tin by his feet.

His set up was complex for so many curious watchers, all but him unable to perform such craft. There was the white powder, that made the resins milky. There were poles, that helped small pieces enter the flame. There were pieces of wood, which were so caked in sap and resins that no one dare touch them. Finally, there were the vampire's finer tools. A few dared to glance at them, they were protected by curses that made all manner of beings shiver. Only the ambersmith could use these tools, and he alone knew how to.

The smith now set the powdery resin piece into the end of what seemed to be a spoon with a long, long handle. The werewolf lowered the gate to the furnace, and the dragon flame lashed out at the crowd, causing many to gasp or jump back. Three beings ended up on their behinds in the front row alone.

The smith did not flinch. He pushed the stick into the furnace and walked towards the flame, and the fire seemed to quiver back from him. He rocked his wrist and stepped forwards still, until the man seemed to have both arms in the flame. Then he returned, backing up and turning.

The liquid at the end of the spoon looked exactly like gold, and was plunged into water that seemed to scream. The resin hardened, and the king looked pleased as the smith took the spoon and knocked out a perfect, smooth shape onto the work table.

The crowd held their breath. The show was not over. The smith's tools caught the fire light and seemed excited by the heat, as the time to use them approached.

The vampire looked hard at the woman ghoul, changing gloves before walking to the table. He always wore gloves, and seemed to have an unending supply of them. His hands did not need to be watched as he grabbed the right tool, immediately beginning to work on a frame around the sides. The resin came up like soap to the tool, the vampire making the work look effortless.

Within moments, the frame was done, looking like a frame of lace. Then the figure of a woman began to take form, and within three minutes, the piece was done. To the crowd, the procession looked like the tool never even left the resin.

The crowd gasped in awe of the creation, and the ghoul woman got up to inspect the jewelry closer. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she reached to touch the golden resin, as if to touch a mirror. She was stopped by the vampire.

The smith had raised a hand to stop her. "I am not done." He warned, before going to the still-open furnace and taking a softer resin his helper handed him, having the amber-colored material loosen and soften to the consistency of taffy candy. He worked this with his bare hands, braiding falling strands before taking them to the piece and adding a border, and a loop to which the chain could fit.

Then, he chucked the piece into a bucket of water and put velvet gloves on. Several ladies in the room gasped at the carelessness.

He removed the piece with two sticks, made of long and golden wood, almost like chop-sticks. Then he placed the piece into his velveted hands, and presented this to the ghoul woman.

He got down onto his knees before her and held the piece between his palms, over his head.

His eyes were cast to the floor, and he spoke. The room was silent, straining to hear him, but almost no guest attending could. Only the king and Dorthy could make sense of what he spoke under the roaring of the furnace.

"I, Killo, present this gift, made of resin from the golden trees, to Dorothy for her wedding, and wish her an eternally happy marriage."

The king seemed proud of his smith's words. Dorothy teared up and took the pendant carefully in her hands.

"Thank you, thank you." Dorothy started to cry lightly, full of sudden emotion and given a gift that very well may have been worth more than gold. She strung the necklace, and the king hung the piece around her neck.

The crowd clapped modestly, clearly refraining from becoming too loud. Praise for the craft was muttered and given lightly, though Killo himself remained on his knee with his eyes to the floor. His hands had moved together and rested in a position most like prayer, a strange thing for a vampire.

Ceremony done, the King ordered to his smith to rise. Then he put a dark, misty hand on Killo's arm. Attention from the room was all focused on the necklace, and almost no one heard the instructions His Highness gave Killo.

Hanging his head, Killo nodded and walked away, slamming closed the gate to the dragon-fire forge with an echoing finality that brought upon silence. No one else would be receiving gifts from the king. No one else had earned the favor of the almighty.

The king took the pen casing that Killo had been working and crushed it to dust in his hands, seeming pleased to watch the powder flow from his hand to the floor. A banker looked on with a frown, though knew better to make comment. Killo did the same, eyes not gracing the ruin of his work.

"Now then! I have left you all in silence too long." The King called out, regaining all attention. "Musicians!"

Eagerly, a bassist began to play.