The Weaver of Time

Chapter 3: Gifts of the Allfinder

"Shh, Shh! You're going to wake someone up!"

"Stop worrying so much, I've done this a thousand times."

From Bry'nk's little den, the soft purple influence of a glow stone held above their head waged an illuminating struggle against a soft hazard orange L.E.D that clicked in and out of functioning existence. The muffled whispers of two excited Ishtechans burrowed in the absence of light, were stifled by a teeth clenching pop that cracked through their senses; Followed by the antennae curling smell of burnt skin.

A metal sphere, almost the size of their heads fell into the itchy blankets below as knots twisted in the wake of the the buzzing sensation that cascaded up Bry'nk's arm. The creature squinted it's eyes in a desperate attempt to suppress a yelp like a tea kettle full of steam, then sank into themselves with breathy sigh.

The faint clacking of chitin on stone from beyond the woolen blanket at the entrance strummed at their senses, and froze them into two breathing statues that didn't even dare to pretend they were asleep.

"I thought you said you tested this last cycle?" manifested a quieted whisper from beside Bry'nk's head, followed by the gentle touch of a three fingered hand upon their shoulder. The other was held high, shaking as it tightly grasped a purple glow stone, which flickered in faintest excuse of what could be called light.

"You. Have no idea. How complicated these things are Typhon." Bry'nk explained, stealing a glance over their shoulder. "One wrong move and the relic punishes you." Gingerly, they scooped the orb back into their hands and with the confidence of a heart surgeon, crammed them into it's mechanical guts once more.

The entity that called itself Typh'on was much larger then Bry'nk, wearing upon it's frame the natural uniform of a fighter. Despite this however, the Ishtechan could hardly bring itself to harm another, much to the dismay of their elders during spars.

Typh'on was a child of the Allfinder, as all the Verrillians believed, and thus dedicated themselves to the study of the beings great mental endowments. The Relics? They were to be studied by the Luvion scholars and put to use by the Scionis scientists. A Verillian's place was to unearth these gifts from the Allfinder's domain and Typh'on knew this, yet they could hardly ignore the giddiness that vibrated through them while watching Bry'nk work.

One pearlescent blue eye softened as the giddiness turned sour, it's stomachs separating from the gut to float up into their throat. The thought of the rules the two were breaking encompassed them. What if the relic was dangerous?. It was all experimental fun unless something were to go terribly wrong. What if the relic exploded? What would happen to them if the elders found out? The deadly claws of a predator scraped along the inside of Typh'ons skull, leaving behind a twisting, nauseating itch from inside their head. It was a familiar itch; An itch that was nearly impossible to scratch.

Their fingertips retreated from Bry'nks shoulder to trace along the sunken remains of what used to be a left eye before gliding faintly through the deep ravines that forever altered the topography of the young Ishtechan's face. With a clenching of their teeth, they further synched a blue cloth head wrap to hug the damaged chitin and replace it with something more 'soft on the eyes'

"B...Bry'nk" Typh'on stammered, but was only met with an elevated hand and a twitch of the antennae which served as the universal sign language for 'Quiet, I'm working.' This though, only served as the catalyst for them to shift to a better vantage over the other shoulder.

"Bry'nk? What if this thing is dangerous?" there was a persistent lack of an answer besides a small crackle and a drawn out fizzzzzzz from inside of the orb. "Maybe we should give this one to the Scions."