B2 Chapter 27: City of Viridian

Caledon strode through the Archcity of Life with Viveria in tow, in search of their butler.

More than that, his brother and friend, Silas.

The Dreadwood, in its entirety, was often referred to as the Archcity of Life. An accurate description, for the host of flora and fauna it contained. It did cause some confusion however, when there was a city that lay at the very heart of the forest, sprawling concentrically outwards from the Dawntree.

The city of Viridian sported buildings which were unsurprisingly built from all forms of wood present in the Dreadwood. Even as dejected as his sister was, he caught Viveria stopping to stare at a mansion built from the trees in the Shadow woods, shrouded in darkness. True to its origin, the dark wood that lined the structure, drew in light and cloaked the mansion in darkness.

Another less creative noble simply had a tree from the Emberwood planted directly in their front yard, which burned lightly in the evening sun. At its foot were winterlilies, swaying in the breeze.

Some nobles have no taste. The least you could do would be to be consistent with your theme.

Caledon and Viveria continued down the road at a slight incline. Highlady Solastra’s castle surrounded the entire circumference of the Dawntree, at Viridian’s peak. Returning to the castle from any point in the city would require a trek up the streets.

Lanterntrees bordered the paths. Vale had briefly told him about the strange trees in the Gravewoods, the caverns that lay under Dreadwood. Unlike those Vale had described, these lanterntrees had been artfully carved down to size, such that they tastefully accompanied the city’s cobbled streets. He never would have guessed that they originated from a land cloaked in death.

“It’s beautiful.”

He smiled, as he saw Viveria perk up slightly. She ran her fingers through flowers that generously lined the facades of the more mundane buildings, which seemed to be constructed from the same beige stone that the Highlady’s castle own castle had been constructed from.

“Cally… that’s a Feardamned lightning horse!”

True to his sister’s words, Caledon watched in awe as a lightning steed drawing a carriage all on its lonesome thundered through the streets, leaving sparks of lightning and static electricity in its wake. Caledon watched as the hair on his forearms stood on its end.

Finally, they arrived at the Artisan’s Quarter. One of Solastra’s attendants had informed that Silas was down in a workshop in Viridian. Finally, they reached the Artisan’s Quarter, and were greeted by shopfronts of every sort.

For the first time in a long while, Caledon felt a rush of pure excitement. This time, untainted by the threat of something trying to kill him. He rushed in the opposite direction of his sister, who took off to peruse the weapons on display.

“You really need to see this armour! Even though they’re made of wood, they’re as hard as steel! Not to mention, this one looks like the armour of that Knight of the Dreadwood with the shadow-“

Viveria noticed that her words were washing over her brother, ignored. She  looked quizzically at the object of his attention.

“Cally… why are you looking at instruments?”

“It’s the quickest way of telling the quality of the craftsmen in a city. Sakar mentioned it to me.”

Caledon’s eyes were shining, as they fixed upon an elegant harp that stood at Viveria’s height. Although she much preferred weaponry, the elegance of the harp put some of the blades of Brimstone smiths to shame.

The harp’s frame flowed like water, with curves that betrayed not even the hint of unevenness. Golden metallic strings ran at even intervals, strung up within the immaculate frame. It went without saying, if these instruments were anything to go by, the Dreadwood’s artisans were on even ground with Brimstone’s best smiths.

As Caledon’s hand hovered over the frame, his eyes widened as he felt a slight chill.

“Its carved from wood of from the Iltheria.”

Viveria and Caledon turned to look in the direction of the melodic voice, over the bustle in the shop which was filled with curious patrons.

“The ice glades, for visitors like yourselves. A section of the Dreadwood encased in frost and snow. It prevents the warping of the wood. It is a commission for an elf in Somnolence, the Archcity of Dreams, you see. He needed something that would withstand the heat.” 

The shop’s purveyor was dressed in a smart gentleman’s suit, with a cane and black top hat. He bowed elegantly before the siblings, sweeping his hat from his head.

“Welcome to Yannick’s Sonorous Emporium. Please feel free to peruse at your own leisure.”

Caledon returned his bow smartly.

“Fascinating… Mister Yannick, I presume? Utilising the applications of wood from the ice glades to service clients in warmer climates… Are there other applications of the Dreadwood’s produce?”

“Why of course, young man!”

Yannick gestured to a flaming, wind instrument carved from the Emberwood. Viveria glanced at it with scepticism.

“Would anyone want to play that? It looks like it would burn your lips.”

“An excellent observation young miss, which tells me that it has achieved its intended effect.”

The proprietor raised the white flute to his lips, and as he blew through it and played a tune, fire emerged from the tone holes and out from the end of the instrument. The short tune that Yannick played drew them right in, and Caledon’s eyes widened as the space around him faded, and he was transported back into the heart of the Emberwood.

A the tune grew haunting and solemn, he felt the heat of breath on his back. Turning around, he stared at a flame wyvern that rose before him.  

“Woah…”

When Yannick finished, the vision broke, and they were right back in his shop. Caledon’s eyes narrowed, as he realised that as the man idly stroked the harp’s strings, the melody he casually conjured drew him in more than any melody a mundane musician could have conjured.

The proprietor’s eyes flashed in satisfaction at Viveria’s look of awe. Caledon eventually relaxed and smirked.

That’s one way to cheer her up, throw a little fire at her. Flora houses some powerful Fearshapers.

“Sir Yannick, do you happen to know the way to Mister Vendrome’s toyshop? We’re meeting an associate of ours there.”

Yannick gave them a smile and gestured towards the store’s exit.

“Turn right at the end of the street, he’s the second door to the left. If you admire my craftsmanship, his innovations will put my instruments to shame.”

Caledon bowed.

“Your humility only endears us more to your artistry, Sir Yannick. I’m sure we’ll be back before long.”

The men exchanged a glance as Viveria’s hand reverently hovered over the flaming flute.

---

With a knock, they entered Vendrome’s Toyshop.

The door creaked open, and they were greeted with a vast interior filled with all manor of toys and gadgetry. The first thing that they heard was the sound of excited children. Caledon dodged out of the way of a sprinting child, holding a carved dragon aloft.

His eyes widened in amazement as he watched as harmless flames burst forth from the dragon’s mouth at equal intervals. Yet another application of the ashwood trees from the Emberwood.

“Olly, get down from there!”

Olly was a boy of five or six who was perched precariously on a small table, staring up at a collection of wooden figurines which had Caledon’s mouth gaping. Viveria snorted as she watched her brother, who towered over young Olly adopt an uncannily similar expression of awe as he stared at the figures on display.

“Boys.”

Olly’s mother joined Viveria as they nodded in shared commiseration. Before, Vivieria caught a glance of the toy weapons that was.

Caledon’s eyes passed over the intricately carved figurines. They depicted Highlady Flora’s Knights of the Dreadwood, their names engraved on the stands on which they were perched.

Knight Severim.

That blade… that’s right, it looks like Shiver’s.

The carving was of a young man with wavy brown hair, dressed in flowing green robes and white pants. He held a long elegant white blade before him, cast entirely from white wood. Caledon’s eyes widened as they passed over the base of the figurine, and he saw that the figure was perched on actual soil.

Is Knight Severim a Fearshaper of earth?

His eyes passed to the second figure, Knight Clona. It perfectly captured her lithe figure, and the minutiae of her armour down to the smallest detail. Her Phobia, the whip of thorns swirled around her in mid-air, with small roses blooming along the length of it.

Unlike Severim, Clona was accompanied by a strange figure, carved from dark wood. Roses bloomed throughout its body, and it bore the shape of an elf, but possessed a featureless wooden face.

“A dryad! That’s her guide! She has a Fear of roses.”

Little Olly was a wealth of knowledge, it seemed.

“My favourite is Rathos.”

A degree of reverence entered the boy’s voice, as he pointed to the knight clad in ebony armour. Armour of the Dreadwood, wrought in shadow wood. The figurine adopted the same pose the knight had when Highlady Solastra had addressed them. His dark greatsword placed vertically in front of him, on clear display, with shadows emerging from its surface.

“You’ve got great taste.”

“Both of you do! I’m glad you’re enjoying my little figurines.”

Caledon turned to a short, hunched man who smiled up at him. He wore a pair of clear spectacles that doubled the size of his already wide eyes, giving him an adorable, unassuming appearance.

“Caledon, is it? I’m Vendrome.”

The man beamed, and shook his hand warmly.

“Silas is expecting you. He’s in the back. Right this way.”

Caledon cast a cursory glance towards Viveria, who was just as entranced as all the smaller boys around her, marvelling at the toy swords.

As he watched Vendrome walk past his creations, his eyes narrowed.

Clona’s roses shifted, greeted by an invisible wind.

The earth around Severim, vibrated with power.

Rathos’ shadows flickered higher.

Caledon gulped, as he followed the unassuming man, who smiled with appreciation at the joy and awe wrought on the children’s faces around them.

They’re Fear-touched. Both Vendrome and Yannick, alike.

There was little doubt about it.

Caledon found the conclusion he had set out in search for, bearing the pride of a craftsman hailing from Brimstone, which so boldly heralded itself as the Archcity of Flames and innovation. Seeking to test his city’s mettle against that of the Dreadwood.

As Caledon stared into Vendrome’s hunched, small back as the man walked onwards, casting gentle smiles at the joy his work evoked…

He found Brimstone lacking.

For the Archcity of Life had its fair share of monsters too.

Dreadwalkers.

---

Caledon walked down stairs leading to the shop’s basement, lit dimly by lanternlight. As he neared the basement, he heard the familiar sounds of woodworking greet his ears.

As he pushed open the basement door, Caledon finally happened upon a familiar face.

Silas’ sleeves were rolled up, as he worked. For just a moment, Caledon was transported back to the times depicted in his nightmares during Anhedonia, a young boy of twelve. Before he had hit his growth spurt, when on his tip toes, he would peer over Silas’ work as the butler toiled.

Unlike the puppets Silas carved when he had been a younger boy, these ones bore no artifice.

The face that he cradled in his hand might have been that of a living elf, for all that it captured the tiniest details of life. The crease in the man’s smile, the way his eyes would crinkle as he laughed. His full beard, that concealed a sharp jawline when he rarely shaved. Blazing irises of swirling red and gold, peered out from a wooden face – the single, deliberate feature that differentiated the puppet from the true article.

Perhaps, a younger Caledon would have screamed in revulsion. Accused Silas of being a freak, to carve a puppet in the likeness of Berevan Brimstone so soon after his death.

Instead, he smiled. For it was clear that no longer did his friend conceal the ability he had so carefully hidden while he resided at Brimstone Manor. Silas’ ability was on clear display, unrestrained in its artistry.

There were many reasons why artisans strove as they did. To claim heights yet unwitnessed. To seek glory, fame, wealth. To impress, or to flee from the self-doubt that hounded them. To prove to others, or themselves of their worth.

The greatest craftsmen understood that great art needed no justification.

But it was a pretty lie, when he was presented with the artistry on display before him.

Equally, did he acknowledge that great art could from the darkest of emotions. Sadness, anger, hatred and resentment.

So similar to the nature of his own Fear. Corruption, which could wrought destruction with its advent. Or which could bring relief with its deprivation.

He of all people, remembered when his blade had been the sharpest.

Caledon recognised brilliance born from grief, when he saw it.