(OOC: Two results were tied, so I flipped a coin. It landed on heads, so, they are helping repair damage to the castle.)
Their job was simple, and only took a couple days of training. They were learning how to repair objects with light. It was a simple job in comparison to the others- the light folded into the cracks easily, and it turned to stone easily, as if it were excited to make the structure whole again. It was perhaps the easiest skill they could learn- but of course, the main benefit of the job was not the experience itself, nor the pay, but the gossip. The secrets one overhears- A passing conversation, a silent chat, or an exchange of information between fellow workers. They didn’t know it, but there was a silent currency in this job- no coins or glowing Lychni, but a currency based on secrets and stories, scraps of information, in an intricate web of interactions, of sorting out lies and confusion and strange truths. They were very new, however, in more than one way. They knew they could gain information, sure, but they would not be getting knowingly caught up in the economy of gossip.
Still, they heard many things.
As they were folding light into a large gap below a small staircase, they heard some scholars overhead discussing… them. A man said “I heard Lux has let the Perlucidus One work. I hope they are okay without their Vislight.” A woman replied. “Vislight, to our knowledge, contains one’s identity and memories at most. I suppose at the least they can feel alright.”
And that was about the nicest thing they heard about themself that day.
They found that, rather then call them “Perlucidus” or “The Perlucidus One,” most people referred to them as “The lightless one.” This offended them, even with their limited understanding of South Otian culture. Most people seemed to pity them- That without their Vislight they must feel empty, and out of place with no memories.
Both were true, but it certainly didn’t help to hear it.
However, many people were not concerned about them- They spoke of other things, When they were fixing some of the battlements and machicolations at the top of the castle, they heard some Spi Siph guards speaking.
“The Starwatchers in Mastellum just got noted to the Archmagestry that a total eclipse will be happening next week. Our weapon makers are getting overwhelmed at making enough lightless weapons to defend the city,” one said.
Another replied. “Surely they don’t need to? What army attacks Lucerna when there is no light? Surely we are not afraid of raiders scaling the walls.”
The first guard shook her head and whispered, so quietly that they could nearly not hear her. “There have been rumblings of code Plena. Lux wants us to be on high alert.” They didn’t know what Code Plena was, but it sounded dire. They did not speak a word as they left the top of the castle.
The working day came to an end. They went to the room to collect their payment for the day: 20 Lychni, 55 Fax. The bright white Lychni and dull red Fax absorbed into the money-pouch they had. An enchanted item that made carrying currency infinitely more practical than the coins from before the Great Separation. At least, they were told- They didn’t exactly know what the Great Separation was.
As they left to venture back up to their quarters, one of their fellow workers caught them. He spoke: “Perlucidus One- Light, that’s a mouthful- How was your day?” They started to say “good,” but he just kept speaking. “I hear it’s your first day on the job. They made you fix the battlements? On your first day?” They had not told him this, so they assumed he must have learned it from someone else. Or have seen them: they weren’t exactly trying to be stealthy, after all. He continued to speak. “Did you hear anything interesting today?”
They were somewhat put off by this question. It seemed completely out of the blue. Still, they had to say something.
- Tell him nothing.
- Tell him about the Total Eclipse.
- Mention “Code Plena.”
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