A Very Special Guest
Bran Pellam was swelling with pride; so many people to view his exhibition, to hear his thesis. The college had put their faith in him, and it had been rewarded thoroughly, his research bearing fruit after so much personal sacrifice.
To discover the link between alchemical processes involving certain precious gems, and how they could be used to create formulas capable of forging steels of a strength greater than what most nations could with their greatest blacksmiths, not without resorting to some magical alternative.
Not that some wouldn't call the sort of alchemy he studied a form of magic of its own, nor would he refute that; many things had magical properties, if properly teased out of the essence of their form. The highest levels of alchemy often employed magic in its processes, and used some rather particular ingredients.
But what he had discovered was more than just grinding diamond into the molten metal to help harden or sharpen the steel, as some master blacksmiths supposedly did, a costly and bespoke process; if his thesis was true - and given his experiments' successes, he was confident it was - he had found a way to make an
additive
to the steel-making process that could be more easily made in quantity. Still too expensive for use in
everything...
but more economical for select purposes.
There was also the theory that it may have beneficial properties for a person's health... hardly the secret of immortality, but more than a few lords and ladies were keenly interested in
that
little rumour.
All the same, it wasn't just that research on display this night; many other notes and works from his lesser fields of study were there to be viewed, amidst the College's impressive library, and it certainly had a selection; on all sides of the hall, almost three hundred feet long, were shelves filled with books, old tomes, racks for dusty scrolls, and even a sizeable selection of stone tablets and slates, most of which were contained in locked glass cases given their fragility, and frequently inscribed with dead languages that were still subject to study.
The right hand side of the room overlooked the Gorrian Duchy College, its marble fountain and leafy hedges bathed in the pale light of a waxing moon outside, the arched windows each inset with an iron frame depicting a prominent scholar from the College's long history in the middle.
He hoped his likeness would one day find its place among them.
He turned his attention back to the proceedings inside the tall room, the ceiling above quite plain but made of a rich mahogany wood, the varnished planks set into squares with the lengths within the outer edges pointing to the middle, where fixtures hung iron chandeliers and braziers, which softly crackled with fire, enough to light up the library.
To his left were aisles formed of large bookshelves, but they were warded off with iron chains for tonight's function. Behind him, to his left again, were the doors that constantly opened and closed as guests and scholars of the college came and went, along with the servants who carried in platters of small foods and bottles of wines for the guests, a long table in the middle of the hall - normally meant for reading and studying at during normal hours - repurposed with a white sheet and candles as a simple smorgasbord, platters and bowls of finger foods covering it, along with a collection of wine glasses for anyone who desired the fine collection of reds and whites made at the college itself.
The floor was made of polished granite tiles, each a slightly different shade and distributed randomly, some emblazoned with little plaques in the shape of a shield, honouring even more individuals from the college's past.
The brick walls were whitewashed on the inside, though they were not as ornate given the bookshelves obscured most of the walls, but where they were exposed, candle sconces were fixed to the bricks, and where there were no sconces, there were paintings, portraits of famous peoples and generous donors to the college, landscapes, and some frightening and surreal illustrations up the back corner.
People were milling about everywhere, looking upon the displays set up along the left hand side which held his life's work upon them, the one in the middle bearing the parchments and scrolls written up for the event talking about his alchemical processes, along with the equipment he had devised for his study, and simple diagrams showing how it all worked, though he knew it would've gone over the heads of many of the guests here.
But many others were scholars themselves, and there were more than a few alchemists in the crowd tonight.
It was hardly packed, but nearly a hundred people conversing amongst themselves, appreciating the library's collection, and taking notes on his research was more than he could've hoped for.
"Wine, sir?" asked a servant, wearing the red shirt, dark mauve jacket, and black pants and shoes of the College uniform.
The scholars and professors never wore anything like that - even Bran was wearing pale grey robes over dark red clothes and black suit pants, the sash across his chest the only thing bearing any of the college's collars, the dark mauve that dominated their crest - and the servants usually wore much simpler attire.
But a special event required special dress.
The lanky servant presented the platter he held to Bran, a pair of bottles resting on it - one red, one white - along with two wine glasses.
"Of course, thank you," Bran accepted, taking one of the glasses and pouring himself out some white. He nodded graciously to the servant, who nodded back politely and resumed their hectic circuit of the library.
Bran sighed, and moved from his spot at the end of the hall, feeling his pride swell some more; he had only seen thirty winters, and only half that doing any meaningful study, and yet he had already made such a name for himself.
He saw himself in the window, and almost looked embarrassed for how wide his smile was, uplifting the rather pale and weary looking face; triumphant though he was, he had spent
many
sleepless nights before now, worrying about how his research would be received, even after the college showered him in accolades. What if the donors and the other scholars did not care? Sure, for many, if it weren't for the prestige that came with the Gorrian Duchy College's endorsement, they would not bother coming, and for others, it was a high-society party like any other.
But again, there were still those scribbling away into their notes, meticulous with the details. It was unlikely they could fully replicate it, as the exhibition left out key details, and they all knew it. That was just the reality.
It also meant Bran's achievement would not be so easily replicated and his effort diminished.
He swept back is golden brown hair, glossy in the light of the chandeliers, having treated them to a special oil to better look presentable. He'd bathed as well, so his pale, slightly rounded face was looking fresh. Dulled as they were, his blue eyes were wide as they could be despite his fatigue, and still shone with a glee that could only be described as youthful.
He didn't even care that his smile showed off his unfortunately chipped tooth, an incisor on the lower left of his jaw, next to the canine.
An older man walked up to him, wearing similar garb to Bran, but with dark grey fabric instead of light. Bran was of average height and build, but the man before him, though portly, was quite short, such Bran felt so much taller.
The man's wrinkled face and white moustache twisted into a proud smile, his bald head covered with a small piece of white decorative cloth, those beady brown eyes practically gleaming.
"Bran, my Boy, you have much to be proud of," the old man congratulated.
Bran returned a happy smile.
"It's truly an honour to receive... all of this, Professor Dallorn," Bran remarked, gesturing to the bustling library hall.
Professor Dallorn reached up and clapped Bran firmly on the shoulder.
"It's an honour you've earned, my dear friend, with all of your efforts. Not just with your alchemy, but your research into ancient cultures. Less attention though it may receive, you've been insightful in ways we cannot understate, and we are grateful to you."
Dallorn clasped Bran's free hand in both of his, knobbly, wrinkled, but strong.
"And I am grateful for the support I've received all these years," Bran responded. It was no platitude; were it not for the College, none of this would've been possible.
"Then here!" Dallorn exclaimed jubilantly, grabbing his own wine glass from the central table and raising it before Bran. "To decades more of achievement!"
Bran raised his glass to the toast.
"To decades more!"
They both sipped, but Professor Dallorn waddled away as he spied one of the college's most prominent donors. As one of the heads of the College council, it was his job to converse with the high-society sorts that supported the College.
Bran sighed, and found himself conversing with others in the crowd. That was when the door opened again... and he had to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor.
The woman who entered was simply divine, and clearly he was not the only one who took notice, others turning their heads, with some particularly... desirous gazes, even from other women.
The focus of this attention did not notice, or paid no heed as she looked around with confidence and curiosity, her eyes a strange but beguiling violet colour, gleaming like gems. Her ebony skin was a lighter shade under the light, but truly luxurious, silky smooth and possessive of a healthy sheen. And there was a lot of skin to be seen, as her dress was quite risque, her left leg more exposed than the right by the glimmering sequin dress she wore, hanging from her delightful curves, her cleavage on proud display with how deep the neck on the dress went, from the top of the bust, to the bottom, and leaving most of her chest visible, but covered just enough to be considered acceptable. It hung from her shoulders, leaving her arms exposed, a golden bangle swinging from her right wrist.
But for as revealing as her dress was, it was terribly elegant, and upon closer inspection, Bran realised the sequins were in fact fashioned after scales, like a snake's.
