#dyn'lo really out here like ''tell me your secrets''

[strywoven-moved]

@crystalcracked asked : ❛ at every moment of our lives, we all have one foot in a fairytale and the other in the abyss. ❜ // olenor to dyn?

𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅.

“I am … Working …”  Comes the grunt from the forger , painted face turning just enough to send his lover superior a narrow-eyed l e e r , where within all-dark hues burns less a resentment for the able disturbance to his craft and more a softened ire ( how can he be dismissive of the other ? they both know that he would listen to olenor for the rest of time , work be-damned ) .  Looking forward again , skillful paws continue once finding a momentary relish of q u i e t ; the table is given a calculated TURN ( first the outer rim , then the inner circumference ) , bringing the runes and materials into c a r e f u l , and particular alignment.  

“Your words resonate with me …”  Voice comes disjointed , interjected by the ( last ) Dustling’s CONSTANT MOTION ( a meticulous machine , he seems , he could very well not even watch his paws & still transmute something from the very depths of his mind's-eye ) .  “... For a fact , I fear , I know well …”  He pauses again , reaching to take up his hammer , letting the handle weigh easily into his hardened palms ; a whisper pressed into the engraved head , eliciting a quiet t r i l l of the alloy and stones.  As if watching art in motion , Dyn’lo reels back ( an oddly graceful curve & crest , the tool arching overhead , gathering energy ) and performs a deliberate downward swing , striking with such f o r c e the magic exhumes from him in some GREAT EXHALATION — frothing forward in trembling bellows and crackling warbles that splinter away from the forger in palpable current , in a shrapnel flurry of sparks ( some of which near-harmlessly find themselves caught on olenor’s attire , skittering ‘cross him as a testament to his subordinate’s unwavering strength ) .  “... What you mean.”  Dyn’lo finishes , laying his tool to rest once more and turning his chair to face Olenor awaiting , observing nearby.

“For some while , I have felt an entire disconnect from the rest of the world since my first passing.”  First passing ... He means to say when he first stood 'pon the threshold ; when Death itself told him its secrets and pushed him back into the living world. Claws enfold together , perhaps to stop their mindless futzing about ( after all , he feels a need to move , to always be moving lest he be felled by the raving mind ) .  Head tips , momentarily looking down to his lap , then to his loyal hammer.  Then finally he looks up again to Olenor.  “As much as I have felt the same way in part due to the visions I have told you about.”  Furless brow creases , a frown pulls his maw.  “... But none of that is a fairytale.  What I - we - saw … Is very much r e a l !”  He stops , reconsiders the words , begins again , “I a g r e e with you , Master Olenor,” Dyn’lo admits , “I do not find what you say to be entirely incorrect.  Not for me , for you , for any of us , truthfully.”  Body leans forward , eyes narrowing some , voice lowering to a growling octave , “But which for you is the fairytale and which is the abyss ?”  Those obsidian eyes GLEAM with the intensity they take when studying a new material ; the URGE to pick something apart , to SCRY for answers.  “Life … Or Death ?  War … Or Peace ?”