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focus
He’d almost thought he’d turned a corner in his search. He could never have guessed that he’d only find himself at the bottom of another uphill struggle, and yet here he was.
Gently, almost gingerly, Robyn turned over the jewel in his hands — the singular prize he had won from braving the depths of Qarn — as though looking it over once again might somehow reveal something he hadn’t already seen before. Of course, as with all his previous attempts, it didn’t.
The prized jewel was a large, dark orb, just small enough to fit comfortably between the palms of both of his hands, and just large enough that he might easily drop it if he tried to hold it in just one. It looked as though it might have shone brilliantly once upon a time, but the ages it had spent beneath the sands had not been kind to it: its surface was clouded from centuries of accumulated dust and grime, so thick that he wondered if any polish might be able to penetrate it; where the cloudiness was thinnest, faint scratches and cracks could be seen, as though it had rolled around in the sand for an age or more before anyone thought to pick it up and put it where Robyn had wound up finding it.
In short, its condition was dire. Nevertheless, Robyn had held on to some hope that a skilled goldsmith might be able to restore it anew... And yet...
“You want to do what with this, now?”
The Lalafellin woman manning the stall, the most skilled goldsmith he could find without setting foot into the guild itself, gave Robyn a look as though he’d grown an extra head. It was all Robyn could do to not let his resolve waver.
“I want to use it as a focus,” he explained again, repeating himself more slowly, more carefully than before. “For a thaumaturge’s arm. But I thought it might need to be, er — cleaned, first. Or repaired.”
The goldsmith now gave him a look as though he’d grown two extra heads, then turned that same look to the grimy orb on the counter between them. That look hadn’t changed by the time she returned it to Robyn, although she had somehow raised her eyebrows even higher.
“This thing looks to be beyond a simple polishing, you know.” The goldsmith spoke just as slowly and carefully as Robyn had done himself, as though he might have even more trouble understanding her. “And frankly, I’ll be damned if it’s got even an ounce of aetherial conductivity left to it. Why don’t you take this to the thaumaturge’s guild instead, see if they can’t fix this up for you? Or...”
The look that crossed Robyn’s face told volumes that he would never have dared to breathe aloud — and the goldsmith clearly understood. After all, no merchant worth their salt in Ul'dah would let a chance for underhanded dealings slip them by, not when the profit clearly outweighed the risk — and Robyn understood just as clearly that the goldsmith had him snared, and intended to make quite a tidy profit indeed.
“I see, I see...” The goldsmith now studied the orb more carefully, as though she might finally be giving it some serious consideration, although she still hadn’t dared to touch it with her own hands. “Well, if you really don’t want the guild to know about this, then I suppose I could give it a try... For five hundred thousand gil.”
Robyn had started to prepare himself for a high price, but he could never have prepared himself for a price that high. “But,” he sputtered, “I can’t possibly... Five hundred thousand?!”
“That’s right.” The goldsmith crossed her arms over her chest, her chin held high. “I regularly get twice that on a regular commission, one that doesn’t involve musty old artifacts, so really, you should consider this a pittance. And besides, who knows how dangerous this thing could turn out to be? I should at least expect ample compensation for my own safety, don’t you think?”
Robyn could think of nothing to refute her; even the simple fact that she had gone from claiming an utter lack of aetherial conductivity to calling it a dangerous artifact somehow managed to escape him completely, so cowed was he by her demanded price.
Seeing this — and perhaps pitying him, if only a tiny bit, or perhaps realizing that she had somewhat overestimated the size of his purse — the goldsmith seemed to rethink her position. “Of course, I suppose I could cut you a deal... A payment plan, perhaps? One hundred thousand up front, and another fifty thousand each sennight until—”
“No.” Robyn cut her off with a quick shake of his head, and just as quickly started to pack the orb away in his satchel, as though the goldsmith might snatch it away if he didn’t move fast enough. “No, that’s... I- I’m sorry. I’ll have to, er— reconsider. Sorry to have wasted your time.”
The goldsmith answered with an annoyed look and a raised eyebrow, but ultimately shrugged with a sigh. “Very well. If you change your mind, though, make it quick — my waiting list fills up fast.”
Robyn flopped back onto the bed of his cramped inn room with a heavy sigh, still clutching the musty orb to his chest. If even a goldsmith could look at it and cry dangerous artifact, then there was no telling what the guild leaders at the Ossuary would think... Most likely, they would have it confiscated, perhaps even destroyed.
A shudder ran through him at the thought. He hadn’t gone through all that danger in the sunken temple just to let this thing be destroyed — just as he hadn’t gone through so much in such a short time just to let himself be cast aside...
He lifted the orb in his hands, brow furrowing as he looked intently into its cloudy surface, and concentrated deeply, trying to direct even the smallest amount of aetherial energy through its core. A dim, faint violet light flickered to life somewhere deep within — dimly, so faintly, but it was there all the same. The power was there, if only he could reach it.
“You’ve been sleeping just as long as I have, haven’t you?” Robyn murmured half to himself and half to the orb, marveling at the flickering connection he’d made, however brief. “You just need to wake up, and then...”
The power was there, if only he could reach it... But how?