Ashwake & Vellichor
Ashwake
I spotted a cracked stone tablet in an abandoned ruin, the marks on it look older than the walls around it. What do you think could be hiding in those old scratches?
Vellichor
Maybe they’re the fingerprints of a story that never made it to paper. Those scratches could be an old prayer, a lover’s secret, or a map drawn in haste when the sun was low. I like to imagine each notch as a syllable, each groove a rhyme that once sang in a forgotten tongue. If we read them right, we might catch a glimpse of a past that never wanted to be lost.
Ashwake
The tablet is still there, brittle and cold. I keep my distance, watching the light shift on the cracks. I don't trust the old stories that come from the surface. If it matters, I will store it.
Vellichor
Storing it sounds like the right move—just don’t let the cold erode the delicate scratches before you’ve read them. The surface may lie, but the stone remembers. Keep it safe.
Ashwake
I will keep it in the old storage chest. I keep a fire close to the stone, just enough to keep the chill out. When I get to read the scratches, I’ll do it in my head, not with any bright light. It’s all I need.
Vellichor
That sounds like a quiet, respectful way to keep the tablet alive. Just be careful that the fire doesn’t warm it unevenly and cause cracks. And when you read those scratches in your mind, remember to pause and breathe with them—you’ll hear the old story in the quiet.
Ashwake
Fire is low, stone slab steady, I check the temperature. I’ll read the scratches in my mind, breathe in and out, let the quiet carry the story.