Flash Fiction February Day 22 Machine (Valan)

 Day 22 Machine:

When Fyr first told me about Ayron’s tower at Tel Vos I was expecting some eccentric tower which in my head was similar to Tel Fyr, though with bits of imperial style architecture mixed in. I was however not expecting what the actual result ended up being, a semi-ruined imperial fortress with twisting roots and hanging above the center courtyard a portion of a Telvanni tower. The imperial style section is a maze of twists and turns with winding staircases and hallways that lead to nowhere. I am absolutely reporting him to whoever is in charge of making towers handicap accessible, because this place has more violations than I can count. Add ‘whatever this place counts as’ to reasons a white cane is beyond helpful in certain circumstances. Ayron from what Fyr has told me is a peculiar fellow, he is in a way like a younger version of Fyr himself, similar personalities apparently. I’ll judge for myself when I finally meet him. Wandering about the tower I notice that Ayron seems to have set up a number of miniature museums about certain topics, one on daedric artifacts in which I encountered a scamp behind a door I did not mean to open, another on imperial life and culture that included what seems to have been a kidnapped imperial guard in a small cell like enclosure with a note on the door saying “He has food and water and items for intellectual enrichment, please do not disturb him or unlock the door. -Master Ayron” the man at the time was sleeping so I let him be. After a bit more wandering I get to what seems to be the final museum exhibit on Dwemer culture, and am met with a machine I would absolutely not have expected to see in such a domestic place, a dwemer centurion. It also has a messily scrawled note pinned up next to it, though I can’t read it from this distance, and as I get closer to the wall, being careful of the machine I’m startled by a voice behind me. “All that says is ‘yes, it works. No, you can’t touch it. It's temperamental.” Turning around I see a man perhaps a year or two older than me in a set of dark blue robes with black hair done in a similar style to Eno’s, though Eno has much longer hair. He has a set of papers tied together with some thread in one hand and the other hand is pocket. “You must be Ayron.” The young man smirks, in a way very similar to his former master. “How could you tell?”  Lets just say the keeping of an active and temperamental machine only out of curiosity gives a lot away about personality…