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“First of all, I’d like to thank you for coming tonight.” Dagna’s voice shook as she spoke as clearly as she could while fixing her eyes just above the heads of the hundreds of people – humans, elves, and a handful of dwarves – that filled the hall.
She drew a deep breath, paused, then collected herself. She knew that this was the moment to show them her best qualities – her charm and her knowledge. Recalling both and using them as a silent spell of fortitude, she gave the crowd a smile. “I hope that you find the cakes and cookies to your liking. I made them myself. The wine is from the House of Justinian, who helped sponsor this evening.” She scanned the crowd, looking for Nero Justinian, but did not find him among the sea of faces. “But I’m sure that you’re not here for sweets. You’re here to see the future of the Imperium.”
Crossing the stage toward a series of tables, she took up a strange set of spectacles that contained a number of lenses, each of which could be easily slid into place. “Lyrium is one of the basic elemental forces on Thedas itself, as you know. It is quite plentiful in the Deep Roads, and has a variety of uses in magic.” Dagna slid the goggles onto her face. “I’m not going to bore you with an explanation on that topic. You all know how lyrium can be useful to your magic. But how can it be used in our everyday lives?”
She paused for only a breath’s amount of time, giving this a chance to sink in before continuing. “We know that lyrium is flammable. If I had some refined lyrium with me right now, I could set it on fire, and it would burn, but – I wouldn’t do that. The fumes would be toxic to most of you.” She held up a hand in a gesture that indicated that she had no intention of doing this. “Burning lyrium has huge output of magic and heat. I’ve done the math for you in that leaflet I had printed for all of you.” She pointed toward the crowd. “But why would you burn it if you could die from it? What if we took the toxic fumes out of the equation altogether?”
Leaning forward, Dagna removed the cloth covering from the first of the group of tables, revealing a small pile of what appeared to be charred blue coal. “Compressed lyrium,” she said. “Distilled into an imperfect form that, when you burn it, gives off more magical potential, while leaving less fumes behind. I wouldn’t suggest that you breathe in these fumes on purpose. It will irritate your lungs. But at least you won’t die.”
A rumble ran through the crowd. She noticed some of the Magisters exchanging glances, along with quiet pieces of conversation.
Dagna took this opportunity, this break in her speech, to move to the second table. “The best part about compressed lyrium is that it is simple and safe to make. I haven’t found a way to make it affordable to make, though. Yet.” She smiled at the crowd again. “Within the next two years, I hope to have found a way that compressed lyrium can be produced in great quantities, and safely, too.”
She bit her tongue as the words almost passed her lips: “Safety is a mage’s friend.” However, she had a feeling that such a phrase, though it was a favorite of First Enchanter Irving’s, might offend some of the practitioners of the more esoteric and dangerous magic. After all, this was the Imperium, and Blood Magic was quite legal.
“The possibilities for this type of lyrium are endless, and we don’t have time to really discuss even half of that.” Dagna removed the cloth cover from the second table. “So, let’s talk about one of them.”
She knew that none of the Magisters in the room – not a single one of them – would be able to identify the thing that lay before Dagna, this chunk of metal covered in gears, strips of leather, and dripping still with grease. It was the only one of its kind.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her smile brightening as she looked at the gathering before her, “behold the lyrium engine, capable of creating power that will drive the future of Thedas.”