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Post by Vyrrian Wren on May 24, 2010 22:35:01 GMT
[ModNote: Continued from Family Gatherings.] After an hour of nocturnal trudging through thick snow, precarious drifts and ever shifting woodland debris beneath his feet, Wren finally leaned heavily against the outside beam of the Forge. He took a moment to catch his breath, and slowly he felt his breathing slow to a tolerable level. The journey, once outside the courtyard, had been uneventful. There had been several creatures that he wouldn't have enjoyed tangling with, but discretion and a careful application of his Assasin's Shade had seen him pass the worst. The biggest enemy was the environment here. He had a feeling that if he genuinely was out on his own, with no means of navigation, with well armed and knowledgable trackers after him, his chances of survival would rival those of an outspoken atheist at a Vatican City flamegrill. Better not hang around outside, eh? Feeling a sudden urge to get out of the cold, Wren gently leant on the door and let himself in. |
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Post by Daenary's Shar on May 24, 2010 22:44:20 GMT
[ModNote: Continued from here.] *By the time Wren had arrived at the forge the fire had been filled with logs to light the forge. The heat hitting him hard compared to the chill out side. Various tools lined the walls. As a pair of people leaned over a table pointing to a piece of parchment on the surface.* *Both dressed in rough common clothing. One despite the heat remained covered up even to the extent of the face being hidden by the hood of her cloak.* *Though the frame was bulked out by the clothing it was quite clear the hooded one was female. Her words being cut off as she heard the door creak open and a chill start to sweep the room.* Would you be able to gain... *The woman's voice was quiet and almost scratchy sounding. As if speaking from lips without water for days.* *Her gaze falling on the person in the door way though she keeps silence under the hood her eyes narrow intently a briefly sparkling of blue before she moves behind the table picking up the parchment.* *The Forge master looked over his bluky shoulders. Though he was rather over weight it appeared to be mostly by muscle than fat. Still in his working clothes covered in soot and small sparkling of metal scrapings.*
Not a night to be out travelling Squire. |
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Post by Vyrrian Wren on May 24, 2010 23:16:41 GMT
Ah. This was unexpected. The prospect of having to deal with people was not one he had contemplated. Still, this could be sidestepped.
"Sorry to burst in on your like this, but I've something of a medical emergency." Then, without warning, Wren held up his gloved hand and pulled it free from his fingers. The flickering firelight danced off immaculately sculpted silver, with long, bone shaped fingers and an incomprehensable system of artificial tendons and muscles. In the middle of the palm was an ugly gash, where small blue sparks flickered and died.
"Twenty minutes with your tools and a fire. That's all I ask."
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Post by Daenary's Shar on May 24, 2010 23:26:18 GMT
*For now in the back ground the female rolled up the parchment silently. While the Forge master moved to one large anvil picking up a large hammer. His gaze ever so briefly moving to the female who in turn gave as ever so slight nod of her head.*
By all means Squire go ahead. Use what you can find if it helps.
*The female moved as the pair exchanged words. The parchment being moved to some hidden depth of her clothing .*
You should be careful with that hand of yours...traveller. Especially out in this cold night.
*The woman spoke for the first time her voice still sounding quite and scratchy though her voice rose and seemed to focus on the cold part.*
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Post by Vyrrian Wren on May 31, 2010 21:55:19 GMT
"I can assure you, young lady, that once my business here is complete, it is the creatures of this cold night who would do well to be afraid of me." Slightly self-appraising, perhaps. But Wren couldn't help but sometimes pander to the image he had tried to craft himself for so long.
Pulling back his sleeve, he began removing small metallic tools from his pockets and placing them on the anvil. He beckoned to an area of the wall behind the woman, where several dangerous looking implements hung.
"You couldn't be so good as to pass me the Three Eigths Gripley, could you?"
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Post by Daenary's Shar on May 31, 2010 22:03:04 GMT
*Daenary's felt her tongue tingle as her automatic reaction to inform the peasant to get the tool himself instantly rose to her brain and throat due to years of such training and later ordering. Though the first few words come out broadly.*
Ge the tool....
*Suddenly catching herself her voice fall silent almost seemingly sheepish with her face masked by the hood.*
*She moves gracefully to where Wren indicates as she glances down at the various tools. A brief urge to pick and throw one at him growing then falling as her icy mask takes over once more. These were one of many matters of trade she lacked deep understanding of and the gripley could of been anything from a hook to a hammer to her.*
*This time when she spoke her voice was calmer though not as cold. A almost embarrassed squeak sounding from the hood.*
Which tool would that be Squire?
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Post by Vyrrian Wren on May 31, 2010 22:06:54 GMT
"The Three Eigths Gripley? For maintenance of the threshing machines?"
Wren was looking up at her now, an eye narrowing.
"You do work in this Forge, right?"
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Post by Daenary's Shar on May 31, 2010 22:11:28 GMT
*A faint smile touched her lips slightly briefly though there was nothing warm about it.*
Just started to before you arrived Squire.
Perhaps would be wiser should you select the tools yourself.
*With a sudden turn she moved to one side of the blazing fire.*
I doubt your arm could take much more damage should a mistake be made.
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Post by Vyrrian Wren on May 31, 2010 22:24:13 GMT
Wren's gaze lingered several seconds on the wrong side of comfortable for the girl's liking, before he shrugged, stood up and stepped over to the tools.
"This," he said as he plucked the appropriate contrivance from the collection of hanging implements, "is a Three Eigths Gripley. You would do well to learn the implements of your trade, young lady. In this world, people's lives are decided by the quality of the weapon they wield. They trust it to be forged by one who knows their craft inside and out. Never forget that."
Tirade delivered, Wren returned to the anvil, turning his back on the girl.
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Post by Daenary's Shar on May 31, 2010 22:29:36 GMT
Obviously seemingly a lesson you have yet to learn seemingly as you have to find this forge at this time of day to attend your arm Squire.
*Her head seeming to cock to one side slightly the pride in her refusing to back down from what was starting to be perceived as a challenge of some sorts.*
Perhaps you should take better care of your weapon to prevent such injuries happening again.
Perhaps before giving lectures you should maintain such wise in your own living.
*The look does not seem to phase her. Either used to such looks or perhaps not bothered Her hood and posture though turned to the fire her gaze lingers on him. Keeping a eye on his movements. Her attention only briefly caught as he holds the tool to show her it. *
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Post by Vyrrian Wren on May 31, 2010 22:48:50 GMT
The temptation welled up in Wren to thoroughly chastise the girl for her impudence. It was at times like these that the years of Guild training, and all the social pressures and castes that came with it, threatened to cloud his behaviour. But he forced himself to exercise restraint. After all, he had started out just like her all those years ago, an apprentice waiting for a chance to be noticed...
"The circumstances of my arrival are not of your concern, young lady, nor is the manner in which I received my injury. You are entirely free to ignore my words, if you believe you know better. I can only imagine how far an attitude like that will take you."
"Now, if you would be so good as to leave me to my work..."
Wren began tuning the Gripley, his side of the conversation seemingly over.
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Post by Daenary's Shar on May 31, 2010 22:55:00 GMT
*Daenarys fought the urge to laugh at the same time as fighting the urge to walk over to the man and bring her palm against his face. Her gaze drifting to the fire focusing on it intently.*
Do not let me interrupt upon your work Squire.
*Her gaze then turned to the Forge Master as her body moved towards him. Moving to stand at his side though he towered over her.* She began to whisper to him quietly her hand rising and falling every now and then as she indicated a wall or tool. The conversation if over heard every now and them seemed to be about various items, time and expectation though truly revealed nothing about what may be behind such a conversation bar perhaps what she would need to learn, when and how she would be tested on her knowledge. Though her gaze would not leave Wren for long. Her gaze kept on him to make sure he kept a distance from her.*
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Post by Vyrrian Wren on May 31, 2010 23:10:21 GMT
His preparations complete, Wren's final act before he commenced was to take a small flask from his tunic and take a liberal sip. It was enough to dull the sensations in his hand, but not enough to dull the senses. Just enough to get him through the next half an hour.
All right. This, he thought with absolute truth, won't hurt a bit.
Implements posed, his palm exposed, Wren set about his surgery.
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Post by Daenary's Shar on May 31, 2010 23:14:04 GMT
*Daenarys inhaled sharply as she saw him pull some type of vial from his tunic. If any scent managed to catch her attention seemingly looking for a familiar scent.*
*Her head lowers as she appears to place all her interest on Wrens hand as he works on it. At the same time her hand slips some where within her cloak and slips the rolled parchment to the Forge Master.*
*Once the parchment is passed on her movements come towards Wren though she keeps something between them.*
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Post by Vyrrian Wren on May 31, 2010 23:32:39 GMT
Wren's work was meticulous, the focus entirely on the task before him. Under his hand, artificial tendons were reconnected, technomagical nerve endings re-synchonised with his mind. The tools probed, bent, sliced and soldered with practiced ease, restoring the essence of humanity back into the cold silver.
He was aware of the gaze of the young girl upon him. Wren ignored her. He felt as if she was vying for his attention to prove some kind of a point, or win some unspoken game of one-upmanship. It such cases, Wren felt that the only winning move was not even to play. With this in mind, he did not even dare surrender a stolen glance.
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