View Full Version : Shopping Trip
Anything magical in this mini quest for Otto and I, will not be used any where else and is just because if i took all of it out, it would be a dreary thing indeed.
Brand looked down at his coat splattered with mud and his buck hide bag in his hand that carried a few leather jackets. He smiled and walked on, barking out the deals he offered, Coats, Designs and the such. He strode on, carrying a dented, cracked, and blunt tipped steel staff from hi elden days. Brand frowned. He saw and Orc in common clothes, walking down the street, his garb soaked.
"Sir, may i offer you one of my fine custom order coats?"
The Orc barely looked his way but stopped, he said nothing and moved on. Brand smirked as he found the old battered shop he was looking for, a place called "Sor Vhal Nirk" or to Brand Weaver's Rest, he walked in ad smiled at the shopkeeper at the front an wandered into the back room and pulled down a key from a hidden alcove in the ceiling. Brand used this key to unlock a small box and take out a hefty bag of old gems and coins. He walked up to the front of the store.
"Pickup for the order from Mr. Phoenix"
The shopkeeper nodded and reached under the counter and took out a small package of black paper, and unwrapped it, revealing yet another strongbox with three catches, a keyhole and a symbol of intertwined threads on the top. Brand thanked the man and walked out of the store to a small inn where he got a room, went to it, and locked the door. He used the key and a Han to open the top, then pressed a needle to the smooth inside of the box and spoke a few words. The box shimmered and it's place was taken by a leather satchel full of thread, needles and a lot of smaller burlap pouches.
"Time to go hunting" Brand mumbled to nobody in particular.
He payed for his room, then went out to a nearby blacksmith. With a flourish he brought out a tiny burlap bag, gathered a bit of scrap steel, and put it in the interlinked dimension of the bags. With that he walked away, and smile to himself thinking off all he could do with his newfound toys. But he then stopped and thought of how many more jackets he could sell. Beautiful. He smiled, stuffed the bag into his satchel and walked off.
Minor bunnies approved for Otto.
As the frigid rain soaked ever deeper into his clothes, Otto wished - with increasing fervour - that he had held on to Carrin's oilskin coat (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25294-Dread-Sovereign-%28Closed%29&p=207995&viewfull=1#post207995). Perhaps he shouldn't have shrugged off that hawker back up Willow Lane. It was more of an automatic reaction to do so now, rather than any thought-out response; the man could have shouted that he was selling off the Viceroy's personal wine cellar and Otto wouldn't have batted an eye.
A fresh squall blew over the street, sending another wave of cold through Otto down to the bone. He stepped into an alcove and, shivering gently in the dark, waited out the rain. People were still walking the streets, but only those with the luxury of a raincoat of parasol. Those who were in the same boat as Otto were running over the trickling stones, or tiding things over in what shelter they could find, just as he was. Otto slung a burlap knapsack to his feet, untied the strings which bound it shut, and checked on the contents. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped loaf of rye bread, some kippers, a couple of fresh apples, and a small jar he had just had filled with olives. As far as he could tell, everything seemed dry enough. Otto put everything back and continued to wait.
Half a minute stretch on to a minute, then two, then five, then ten. Still the gale blew, although perhaps a touch more erratically. He blinked. Had the skyline just moved?
While keeping an eye on the weather, what he had mistaken as part of the row of rooftops - in no small part due to the terrible weather - was, instead, making its way along the street. As it approached through the rain, the shape resolved itself into the towering form of the tallest human that Otto had ever seen. Yet the man's grey hair and red eyes looked familiar, as did the shoddy old staff.
He couldn't believe his luck. It was the coat-merchant.
Otto waited until the colossus had almost reached him, at which point he stepped out into the street.
"Excuse me", he said, looking up into a pair of nostrils. "I don't suppose you're still selling any coats...?"
Brand turned around quickly with some force, accidentally jabbing himself with his staff. He opened up his bag ad rummaged through it until he found his pad of paper and pen, and the looked at the person who had called him.
"Hmm, yes, I have generic leather, oil coated good coats. Perfect for any day in this damn relentless rain."
He leaned heavily on his staff and looked at the figure of the orc, trying to make out the specific dimensions of his next coat. He then jotted down a few numbers and frowned. With all the rain of late he would need an extra layer of oil in key places.
"So, if i can get your height and weight, along with a few other dimensions., i shall be off to start production once i get the leather for it. "
The Orc told him and Brand thanked him thinking of the nearest shop he could pick up a decent supply of leather. Maybe the shop on Market Road, they had been quite good in the past, but so had the old shop on Willow Lane. He decided to go to Market Road then thanked the Orc again, gave him the name of the inn he was staying at, and then walked away. He found his way up to Tanner's Corner, a small shop for all your leather needs.
"Malkorian, i need around, lets see, 20 square feet of leather, and a good strong dagger that i know you guys sell from the back room, i can cover the cost. "
The store clerk calculated for a quick second then showed the price to Brand.
"Hmm, alot lower than i expected."
Brand took out his sack of coins and gems and counted out the price, then added a small hunk of blue gem on top. The clerk gawked at it and pocketed it. He went back through the store, grabbing a dagger from the shelf in the back room and carefully cutting the large amount of leather that Brand ordered. He walked back up to the front, and then had the man sign a note, and then pay. After that he gave Brand his products and then walked away.
"A talkative fellow indeed."
Brand walked back to the inn, carrying the leather. He walked back to his room and sat down, waiting for the Orc.
Otto had hoped that the merchant carried around his wares, but it was not to be. Still, he reckoned, as he hurried through the city's drenched network of streets and alleys, it would be nice to have something made to fit. A quick look at - what was his name? Brand? - Brand's wares had revealed that the giant man also had a creative streak. Otto always strove to impart at least a touch of elegance and decoration to the wares he created for others, but had shied away from adopting as much in what he made or bought for himself. It might be... nice... to own something which wasn't completely and utterly utilitarian, even if he did cop some flak for it from William and the others.
At last, Otto reached the large wooden gate of Marten and Kat's home -his home. He ran through the muddy yard, wriggled out of his boots just in front of the door, and knocked. The door opened up to reveal Katarina beaming up at him.
"Otto, you're absolutely soaked!", she said, in a voice of almost motherly concern. "Get yourself inside right this instant! There's a fire waiting for you in the kitchen."
Otto chuckled. "Thank you, Kat", he said, and bent down to peck her on the cheek. He shrugged the pack free of his shoulders and made directly for the kitchen hearth.
* * *
After lunch, Otto and Marten performed the next part of the ritual. Taking their leave of Kat (Emric was away on an errand, again), the two of them headed over to the forge. It was much smaller than the one at the garrison, and less well-furnished, too. But Otto still enjoyed working in it. Unlike the dreary, almost mass-production types of jobs which flooded him while on duty, Marten's worked revolved much more closely around officer's commissions and the like. Their nature offered an unrivaled chance to test the limitations of not only one's skill in making functional arms and armour, but quite frequently, works of art as well. And when it came to either, Otto knew none better than the old man.
The commission Marten was currently working on was a spontoon. It was unlikely that it would actually ever draw blood, barring some unfortunate accident. It was much more likely to be used to signal troop movements, by being waved around by some toff on a horse at the edge of the battlefield.
"How'd that situation with the forge work out, by the by?"
It took a moment to register what, precisely, Marten was referring to. He hadn't really had any troubles with the garrison forge, except...
"Fine", Otto replied, dutifully bashing a length of neon-red steel with his hammer. The metal's glow was on it's last legs, and fading rapidly.
Marten snorted. "I know it went 'fine', lad, otherwise you wouldn't be standing here." The man was evening out the weapon's shaft on a foot-worked lathe. Chips and curled shavings flew away where his chisel met the wood. "What I meant was how did you make it make it 'fine'?"
Otto crossed over to the hearth and thrust the spearhead above the embers. The bellows huffed and heaved beneath his foot, and the embers flared from red to orange, then white. He did not reply to Marten.
"Ah", said Marten.
Otto, however, had moved on from the subject of Anvil, and was instead focused on the spontoon's branched head. An image of Brand's tired old staff resurfaced from memory, superimposed over the bright orange speartip before him.
"Do you any steel you could spare?", he asked.
* * *
Just over an hour later, Otto arrived at the tavern he had been directed to some time ago. A few questions aimed at the owner had been enough to inform him as to which room the coat merchant was staying in. He made his way through a slightly dusty, wood-paneled corridor, illuminated warmly in orange tones, and stopped before the room number he had been provided.
He knocked on the antiquated oak door. "Hello?"
Brand looked around his room for a second before the knocks sounded on the door to his room. He opened the door and ushered the Orc in before doing what he usually did and sitting lightly on the floor.
"Ah, good good. Im sorry that i didnt have anything today for you, but i don't think i have anything in the bag that would fit one of your stature. Anyways. I shall have a coat ready on the morrow. It is close to some as of now. Just needs sleeves"
Brand pointed to the tangled sheet of leather that was the coat as of now, and then cursed under his breath, with that he recited a quick poem that was along "Listen here you dull old coat; Submit to me or be sent into the moat!" And as he said that he pointed a finger in a slashing motion across the bottom of the coat, and the excess leather fell off. He smiled to the Orc and explained nothing. He then stood up held up the coat, frowned for a second.
"Anything you want to be done with this to make it custom? Original? I can do ink designs, thread designs, interesting totally useless runes. Among other things. But i think those are my prime offers."
He started sewing up the bottom seam as to not have it fray and when he was done with that a minute later, he sat in wait for the answer.
There were one or two people Otto knew, and who he might describe as having a 'sharp tongue' - but this was something else altogether. He hesitated, unsure of how to feel about talking to someone who could slice apart leather with a few words. But he thrust the feeling aside, and walked over to the unfinished garment. He also suppressed the urge to raise a hand up protectively to cover his throat.
"So long as it keeps the rain out, I'm happy. Thank you." Otto thought some more. "Some pockets would be handy, though. On the inside."
He could hear rain again. It filtered down the building from the roof, until the muffled sound which reached them resembled the unwavering roar of the far-off ocean. Otto shivered, more from the thought of going back out in that than any lingering sense of cold. He imagined being back in the forge again, wrapped up in its near-suffocating heat.
Otto looked back at the coat, then down at his hammer, hanging from his belt. Stylised flames winked back at him, etched into the metal.
"Fire", he said. "Er, for a design. Nothing too fancy, though. Just along the trim, perhaps."
He pulled the hammer from his belt and cradled it in a big, hairy hand. "Now, about payment..."
With a smile Brand looked at the Orc and his odd looks. He thought of what kind of designs he could do. Maybe a few thread around the collar when the Orc spoke up about flames around the edges.
"Yep, and what was that about payment?"
Bran said this as he continued to cut off excess leather, forming the base of it. He pulled out a length of cloth, cut it with the dagger and placed it over the leather to form the inside. With a quick poem he cut off a bit more leather along one edge and sewed it up and then started sewing the soft cloth interior. He talked as he went, mumbling poems to cut off the extra and then added little pockets on the inside and then another mountain of a man walked into the room. Brand looked like he saw this every day.
"Good, Xaxan, i see you found the note. Anyways. I believe the elemental in your staff should be able to enchant things, it needs to be quite simple."
The Eredar nodded and took up his staff from the place where he leaned it. He gave it to Brand after speaking a command to the gem at the top of the staff.
"Thanks to you sir. I shall be quick."
He ran the staff over the cloak in an intricate pattern around the edges. With that he spoke a command word and the design flared into life in a slow glow made by flames that licked over the design. The flames died down and the cloak smoked for a second. Then Xaxan bowed and left, hooves clopping. Brand smiled to the Orc.
"You can leave. Or just buy a room for a night. I'd be more than happy to cover it. There's no point watching me. Ill be another eight or nine hours until im done.
Hope the mild bunny about the staff is okay.
"I, uh, I..." Otto took a breath, collected his thoughts, and focused on the matter at hand. He could always ponder what business strange, red-skinned devils had in a tailor's rented accommodation another time. "Thanks all the same, but I have work to do."
Otto could feel a sneeze building up, and tried to wave away some of the smoke. He peered down at the freshly-singed hem, where small, blackened wisps were still coiling up lazily from rows of static flames. "Getting back to payment-" Otto gave up, sneezed into the crook of his arm, and continued. "Sorry. Payment. I have gold, obviously, or I can offer you a trade."
He spied Brand's cracked old staff propped up against the wall. Otto walked over to it, and inspected it properly for the first time; a quick glimpse back on the rain-soaked street had clearly shown that it had seen better days, and the critical analysis he now subjected it to only served to strengthen this summation. The rust could have been filed away, the bluntness fixed on a grindstone, and the dents easily beaten out. The hairline fractures which ran through it, on the other hand, were another matter.
"I can easily remake this, if you would prefer." Otto turned back to Brand, and fished a small, leather-wrapped package out from his slightly damp, woolen coat pocket. "My credentials", he added, offering it to the huge man for inspection.
Pulled back, the folds of leather revealed a dagger's shining form. It was one of his own pieces which Marten inexplicably still kept around the forge. Otto thought he hung on to it the same way that a parent might keep a child's painting; completely and utterly independent of its quality. Fortunately, though, it did have some. Its edges were straight, even, and composed of a different calibre of steel than the rest of the blade; there, it was a touch harder and more brittle, the better to keep it sharp, while the more flexible body made it much more tolerant to stress. He had brought out the difference with some acid stains, which had turned the outside of the blade a mild blue. Otto thought it was quite fetching. A wide fuller ran up to a couple of inches from the tip, and a small crossguard gave some protection to the bearer's fingers without making the weapon awkwardly wide. Though he had made it some time ago, he still felt proud of its workmanship.
No problem
Brand looked at the dagger for a few minutes and then handed it back to the orc. It had nice craftsmanship with an expertly made edge and very well grooved fuller.
"Good good. Please me with five minutes and i shall send you on your way with the product. Xaxan showing up removed the need for me to create some barriers... All that is left to do now is oil it. And i will take up that offer, new staves that i can also use as weapons are so hard to come by nowadays."
Brand pulled out a bottle of reddish oil and started rubbing it into the leather, and then he took out a rag and wiped away the excess and repeated this over and over, until he had the whole cloak coated. he held it up and hung it on a peg, and took out the dagger, carving in a few words and a symbol into the inside of the collar. He then held out the cloak to the Orc.
"Ok, now, lets see. If you ever need anything that is tailored, there is a set of twins, if that's what they are, that work with leather, cloth, metal, enchanting and alchemy... "
Brand threw the coat on the cot next to the Orc then turned around and looked at his staff. The cracks and fracture riddling the metal. He frowned, thinking of the years he had used this thing to fight, to get rid of the Battlemaster. Fighting in general... The pain and sorrow and the happiness and joy.
"Yes, i will take a new staff. Enchant it too please.. Just something simple. Surprise me"
Otto didn't bother to ask how Brand knew of his other talent. Perhaps the strange tailor knew a fellow craftsman when he saw one...
"As you wish", he acceded. Otto gently cocooned the dagger back up in its leather wrap, and tucked it away. "I will have it ready for you tomorrow morning."
* * *
Otto's return to the garrison was slightly delayed by his roundabout route; instead of making straight for the fort, he first jogged back to Marten's workshop. After some brief chatter there, he was back on the streets. The return trip was largely uneventful, although he did learn that the sight of an orc sprinting through the city with a bar of steel in each hand attracted slightly more curious glances than was normal. Marten had been happy for Otto to take the mild steel ingots, and had agreed to sell them at cost. This was cost for Marten, though; the suppliers on Chaff Row would have included their own markup for the work. They weren't great quality, but that mattered less to a skilled armourer than one might think.
Under full sun, the universally cloudy sky had been a dull, watered-down sort of grey, which bled the land below of colour. Now it was growing darker, the shadows stretching and deepening. Yet, when the sun swept low towards the horizon, Radasanth's bland urban honeycomb was flooded with brilliant oranges, scarlets and pinks. Otto picked up the pace as he raced towards the garrison walls, marched smartly through the gates, and turned straight towards the forge.
Not three seconds after he stepped through the hunched little doorway, the air outside turned an opaque, shimmering grey. Rain roared against the building's old tiles, and drowned out even the ringing of hammers. Otto grinned at the elf whose shift he was just about to take over.
"Guess you'd better make a run for it, Orlannes", he crowed.
* * *
The hearth whispered. The lanterns flickered. The rain poured, and the orc sat in thought.
He had before him, on the bench, the two mild steel ingots he had bought off Marten. In addition to those was a thin square plank of stout hickory and a long strip of leather. The latter two had been taken from the armoury's own stock, but filching those was much less a crime than had he taken decent steel. He would just have to make the next materials order a little bit larger, and throw some of his own gold in to make the numbers add up.
The shadows shifted behind Otto. "Another one?" asked Anvil.
The orc nodded. "This time", he said, "I will see if I can make it by myself."
"As you wish."
Otto stood up. He grabbed an ingot, some tongs, and took them to the forge proper. One hand thrust the metal out while the other clutched at the bellow's pulleys, and he heaved. Life flared from red to yellow within the hearth, and he could feel a fresh wave of heat wash over him. He let the coals breath gently, so as to slowly heat the metal evenly inside and out. The thicker the iron, the more deceptive; it may appear ready to meet the hammer on the outside, but would crack upon the anvil as the cooler, less yielding metal at its core gave in.
When he judged it hot enough, he laid it on the anvil. and hammered it out into a crude dish. Then he did the same for the other ingot, laid them on top of each other, and thrust them back above the hearth.
The steel flowed from red to orange. It was ready to take out, but he held it in place. Orange burned into yellow, then approached white. Otto squinted behind his goggles, barely able to face its sheer brilliance. He was walking a fine path; on one hand, overheating the steel would make it too difficult to shape. But on the other, he knew he had to push the limit. He had to flood it with heat until the memory of the stuff became irrevocably etched into the metal.
Fire, he thought, as he pulled the tongs back out. Fire, warmth and heat - that's what this was about. Even suspended several feet from his heavily-gloved hands, the temperature rolling off the metal was scorching. It soaked in through his palms, and he could feel their white flesh tingling with potential.
Otto drew out the steel some more, and folded it over. The metal wasn't the best, but he could compensate. Folding the metal evened out any inconsistencies and made it, as a whole, stronger.
He pushed harder on the bellows after that, sending sparks spiraling up to the ceiling. Some swirled around like hellish fireflies, while others lunged out in arcs across the room. The fire desperately wanted to escape, and Otto was happy to oblige. He caught the embers as best he could within the metal and folded them, still glowing, into the steel. It probably wasn't usually a good idea, but tonight, he could feel the iron pulsating below his fingers. He was shaping it with more than just his hammer.
After an hour of folding, drawing, bending, and some compensatory upsetting, he had almost finished. The staff tip resembled that of the spontoon, save that it had no central spike. Instead, a vicious half-moon sat atop a cylindrical base, through which he had punch two small holes. After applying a hot-chisel to the weapon's edge, he held it aloft in an appraising stare. Satisfied at last, Otto went over to a cooling oven and nestled it inside. Come morning, it would still be able to sear flesh, but nothing like as hot as it had been - and a slow, overnight cooling would impart a wonderful toughness to the piece.
That left the shaft. He would have to make it a bit taller to suit Brand, which would lend to the difficulty. Still, he had made pikes before, so he was no stranger to the process. Otto began by shaving off the corners, to make a rough octagonal pole. Then, he set it on the forge's largest lathe, coupled the machine's belt to the forge's watermills, and opened up the cistern. He had attached a leather belt, which came down from above and turned with the machine's wheels, to the middle of the wood to prevent it from bowing overmuch. Soon, the hickory pole was a spinning blur. Otto touched at it gently with a heavy chisel, which sent shaving into the sweltering air.
He did not give it too much time with the chisel - just enough to bring it down to a rough, even cylinder. After that, he refined the shape with some spun steel. Once properly shaped, he spun down the machine and retrieved the shaft. He place three thin holes in the wood with a drill and great care; two around its midsection, and on towards the tip. The two towards the centre he filled with hot resin, which he then applied generously to the gap between them. Then he took two spare steel spikes, like thick nails, threaded them through the ends of the leather strip, and poked them through the holes. He wound the leather grip tightly around the wood from one hole to the other. Then he heated the tips of the steel rods enough to hammer them flat against the shaft, pinning the grip in place. It was a delicate process, as he had to hit the steel with perfect precision, lest he end up striking wood instead and cracking it. But he was more than equal to the task. Between that and the resin, the grip would hold firm.
After he had given it a light coat of oil, Otto considered himself almost done for the night. However, as he reviewed his work, one final bit of inspiration struck. He took the shortest poker he could find, heated it to a glow, and slowly etched some blackened glyphs into the wood. The wild-looking script was certainly not Tradespeak, but that of a distant orcish dialect.
"Farkat afar Shalbaur. Kumur Vosu Iaishi Gajalanat." Otto recited the words tiredly. He set the shaft aside for the morrow; for now, he had done all he could.
Krausus
08-21-13, 09:41 PM
Sorry, posted on wrong account. Bazaar mods. Subtract everything from brand not Krausus.
Brand walked out of the inn an sat on the steps leading to it, looking for the word, his hair blowing back, and his eyes steaming from the rain. He held his old staff and then took it and snapped off the steel spike. He took a sheet of paper from the inside and unrolled it, his gaze settling in the symbol and motto of the Weavers.
"Aka, tiklak, shak, Lamitax"
He said this and smiled as he remebered his creation. The careful sculpting, the craftsmen. How he wished to be back, in clay, underground, with infinite time to think. And so he thought back. And smiled again. And so he waited. Waited for the Orc.
He was back in the forge before dawn; before the first shift of the day had arrived. Otto busied himself with preparing the hearth, organising work orders and hauling out the materials and pieces which would require work. Then he crossed to the squat cooling oven embedded in the wall. Below it, a soft glow emananted out from behind a stout metal grille - a bed of embers, warming the cavity above. Otto opened up the larger door above it, and, with a pair of tongs, extracted the half-moon staffhead.
It had ceased to glow, but remained unmistakably hot. Black lines whorled madly through the steel, like oil upon water. Urukke steel (http://sitemaker.umich.edu/weapons/files/damascus.jpg). Marten was an expert in making the stuff, and had taught Otto a thing or two. Still, he was surprised at how well it had turned out.
He left the tip to cool down for a little bit longer, and grabbed the last few things he would need for the staff - his tools, some more resin, and another small steel rod. He heated the resin, then used it to coat the wooden top of the staff. Then, carefully, he lowered the metal staffhead over the wood, and aligned the holes punched into the metal with those drilled through the wood. The metal rod squeezed in next, was also heated, and its ends carefully hammered flat against the steel which wrapped around the staff. As a final measure, he rubbed some oil into the hickory shaft, the better to keep out the rain and stop it from warping.
It was done. Otto held it up to the growing light, a craftsman keenly inspecting his work for flaws. He found nothing wrong with the dimensions or workmanship of the thing. However, there was only one way to tell if the enchantment had stuck...
Five minutes later, after Otto had finished stamping out the fires, he left for the inn.
* * *
The orc arrived at a qick jog. He stuck to the eaves or whatever else afforded some protection from the elements, but all that did was delay the inevitable. When Otto approached Brand, he was soaked, cold, and shivering. He also had, in his hand, an incredibly long staff, topped by a crescent of banded metal that came to two keen points. The rest of it looked pretty sharp, too. At the last few feet, Otto halted, and greeted the giant with a nod and a rather pleased smile.
"All done", he said. "And the coat...?"
I will give Brand instructions on to use the staff's enchantment in my next post, but you can assume that Otto hands it over to him when you write yours. Then I think we should be done :)
Krausus
08-22-13, 11:53 AM
Well, i used google translate latin, so im not sure how it translates.
Brand watched the orc walk up then stood, his eyes looking bloodshot and and him just tired. He walked up to his room and took the coat down from the peg that it rested it on. He put his hand on the the center and muttered few words and the flames flickered into embers, glowing bright, as if they defied the world in itself.
"Here you go. Fortitude est tantum lineamentum didici, sed ligantur ad te fortitudo est aeternum. Take this with a strong heart and an open mind. Know your limits and surpass them."
Brand smiled as he leaned on his old cracked, hard steel staff and breathed deeply. He walked over to the bed and sat down. He looked expectantly at the orc.
"I worked long and hard on this. Use it well..."
He smiled again and then hung his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and sat there.
It was a strange thing to say of a simple bit of rain gear. The markings, the incantations, the flash of light - it wasn't enchanted, was it? Otto gently lifted the oilskin cloak from where Brand had laid it down on the bed. He ran an inquisitive finger along the material, and took in its slight sheen of reflected, iron-grey light. Then he swirled it over his shoulders, tied it at the neck, and checked to see how far down it reached.
"Good", he said, satisfied with the result. As far as he could tell, it was serviceable, but entirely mundane. "Thank you."
His turn, now. Otto bent down and retrieved the long staff from the floor. Given its inordinate length, navigating the cramped confines of the inn had been a bit awkward, and the ceiling was much too low to stand it up straight. Moreover, much of the room - and the building - was constructed of wood, so he had some reservations about displaying its enchantment indoors. Otto glanced searchingly around the room, spied the window, and walked slowly over to it, the staff help horizontally. He carefully swung the panes out with a free hand, and stood, looking out over the crowded little rows of spray-soaked Radasanth houses.
He grasped the staff just below the tip, so that he could bring his maned faced close to the steel. Otto closed his eyes, and breathed out softly over the banded steel. Slowly, hesitantly, another light diffused the room, but while that which came through the window was a cold, washed-out grey, this light painted the little space in warm, flickering orange tones. Otto's shadow grew and stretched behind him as a dancing orb of fire bloomed within the concave space above the curve of metal. He continued to blow upon the flames, much as one would breathe life into a bed of embers, until it had reached half a foot in diameter.
He turned around and gave Brand a weary smile. "It doesn't need much", he explained. "The fire is there. It just needs some encouragement."
He looked back at the oscillating ball of flame, took a deep lungfull of air, and blew it outwards in the manner of an anthropomorphic wolf demolishing some poor little pig's structurally questionable residence. A long, wide jet of flame flew out angrily through the window, turning rain into steam with a roar and a hiss.
When the fire died down, and their eyes readjusted to the gloom, Brand saw that the ball of flame had disappeared.
"Here", said Otto, presenting the staff to the giant.
* * *
Two minutes passed. Then a wide, slightly hunched figure walked out of the inn's front door and onto the street's shimmering cobbles. It was covered head to toe in a light brown oilskin cloak, its face shadowed by a cowl. It shambled down the road, cloak hem sashaying sluggishly back and forth, whereupon the wet stones underfoot sparkled as clouds above shifted out of the sun's way. After a few seconds, they positively glared with brilliant sunlight, while the iron-grey clouds continued to retreat and leave exposed a growing expanse of rich, blue sky. The air was already warmer, and slowly filled with birdsong. The background noises of a bustling city followed suit soon after, and Otto could hear the cry of hawkers, the neighing of horses, the rattle of carriages, and the hum of crowds. Radasanth was returning to life.
Otto looked upon the perfect day, now full of warmth and sunlight and clear skies.
"Bugger", he growled.
I think we're ready to submit for judgement. What do you reckon - anything else you want to put in? I'm going to leave this open for a few days before I submit it, unless you give me the go-ahead first (at which point I will finalise this with a spoils request).
Spoils requests
Otto requests one waterproof, basic leather cloak, with some detailing around the hem. The cloak offers no exceptional protection in combat.
Brand requests one 8' hickory staff, with a crescent-shaped steel bladed head and leather grip, above average quality. An inscription on the wood reads: "Farkat afar Shalbaur. Kumur Vosu Iaishi Gajalanat" (loosely, 'Forged by the Bastard. The embers need the breath from within to live'. The staff will be enchanted so that the wielder may summon a 1' diameter ball of flame nestled in the space above the crescent head, done by breathing (and only breathing; standard wind will not have any effect) gently upon the metal. The ball of flame may persist for ten minutes per day, and if used to strike someone/something, will inflict fire damage. Alternatively, the wielder (and only the wielder) can blow on the flame to send a brief, 10'-long cone of fire out to cause minor burn damage. In either case, the flames will then dissipate. Usable once per day.
The judges are referred to the Bazaar thread regarding these items here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25708-Selling-A-Thing&p=210627&viewfull=1#post210627). If possible, we would like the cost of materials to be subtracted from this thread's spoils. Otto also has a level 2 profile (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25610-Otto-Bastum-level-two) up; the experience necessary to level has been calculated but is yet to be awarded. As this affects his enchanting ability, I would prefer for that profile to be used in determining whether to award spoils, if possible.
Mordelain
09-12-13, 10:18 AM
Thread Title: Shopping Trip (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25711-Shopping-Trip)
Judgement Type: Basic Judgement
Participants: Brand, Otto
Plot ~ 12/30
Strength: For a bazaar endeavour, this drew your characters interests together and gave a believable premise, and a thought out way to achieve your goals (which, let us face it, was to get items = profit). It is promising that you have gone to this effort for the transaction, and I hope you continue with this gusto to build up a reputable business.
Weakness: For all the strengths in making a simple thread work, that in turn is a limitation. Buying and selling might seem run of the mill, but there needs to be more connecting the reader to the little slice of commercial life than ‘is the staff going to go wrong?’ Which brings me to add, perhaps consider tying in an adventure, a start or end of one, with the purchase. There is more than one way to buy a gift, after all.
Character ~ 13/30
Strength: Otto exudes confidence, artistry, and insight. Brand exudes power, hunger, and a hint of madness. There was plenty to show your character’s base personalities, and you played off against one another.
Weakness: Dialogue for the most part was forced, conventional, and unremarkable. I appreciate ‘I’d like this’, followed by ‘it’s this much’ is rudimentary, but you have opportunity to develop character less through what you say, and more how you say it. Otto showed signs of this in using orcish throughout the thread, so perhaps demonic, or whatever Brand speaks, could be something both to explore and utilise in bringing him to life.
Prose ~ 10/30
Strength: The strength of the thread lay in its clarity. However, technique was simple, effective, and to the point (supply and demand), the simplicity leant, itself well to understanding what was going on. The use of other languages, and the connection between characters and the item you constructed adequately thought out.
Weakness: Otto and Brand both had numerable instances of mechanical errors. Otto, careful with speech marks. Punctuation goes inside, ,” and not “,. Brand, capitalisation, simplification of sentence structure, and careful observance of paragraph rules will improve your writing dramatically. They are easy, simple steps to raise your rubric score.
Wildcard: 5/10 – Take the groundwork of this business and try to be inventive with a limited brief, and I can see this being a worthwhile sidelines for smith and mage. The primary way to improve is mechanics. Asides that perhaps begin to connect past events with each new adventure for materials, and consider how the drudgery of retail might start to weigh on your character’s conscience (or lack thereof).
40/100
Otto receives 450 experience and 50 gold.
Brand receives 350 experience, and 0 gold.
Otto receives his coat as described.
Brand receives the staff, but it must be finalised with a 300 gold discount through bazaar staff, and ROG at level up.
Mordelain
09-12-13, 10:20 AM
Experience and gold added.
Please link the thread to the relevant profile updates.
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