[Crafting] Advanced Tailoring

[Sark]

HP: 100% MP: 100% - EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour -- SKILLS - None Active - Words: 390 EQUIPMENT REFORGE 1/2

Sark strolled confidently down the aisles of St Pancras Station. While he was only a level 8 tailor, after a few weeks he felt like a local here. He nodded in a friendly way to several of the regular crafters, and chatted politely to many of the full time staff, who Sark could only assume were People of the Land. He made a point to never ask someone about their mortality, nor did he bring up his mental menu to check their status. Instead, he tried to treat each person on their own merits. In part, it was because Sark wanted to be judged on his own merits. Looking into his past within the game you would see an apathetic, fearful boy stuck in the doldrums. It barely resembled his current, active self. As a homage to his past, he still wore his original armours even now when he was in a crafting mood. The clothes were faded, and the hems had been reknit several times, but they were part of his history and he wanted to keep it that way. 'Still' he mused, 'it would be nice if these clothes helped to reflect who I am now - a combination of my past and my new determination.' It was with somber thoughts like this rolling through his mind that Sark's pace slowed, and his social demeanor shrank back. Hands went into his pockets and a slouch grew into his posture. His pace slowed more and more, until finally a merchant shoo'd him away from their stall. Grunting in surprise, Sark scowled at the merchant. Then stopped. This lady was selling a variety of clothes but they were so much finer that his. Their stitching and materials were just as basic he could see, but somehow, somehow they felt better. He couldn't help himself, and one professional to another started to talk to this lady. She wasn't particularly chatty, so Sark offered to buy her a cup of something after she closed up store. At first she seemed confused by the offer, and then embarasssed. Sark didn't understand - why in the world would the lady be embarassed? It wasn't like he was asking her out on a date or anythi--- Sark coloured too. Not knowing what to do, he shouted a garbled "See you at six Idunnookbye!" and fled.

STATUS: Wary

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[Sark]

HP: 100% MP: 100% - EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour -- SKILLS - None Active - Words: 799 EQUIPMENT REFORGE 2/2 Names supplied by Icy. Thanks Icy!

Sark sat in the empty crafting Hall of St Pancras Station. It was past midnight now, and silence hung heavily. Sark had also found it silly that the hall was open 24 hours a day just because it had been during Elder Tales, but tonight he appreciated the peculiar logic this world ran on. The young dwarf was sitting in casual clothes, with his starting equipment laid out neatly on the workbench in front of him, untouched. A blush hung stubbornly to his cheeks, and the boy’s hands clenched and unclenched uncomfortably as he remembered his impromptu date earlier in the night. He had met his fellow tailor at her stall straight on the dot at 6PM. He had brushed his hair, washed his clothes and had even purchased some sweet smelling gum to keep his breath fresh. His companion was a level 60 tailor as it turned out, and had been much more experienced than Sark in more than just crafting. Jane, as she called herself, bucked the trend by demanding people call her by her old name, rather than the name ascribed to her character. It had been a tricky habit to get into, but Jane had been firm to call her by it. Sark had tried to explain early in the night that all he was hoping for was a business meeting, but never found the right chance to say it. Besides, after 5 minutes he found he was enjoying himself. When she had seen his getup she had laughed good naturedly at him, poking and prodding at where he hadn’t quite perfected things. She had been that way all night, teasing and sly, knowledgeable and sharing, jumping between the two so quickly that Sark never knew where he stood. Whenever Sark found himself relaxing and chatting to her like anyone else, she would do something subtle like touch his hand or stare into his eyes and he would turn into a blushing, confused buffoon. Despite the emotional rollercoaster of the night, Sark had learned what he had wanted to. Just thinking about the exchange though let his blush grow furiously until it coloured his broad face, thick ears and willowy neck beet reed. ‘It’s simple really’ She had stated, ‘I’m surprised someone who played Elder Tales for so long and then lived here so long hasn’t figured it out.’ Sark had huffed at this in a friendly sort of way. In reply she tilted her chin down, and stared calculatingly at him through her lashes. Like that, once again Jane was transmuted from a person into a Lady and Sark found himself blushing and stammering half baked excuses. This only caused a sly smile to form on her lips, which caused Sark even more concern. She had waited for his bluster to die down before relenting and explaining the process. While she explained the process, her hands held Sark’s and mimed the actions they were performing. The young dwarf had been so entranced by the feel of her soft cotton gloves warming his wrist that her words had sounded him and distant. ‘As I was saying, it’s simple. You open up the mental menu, navigate through to the crafting lists, then select reforge and choose the equipment. Your body will know the rest. You need to have Manaforge with you of course, as we’re enchanting something with magic.’ Their dinner had not lasted much longer, and before Sark had realised it their meeting had concluded. He had hesitantly asked when they could meet again, and had been told only once he’d learned the trick she taught him. Rather than return home to obsess over what she’d said and what he should have said, Sark had returned to St Pancras Station. It certainly wasn’t because he wanted to meet her again quickly, the tailor just wanted to practice his new knowledge. ‘Right-o’ He thought. His hands finally stretched towards the workbench, where he grasped the rubber magi-mallet to raise it over his waiting clothing. The portable Manaforge he had rented was switched on. He took a deep, slow breath to calm his mind, before opening up the interface. After selecting through the various tabs, he found the Equipment Reforge button. It blinked an inviting azure to confirm the skill was available and ready for use. Taking one final breath, he pressed the button. His arm automatically swung down, hammering the clothing. A soft glow briefly encompassed his armour. When the glow faded, his wolf mantle starting equipment looked identical barring the mallet indent. White text briefly hovered over the equipment stating Adapted Cold Starting Leather Armour (1) As the text faded away Sark stared in shock. It had worked. It worked! He leapt from his seat and hollered for joy. He was now a magical tailor!

STATUS: Overjoyed

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[Sark]

HP: 100% MP: 100% - EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour -- SKILLS - None Active - Words: 423 ACCESSORIES 1/3

The noontime sun shone brightly through the dusty glass of the bedroom. It fell across the scattered bolts of cloth in the room, and slowly warmed the bed. A lump underneath a thick quilt slowly inched across the bed, keeping ahead of the approaching light like a particularly fat shadow.In due course there was no more bed to escape to, and a reluctant groan sounded. The lump tossed and turned for several minutes, before it threw off its covers to reveal an exhausted looking Sark. He had stayed up til dawn working on different ideas. He has learned the magical technique of 'Equipment Reforging,' which allowed him to enchant his cloth and leather armour with a magical addition. It still seemed random in which enchantment was applied, but Sark had a sneaking suspicion that there was simple a complex set of rules behind it, much like the fairy's ring teleportation system. With the sun shining through his window he knew he would not be able to sleep again so with another groan edged out of the bed and dropped to the floor. The wooden floorboards were sun warmed, and helped to bring back the smile to Sark's juvenile face. He dressed quickly, and bundled up as many of his supplies as possible. Each day he bought a few more, and his magic bag was starting to fill up. Within ten minutes he was ready to go, so unlocked his room, dashed excitedly down the hallway, and into the main room of the inn. The room was packed with adventurers and locals, who judging by the smell of roasted sage and warm meat, were enjoying roast chicken today. In the past Sark may have loitered about the room until he was given some scraps, but this new-and-improved Sark had enough cash to buy his own, but better uses for it. He strode confidently through the messroom, out through the kitchen, and into the alleys beyond. It was the most enjoyable he had found to St Pancras Station as he passed two parks, and several beautiful buildings. It coincidentally also happened to pass Jane's tailoring store. He had spent the night learning about apply magic to clothes, and now he wanted to do the same to trinkets. He'd seen enchanted bangles, bracers and veils all across the town, and they had always inspired him. The idea that he might be able to contribute to the city' supply made him giddy enough to skip, let alone the idea that he could even own these magical wares.

STATUS: Excited

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[Sark]

HP: 100% MP: 100% - EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour -- SKILLS - None Active - Words: 430 ACCESSORIES 2/3

Sark sat at his usual worktable. The table had the thick posts and highly polished surface that suggested it had been a learning experience for a carpenter, and the surface was scratched, marred, burnt, marked, scored and splattered from hundreds of different projects. Sark spent much of his downtime while knitting guessing the history of some of the projects. To the far there was heavy scoring that implied some sort of butchering, whilst right next to it ink had stained a perfectly straight line that looked a lot like someone was inaccurate when nearing the edge of an inked map. With an exasperated sigh, the tailor tried to focus his mind. He'd be been tailoring for several days now, and his mind was wandering more. He reflected that a bit of traditional adventuring would get his blood boiling again. "'Okay. Okay. Let's do this. Magical accessories that are both functional and fashionable! Yeah! Yeah! Let's do this!" He had just the idea for it too. It was something most people were familiar with, and seeing the finished product would hopefully bring a smile to their face. From his inventory he pulled out a long roll of durable red cloth, red nylon thread, and a scrap piece of white cloth. He placed it carelessly about the workstation, before hopping up. To get the shape right, he'd need the help of a scribe. He strolled through the busy aisles of the St Pancras Workroom until he came to a likely looking scribe. They seemed to be working on a project to create stamps for packing or posting, and had many types of card around them. After a short exchange, the scribe chuckled at the idea and handed over several of her cards for a nominal fee. With a smile and wink, Sark returned to his own work station and began to piece it all together. Triangles of the red cotton were cut out, and a few minutes later a white rhombus accomponied it. Using the powers of bobby pins Sark began a quick construction of it, then trimmed down the excess. The prototype was deconstructed and with a hum the dwarf got into stitching. The stitches were close together and strong enough to keep it all together. Once each triangle was sewn, it was sewn onto its neighbour. A bowl slowly formed across the afternoon. With a proud smile Sark flipped it over, and put the capless cap on his head. It fit! A proud smile warmed his face as he admired his handywork. It wasn't near done, but it was progress.

STATUS: Proud

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[Sark]

HP: 100% MP: 100% - EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour -- SKILLS - None Active - Words: 481 ACCESSORIES 3/3

The early Autumn sunlight waned as Sark continued to work on his cap. He was dimly aware of the light slowly falling back across his desk and lamps being lit around him, but it was peripheral knowledge not related to his work. He had glued several of the cards together and had carefully cut them into the brim of a hat. This thick card was covered in a white cloth, and attached to the front of the cap. All the was left was a little needlework with a strong green thread, and he was done. The finished hat flashed brightly like a lamp passing over polished steel, and a small message floated above the hat. 'Success!' A bolt of electricity shot through him, filling him with childish glee. He grabbed the cap in two hands, jumping on the spot and doing circles. He rushed over to another crafter and proudly showed them his cap. Before the person could respond Sark pushed it into the face of another, crying all the while 'success success.' It took him some time to calm down and return to his seat. All the while the hat had continued to cheerily blink away, asking when he would like to enchant it. Feeling that there was nothing to lose, Sark sat down close to a manaforge, and agree to enchant. There was a second, softer flash this time and a message briefly floated above the cap. [Pacify Specialist Trainer Cap] "Amazing!" He shouted, before being shushed by increasingly less polite fellow craftspeople. The tailor sheepishly returned to his desk, the quiet joy of pride still burning in his chest. To him, this accessory was valuable. It was cool, it felt nice, and it did something. He had to take pride in his work - he had to do more! He wanted to share his achievements with others. With a spark of determination fueled by the fire of pride, Sark stood up. Soon, he would be a store owner. He wanted a store that was casual, clear, and all about options. While he was limited in what armour he could make, cloth was common to 5 classes, and if his memory served leather was common to 3. That meant the majority of the classes would be relying on tailors for their armour, and to boot he could make amazing (if he thinks so himself) accessories to further empower the characters. Dreams of merchantile success began to swell his mind, and the teen imagined piles of gold, large banners of achievement and ever lasting fame. His name could go down in this world's history as a Masamune. It was a grand, and even achievable goal. Sark finally began to feel like he had a future. The cap was carefully stowed in his adventurer's bag, and with a swagger the dwarf stepped out into Londinium; not his prison, but his home.

STATUS: Proud

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