Post by Ériu on May 3, 2015 21:30:34 GMT
Crafting AP= 1.25x word count
One afternoon, Ériu left to see Emery, having been eager to tell him about her latest venture. A city man to his core, the aging blacksmith had lived most of his life in Orange before settling down in the quieter Green District. Once during one of his visits to the farm, Maple had asked him over dinner why he’d left the bustling, thriving city for what was basically the country. To this, Emery had responded simply, as he is a simple man. He’d said,”
I figured it was time for a change of pace.”
As the sun slowly climbed its arc over the bright sky, Ériu shared with the Blacksmith the details of what she’d seen during her stay in Orange. She spoke with such an enthusiasm that she almost seemed a girl again instead of a young woman. Emery kept his attention divided between the Elf’s story and his work. Currently, he was straightening up his work station. The sounds of metal sheets clanging would occasionally drown out Ériu’s soft voice, but he got the gist of her words. Orange District had been his home for forty years. There wasn’t anything from there that he hadn’t seen before. In fact, he’d taken a couple of classes at Coral College, mainly for learning new techniques to apply to his smithing. The other had been over reforging, something that a lot of his customers seemed to be into nowadays.
With her tale told, Ériu’s fell on a project that Emery was currently carrying across the room. Silver pieces shimmered in the light of the room, piquing the Elf’s curiosity. “I didn’t know you made silverware.”
“Eh?” The old man set down the tray on a shipment box. “Not typically. This is for a special occasion.” He picked up a spoon and handed it to the Shaman for her to inspect at her leisure. Teal eyes drank in the detail of the eating ware, drawn-in by the sheer newness of the object.
“Special occasion, y’say?” Fingers slid down the smooth surface and found no imperfections. For a moment, her distorted reflection kept her quiet. Lips pursed at its unfamiliarity before Emery’s fingers plucked it from her grasp, “aye”. Ériu blinked but said nothing, watching the old man’s back as he began packing away the silverware.
“A banquet is being hosted by some big-name chef. Crafters from around the land are being asked to help put it together. Some award is being promised, but I’ll be hard-pressed to know what it could be.”
“What if it’s nothing?”
“Then I figure I could use the exposure to bring in more customers. Did you want to participate? There are some things they’re asking for from woodcrafters that you could make.”
An award . . . Even better . . . more business. A tilt of the head as Emery turned to face her, mind rolling the prospect around.
“Like what?”
So here she finds herself, bent over a new project: a table, of all things. It’s such a mundane thing to spend her time on; Ériu really prefers creating objects of warfare and the like, but Emery had made an excellent point that day. Whatever reward it may be –publicity or cash or whatever- it’ll bring her that much closer to being able to afford her education in Orange District, and that is worth all the time in the world.
Lumbar is stacked neatly along one wall of the barn. Today she works outside, there not being nearly enough room to construct woodwork of this magnitude in her usual work-space. She starts by cutting the lumbar into sections of unequal length, some meant for the body of the table, others for the legs. Sawing is one of her least favorite parts of the job. It makes her muscles ache, and she often gets cramps in her fingers from gripping the handle too hard. Sometimes she wonders if there isn’t some sort of spell that can’t get the job done for her, like summoning a spirit that possesses tools. That’d be juuuust fine.
Until that invention can be founded, however, she has to power through the cramps and sweat all on her own, which she does until she has a nice set of freshly-cut sections littering the ground. Aaaand then Ériu promptly drops to her butt in the nice, cool grass.
words: 719
One afternoon, Ériu left to see Emery, having been eager to tell him about her latest venture. A city man to his core, the aging blacksmith had lived most of his life in Orange before settling down in the quieter Green District. Once during one of his visits to the farm, Maple had asked him over dinner why he’d left the bustling, thriving city for what was basically the country. To this, Emery had responded simply, as he is a simple man. He’d said,”
I figured it was time for a change of pace.”
As the sun slowly climbed its arc over the bright sky, Ériu shared with the Blacksmith the details of what she’d seen during her stay in Orange. She spoke with such an enthusiasm that she almost seemed a girl again instead of a young woman. Emery kept his attention divided between the Elf’s story and his work. Currently, he was straightening up his work station. The sounds of metal sheets clanging would occasionally drown out Ériu’s soft voice, but he got the gist of her words. Orange District had been his home for forty years. There wasn’t anything from there that he hadn’t seen before. In fact, he’d taken a couple of classes at Coral College, mainly for learning new techniques to apply to his smithing. The other had been over reforging, something that a lot of his customers seemed to be into nowadays.
With her tale told, Ériu’s fell on a project that Emery was currently carrying across the room. Silver pieces shimmered in the light of the room, piquing the Elf’s curiosity. “I didn’t know you made silverware.”
“Eh?” The old man set down the tray on a shipment box. “Not typically. This is for a special occasion.” He picked up a spoon and handed it to the Shaman for her to inspect at her leisure. Teal eyes drank in the detail of the eating ware, drawn-in by the sheer newness of the object.
“Special occasion, y’say?” Fingers slid down the smooth surface and found no imperfections. For a moment, her distorted reflection kept her quiet. Lips pursed at its unfamiliarity before Emery’s fingers plucked it from her grasp, “aye”. Ériu blinked but said nothing, watching the old man’s back as he began packing away the silverware.
“A banquet is being hosted by some big-name chef. Crafters from around the land are being asked to help put it together. Some award is being promised, but I’ll be hard-pressed to know what it could be.”
“What if it’s nothing?”
“Then I figure I could use the exposure to bring in more customers. Did you want to participate? There are some things they’re asking for from woodcrafters that you could make.”
An award . . . Even better . . . more business. A tilt of the head as Emery turned to face her, mind rolling the prospect around.
“Like what?”
So here she finds herself, bent over a new project: a table, of all things. It’s such a mundane thing to spend her time on; Ériu really prefers creating objects of warfare and the like, but Emery had made an excellent point that day. Whatever reward it may be –publicity or cash or whatever- it’ll bring her that much closer to being able to afford her education in Orange District, and that is worth all the time in the world.
Lumbar is stacked neatly along one wall of the barn. Today she works outside, there not being nearly enough room to construct woodwork of this magnitude in her usual work-space. She starts by cutting the lumbar into sections of unequal length, some meant for the body of the table, others for the legs. Sawing is one of her least favorite parts of the job. It makes her muscles ache, and she often gets cramps in her fingers from gripping the handle too hard. Sometimes she wonders if there isn’t some sort of spell that can’t get the job done for her, like summoning a spirit that possesses tools. That’d be juuuust fine.
Until that invention can be founded, however, she has to power through the cramps and sweat all on her own, which she does until she has a nice set of freshly-cut sections littering the ground. Aaaand then Ériu promptly drops to her butt in the nice, cool grass.
words: 719
