Dwarf
Inactive Player
Gold:
Tailor
Acrobat
Guild:
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Post by Sark on Sept 5, 2015 6:18:44 GMT
stat widget coded by Oxford of ETHP: 100% MP: 100%
- EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour --
SKILLS
- None Active -
Words: 520
Tags: Let’s get rolling~.
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Sark stepped hesitantly into St Pancras Station.
It was his first time in the massive structure in this reality, but he had heard that this was where people went to mend clothes, explore talents, or even smithed new creations. It was a building for equal parts innovation & banal uses, and its central importance to Londinium had always made Sark feel too inferior to enter. Many of the vines and moss had been cleared away by industrious adventurers, making the building comparably clean on the outside. Large doors stood open & inviting, but Sark was uncharacteristically hesitant to proceed. There was just such a feeling of industriousness.
A gust picked up, blowing some leaves into the station, and reminding Sark of why he was here in the first place as he felt the cold wind on unprotected butt cheeks. His tracksuit pants had been damaged, and a small tear now let people glimpse his underwear.
Sark stepped forward a second time, and then a third. With each step he felt a little less inferior, and soon enough he was properly within the building. He followed the large, well-painted signs until he came to the central workroom. The domed ceiling had been kept clean so sunlight filtered through the glass, and work benches had been set in long rows down the ex-train station. The noise was almost deafening; there was the clang of metal, the rustle of cloth and low mechanical reverberating from every corner. The feeling of intimidation began to creep over Sark again, before he pressed down on it firmly.
’I’m here for a reason – I can’t let my own inexperience stop me … I’ve got to fix my problems now, not moan about them.’
After his first experience in the Windsor Greatwoods, Sark had finally earned the cash he needed to improve his equipment. His dorky appearance had been troubling him for a long time, so Sark tried to focus his thoughts on the improvements he could make, rather than his tailoring inexperience. The short dwarf paid the fee to rent a work table, and shuffled through the halls. Each workbench came up to his shoulders, giving the room a certain stifling feeling despite its high ceiling.
In due course he found an empty table and hoisted himself onto the tall stool. The adventurer stared at the empty table for a second to control his thoughts. The table itself was lightly scarred with the proof of a hundred different hands, with small paint stains, scissor marks, chemical burns and more. He took a deep breath, and opened his inventory. He had spent a huge portion of his money on the needles, thread, leathers, furs, fabric and stuffing but he wanted to look his best, and be as protected as possible. Just the thought of the additional protection the armour might give released some of the tension he had been holding since his battles in the Greatwood. It had been exciting, but it had also been terrifying. Death was something he wanted to avoid, no matter the cost.
With that thought lingering in his head, he got to work.
| STATUS: Wary
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Dwarf
Inactive Player
Gold:
Tailor
Acrobat
Guild:
|
Post by Sark on Sept 5, 2015 6:58:09 GMT
stat widget coded by Oxford of ETHP: 50% MP: 100%
- EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour --
SKILLS
- None Active -
Words: 254
Tags: Let’s get rolling~.
|
The sunlight and shadows moved across the large hall as Sark studied the designs he had bought, prepared the leather, and carefully cut, sew and shaped his pieces. Every few minutes he could miscalculate the angle of a needle and would pierce himself. Within an hour his fingers were numb with pain, and after three he had to break from needlework to give himself time to recover. His HP had dropped to half and the last 3 stitches would need to be unpicked. When he had picked tailor as his subclass, he had never expected to actually tailor.
’Well I guess that was when this was all a game…’ he mused. If he had known his gaming whim would have had such an impact, Sark would have changed many things. His size, his race, his subclasses … none of them matched who he used to be, but that had become who he was now. It was a strange, comforting thought. He had come to grips with the changes wrought, and was trying to make the most of the situation. During the first day of his new and for months afterward he had obsessed over his character choice, how he should have chosen a character more true to his identity - maybe a human bard his real height, or an elven guardian. Anything but this novelty character. But over time he has accepted his new form. It had drawbacks such as its short stature, but also benefits such as ignoring the cold, and greater flexibility.
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template coded by oxford of ET |
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Dwarf
Inactive Player
Gold:
Tailor
Acrobat
Guild:
|
Post by Sark on Sept 5, 2015 8:40:34 GMT
stat widget coded by Oxford of ETHP: 100% MP: 100%
- EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour --
SKILLS
- None Active -
Words: 339
Tags: Let’s get rolling~.
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While his HP recovered, Sark tried on the clothes. He hadn’t gotten to the complex armour pieces yet, but had sewn a pair of thick, double thick cloth pants. The exterior layer was a length of rough, thick cotton so it would not wear from scraping up against trees or the ground, while the inner layer was fine wool to keep things soft and padded. A thick leather belt kept them up, as Sark hadn’t yet figured out how to do something fancier like the self-tying pants or elastic. The shirt was a light, billowy material that looked more appropriate for a Spanish duelist than someone fight for their life, but it breathed well in this hot weather, and let Sark move freely. Surprisingly enough, it actually felt nice to be in. There was a certain pride in making your own clothes, especially when you overlooked some of the novice mistakes that were inherent. Sark could get used to this – it was cool!
He took the clothes off to reveal his old equipment underneath, and got back to work with renewed vigor. The leatherwork was simpler as the needles bigger, and in a few more hours he had made a pair of serviceable pauldrons to protect his shoulders, and a high-necked coif from stuffed fabric and leather to protect his neck. Down the track he would like to make something that included chest and thigh coverage in addition, but progress was slow and Sark only had so much leather to go about. The rates that the merchant's had charged for the thick, boiled Crag Cow leather had been ludicrious really.
Feeling warm from a sense of accomplishment, Sark looked up from his workbench. It was night! The time had flown, as had many of his companions. Only a few others were around him, and the place was almost silent. There was no-one there to share his enthusiasm, so Sark packed up his remaining belongings and left the SPS. He’d have to come back – that feeling of accomplishment was addictive.
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template coded by oxford of ET |
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Dwarf
Inactive Player
Gold:
Tailor
Acrobat
Guild:
|
Post by Sark on Sept 11, 2015 15:14:14 GMT
New learnings
stat widget coded by Oxford of ETHP: 100% MP: 100%
- EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour --
SKILLS
- None Active -
Words: 629
Tags:
| It was the next day, and Sark stood proudly at the entrance to St Pancras Station. It had been 24 hours since Sark had made his new, comfortable armour. He felt more stylish than he had in years, and by extension felt that much more bold. He was more willing to look people in the eyes, and had a slight swagger to his step. Given his small stature, neither of these feats were particularly easy, but Sark's newfound confidence was not going to be trodden over by something as trivial as height. The night prior, right after making his new armour, Sark had rushed back to the inn he had been staying at. The Black Hound Inn was a relatively reputable place which rented its rooms exclusively to the adventurers who had not coped well with the change to the Unfounded Kingdom. Sark used to spend days alone in his room, worrying and angsting, but last night he had spent the night staring at the armour. It was his armour that he had made. He'd made it with his own hands, and the armour was physical proof he was improving. The excitement and pride of his creation was infectious, so Sark had decided he needed to make even more. The only problem was that he didn't know what to make. The leather armour pattern had been given to him when he had signed up as a tailor, and the instructor who he had been under had either left Londinium, or perished in an unfortunate event across the last 2 years. In either case, it meant that Sark was alone in his tailoring. It was a set back, but not enough of one to dimish his pride. Which is why Sark was standing once again at St Pancras Station. Ducking his head needlessly, the dwarf entered the building and went to one of the small siderooms where he could arrange renting a table for a day and other necessities. Much like yesterday, it was a dry, musty room. A lady who had passed middle age with little grace sat behind the desk, with a filigree metal grille seperating her from the customers. The room was empty, but Sark dutifully lined up and waited to catch her eye. The lady, whose name badge was obscured by the curve of her breast, studiously ignored Sark for several awkward moments. As the silence stretched, Sark felt his enthusiasm start to fade. The slight smile that had hovered on this lips all that morning slipped away. Finally the lady flicked her eyes at him and beckoned him closer. As Sark approached the desk she spoke up. "What you want?" She bellowed unnecessarily. Now that he was standing at the desk, all Sark could see was the top of her curled blonde hair, but he imagined a frown creasing her brows. "I was just hoping to rent a table for the day, and also see if there were any patterns available for purchase..." he muttered, feeling progressively less excited by the encounter. "What? Well, why didn't you say so?" Her previously brusque attitude was gone. Instead, the lady's tone had warmed considerably. There was the sound of paper being shuffled, and then a thick roll was pushed over to him. Reaching up to take it, she continued. "Tell you what - you make me that bag, and whenever I'm on shift you can get in free. How does that sound?"The inevitable smile broke onto Sark's face and he needed. Then realised he was too short for her to see, so hopped up and braced his elbows on the desk so he could look her in the eye. Once again, he nodded quietly in determination, before hopping down and leaving the room. | | STATUS |
template coded by oxford of ET |
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Dwarf
Inactive Player
Gold:
Tailor
Acrobat
Guild:
|
Post by Sark on Sept 17, 2015 10:43:44 GMT
stat widget coded by Oxford of ETHP: 100% MP: 100%
- EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour --
SKILLS
- None Active -
Words: 710
Tags:
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The teen jogged from St Pancras, down the cracked steps, and into the streets of Londinium. High street was not far, and there he would have the right selection of fabrics to use. He had not looked at the design yet, but was excited to try something new.
By the time Sark arrived at the storefronts he was regretting jogging. It was late Summer, but it was still Summer, and a liberal layer of sweat had slicked his hair and back. Taking a fabric sample he blithely mopped his face, before putting it back with the rest of them, and travelled further into the store. It was one of the older, larger houses that had been built within the empty skyscrapers, and rolls of cloth new & old alike stood throughout the store. The air had a dry, musty taste with undertones of lavender & sage. Sark could only assume was good for the fabric, or that old ladies owned the store.
He found a quiet bench where one could slice fabric, and pulled out the design. It looked to be a fairly simple bag, with an adjustable strap that meant it could be used as a satchet that hung across the chest, or a handbag that hung from the shoulder. It wasn't exactly an exciting bit of craft, but was certainly different from the thick leatherwork Sark had done the day prior. Looking at the design, he realised he would not need large amounts of fabric, so he would have some room to experiment. The thought excited him, so the teen went deeper into the store, selecting a variety of sheer silks, thick clothes and thin leathers. He made his purchases, fetched the bag pattern, and this time stuck to the shade as he returned.
He passed the lady, took the token for a workstation, and entered the main hall entered. This time he was prepared for the variety of noise, smells and sights so only took a moment to appreciate the busywork being done before finding his own table, where he dumped the fabrics.
'First's thing's first. Understand the pattern.'
He took a minute to carefully review the design, trying to imagine how the pieces would fold together to become a 3-dimensional, multi-layered shape. To his novice mind, it was taxing was all but neccesary. With that done, he got to work. Needles, sharp scissors, and a tape were removed from his magic bag and measurements taken.
The inner skin was done first in a a double-layer of soft, mother-of-pearl designed silk. Sark at the tender age of 17 thought it gave the bag a certain sophisticated air. The middle, durable layer was done next that would anchor and hold the contraption together. The stitches here were thick and small to ensure proper weight distribution (or so the pattern read), and the time that portion was done Sark's eyes were dry & gritty. The fine needlework was too much for him, so he took a moment to relax and gather his thoughts.
St Pancras Station had once again cleared out, and for the first time Sark noticed a bard some distance away. They had numerous strings curled about them, and was methodically tying, tightening and then testing each string on what appeared to be a test guitar. The sound of each string was slightly different, and Sark found himself zoning out as he listening to brief tunes played between the interludes of string changing.
He woke as he his head, which has been slowly lowering itself, slammed into the workbench with a thud. The shock woke him out of his daze, and the would-be tailor decided tonight he would complete the bag come hell or high weather. With equal parts determination and sleepiness he found his thicker needles, and go to work on the slicing and stitching of the outer layer. It was a thin, flexible leather which had been dyed a pleasant aqua color. That was finished within ten minutes, just leaving the large buckles to be sewn in, and a simple adjustable sling to be made. The sling was made with a double layer of the durable cloth, once again covered in the thin aqua leather.
By midnight be was done. Only he and the bard remained in the empty, cold hall. Sark gathered his things, shouted a farewell to the bard (who jumped in surprise, breaking a string the in process) and left the hall. When he returned next he would present the satchel, and by extension gain free admission to the hall.
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