Dwarf
Inactive Player
Gold:
Tailor
Acrobat
Guild:
|
Post by Sark on Oct 4, 2015 15:36:12 GMT
HP: 100% MP: 100%
- EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour --
SKILLS
- None Active -
Words: 537*1.1 Oct Art Bonus
590
|
The room was a complete mess. Clothes of every variety hung off nails on the wall, over doors, from curtain rods and scattered across the floor. There were coats, jackets, shirts, singlets, underwear, socks, stockings, lingerie, pants, shorts and a dozen pairs of boots. In between this pandemonium of clothes were bolts of silks, cuts of cloth and bags full of stuffing. And there, sitting in the midst of this, was the tailor. He was of particularly short height with a thin, almost malnourished body. Several cobbler’s nails were sticking from his pursed lips as he finished sealing the tongue of a shoe. His eyes were clear, with determination and excitement burning with equal ferocity. With the shoes done, they were placed with care in a rare spot of free space, and then the next job began without pause.
‘I never knew opening a store would be such work!’ The dwarf thought to himself. It was not that he was resenting the amount of work, but as the days passed and his stock grew ever more, he was getting a little impatient to begin. His tutor, Jane the tailor, had been clear though; to start a successful store you must entice customers in. To entice customers in, you must have something there to entice them. To Sark, this meant having a blistering variety of items available. For maximum impact he had made each one at the most basic level so anyone – Person of the Land or adventurer a like – could equip them. Improving them for a higher levelled customer was a simple matter too, once he had been shown the ‘upgrade’ methodology.
The only catch he’d come across so far were the warriors. Of the 14 known battle classes, 6 of them could wear metal armour which was generally considered superior to the cloth or leather varieties Sark could make. He didn’t buy into this himself, for while they offered better physical defence, the dodge stat took increasingly larger penalties through chain & plate mail. For your standard guardian, samurai, assassin, cleric or shaman though, they would take the most defensive version of armour available. Unfortunately they were also very popular adventurer classes, which limited Sark’s customer base by close to a half.
With those disspirting thoughts settling in his mind, Sark flopped onto his back and stared at the painted ceiling. For now he’d chosen to focus on becoming a financial success over becoming a martial success, so he really wanted to succeed. Some might call it greed, but Sark wanted to appeal to everyone not just most.
”But how am I supposed to do that?” He groaned to himself.
The tailor tossed and turned, battling with the idea. He paced across the room. He buried his head under his pillow. He did exercise. Nothing released the tension nor gave him inspiration, all it did was put him in a foul mood. So with a petulant door slam, he left his room and the Black Dog inn he was staying at. With his hands shoved deep within his pockets, the sulky teen stamped through the streets of Londinium blindly. He watched his shoes, not his surroundings and thought bitter, ugly thoughts that reflected in his face.
| STATUS: Dejected
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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 Oct 4, 2015 15:37:25 GMT
HP: 100% MP: 100%
- EQUIPMENT - Starter Greatsword (2h) Starter Leather Armour --
SKILLS
- None Active -
Words: 490 *1.1 Oct Art bonus
539
| The walk did him good for as the minutes passed his thoughts began to run out of power, and his hunched shoulders began to rise. After close to an hour he had worked it out of his system, and felt back to his usual self. Unfortunately, he was not in any of his usual places. Through careless ambulation the tailor had ended up in a well-to-do adventurer quarter of town. Singular guards loitered by marble gates, no doubt the local Londinium Landers. They stood like half hearted sentinels down the wide, tree-lined boulevard, and most seemed to be giving Sark the stink eye. The boy tried his best to ignore the atmosphere, and putting on his best fake smile slid towards the closest guard. Asking for directions proved a challenge, with the guard only answering in grunts and minimal gestures. It took close to a minute, but Sark was directed down a side-path that’d take him back to Central Londinium. Following the directions the guard had provided, Sark travelled down a riverside boulevard. It was still much more upmarket than Sark was used to, and seemed to be a shopping district for many max-levelled adventurers (or so Sark assumed). Everyone had crisp, well-maintained armour or luxurious comedy costumes such as clowns, sexy Santa or butlers. On the German servers none of those items had existed so it seemed strange that there’d be such a variety of end-game costumes already. Approaching one of these garbed people, Sark tugged on the sleeve of someone dressed in clothing that seemed suited to modern, downtown America. The well booted individual turned about, so Sark once again turned on his best smile. ”Hi there! He greeted brightly, ”I was just wondering where this variety of armours came from – particularly the silly ones. Were there some events I missed?”The lady kindly explained that what he was seeing was not armour. ”Illusions?” He queried. This too was wrong. She explained that they were ‘vanity clothes.’ A set of items which could be equipped, and would either add to an existing armour, or hide an existing armour. Thus it was possible to look like a ballerina in tutu & lace shoes, whilst actually have the defences and bonuses of full raid-level plate mail. Sark was amazed he hadn’t heard of this concept before; it was amazing! No longer did people need to choose between cool clothes and effective ones; they could have both! Excitement bubbled through Sark’s chest as he thought of the possibilities; this was just as good as equipment reforging he had recently learnt! He thanked the lady profusely, vigorously shaking her hand before handing over his [Specialist Pacify Cap] to her. It was a random gesture, but felt right somehow. A smile so wide it hurt his cheeks had firmly taken hold as the boy rushed from the high street and back to the Black Dog Inn. He had clothes to make; vain ones! | STATUS: Dejected
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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 Oct 8, 2015 12:41:57 GMT
The room at the inn proved too small for Sark. He had filled every cranny with stock for his business to be, leaving no room to cut new cloth or pin half-finished creations together. This presented a problem, for creative energy burned within him now with this concept of 'vanity clothing.' He had tried to stack his clothes together, but this risked crumpling the goods, and he couldn't have that. 'I guess I could work at St Pancras, but lately there has been all that mysterious construction work going on, so you can barely hear yourself think. That apocra ... apolog ... apokra guild or whatever is really keeping things under wraps.'
That left to Sark one salient option - to beg the Black Dog Innkeeper for extra space. The Innkeeper was a generous, middle aged woman who had reached her prime some years ago, and had settled into a comfortable life. Her husband tended to the kitchen most days, while she kept her lodgers and patrons looked after. Mara treated all of her lodgers equally, knowing that while adventurers and locals liked to be doted upon, they did not like to see others doted upon. It put Sark in a precarious position, as he really wanted to have the fun of making clothes but also really didn't want to clean his room. The negotiations with Mara progressed slowly, with first chores, then gold refused across the negotiations. It was only when Sark promised to attend breakfast every day - a habit he had never fostered and which flustered Mara - that she began to open to the idea. The wedge that brought it home was that he would make her a set herself; a skin-tight jacket with a yakuza tattoo design paired with dark, ripped jeans so popular with the current adventurer crowd. The tailor found it a strange request, but he had a few patterned materials be could chimera together. So with no small amount of joy the acrobatic bounded up the stairs three at a time, whooped loudly, and raced towards his own room. Several bolts of cloth were hurriedly gathered up while his bag of pins, needles, thread, scissors and tape was stuck in his mouth to hold. Several final pieces were taken, and then Sark was rushing back again. He spilled his hoard across one the large communal tables before taking the scant few seconds to tidy things up when Mara's husband popped his head out of the kitchen long enough frown. Without further pause, he got to work. The jacket came along quickly; by now Sark knew how to estimate by eye and several pieces had been quickly cut to size. Judging from his scant knowledge of Yakuza tattoos, and relying heavily of Mara's glossy opinion, he combined several abstract-patterned bolts, cutting them into a geometric mosiac with several small foci of bright colours. As the afternoon dragged towards evening Mara left the table to serve the patrons, and Sark finished off the jeans. In truth, the hardest part had been the ripped & faded looks to the jeans. He'd been at a complete loss for what to do until he spotted an adventurer using a whetstone to remove the small burrs of his steel sword. Without so much as an 'excuse me' Sark had scampered over, nabbed the whetstone and dashed back to his work. The adventurer had quickly corrected Sark of his opinon (and a few gold compensation for the trouble), but the idea had worked. Not long after the set was complete. To finish matters, Sark had tried to enchant the vanity clothes, but nothing he had done had worked. 'Perhaps these vanity clothes can't be enchanted? I guess they're not for battle, but still ...'
He was not going to let such a little defeat stop him though, so with an elaborate bow he presented his gift, before rushing back to work. He had orders to fill! Samurai: 11
Tailor: 11
Acrobat: 01
| Word Count:
657 x 1.1 Oct Art Event
722
| Pokes:
[solo]
| OOC:
Vanity Clothes 3/3
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Dwarf
Inactive Player
Gold:
Tailor
Acrobat
Guild:
|
Post by Sark on Oct 9, 2015 16:24:50 GMT
It was well past midnight. The room was almost silent, with only the muffled bumps of activity from other lodgers who were not yet asleep, and the quiet drone of a city. The occasional shout, softened from distance, could be heard, and a train whistle briefly sounded. The chill of early Autumn had snuck under the window, and Sark lay curled beneath a thick, coarse douvet.
His body felt comfortable and warm in a detached sort of way, but his mind was refusing to rest. It hopped restlessly from topics as diverse as how to interact with potential customers, wondering how his pet dog in the prior world was going, and if he would ever return to Windsor Castle's grounds. His mind had latched onto that thought for some time, running through variants of how they might try to approach it, and which party compositions may succeed best. No matter how many times he turned his thoughts to bed his mind evaded and started to dwell on another topic; this time his own bed. The duvet, while pleasingly heavily and pleasantly warm had used the Southern Sarum cotton. It was a type of cloth that Sark had become very familiar with as it was cheap, hard-wearing and came in several different patterns. It was ideal for someone starting out or making a budget. For the relatively low budget inn that he was staying at, it was perfect. The duvet was likely several years old, and still looked fairly new at a casual glance. If you were like Sark had been curious, you would be able to note that at the stitching the deeper, original colours still showed which indicated that the duvet was not in fact a beautiful pastel blue, but actually a faded blue.
It was not the age of the duvet that had taken Sark's attention though, but its feel. It had a certain roughness to it, which once noticed was hard to shake. It caught at his skin and resisted his motions. In short, it was not pleasant. The exhausted dwarf heaved his body out from under the covers to better examine the duvet. While the cold pebbled his skin he looked over the cover noting the several darned holes and areas which would be next to fray.
'I can do better than this' he mused, then stopped himself. He hadn't forced that thought. It had been natural & automatic. A truthful expression of his skills. That he had progressed so far in such a short space of time made pride swell deep within his stomach and a smile break out across.
'I can do better than this; and I will!' He amended, determined now to make the most of his evaluation.
Samurai: 11
Tailor: 11
Acrobat: 01
| Word Count:
455x 1.1 Oct Art Event
490
| Pokes:
[solo]
| OOC:
Soft blanket 1/2
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Dwarf
Inactive Player
Gold:
Tailor
Acrobat
Guild:
|
Post by Sark on Oct 10, 2015 14:00:58 GMT
Things moved quickly. The tailor scrambled out from his blankets and immediately made his bed. It was the only place to work tonight, so the bedspread became a combined table, chair and inventory. A roll of fleece was taken from one corner, and the scrapbag was opened up. Offcut stretches of softened wool was taken out first. The tailor briefly checked the progress of the moon, wrapped himself up in a jacket, then started the slow process of felting it all together. The sheet of fleece would give the felt a skeleton to work with while the wool would give the blanket-to-be warmth, colour and an extra depth of softness to it.
Felting was a slow process. Using a special hooked needle Sark would jab the wool into the fleece then pull it out. He did this hundreds of time, and with a snail's pace made his progress down one line of the blanket. Another hour passed with Sark tirelessly jabbing over and over and over.
And over and over.
And over and over.
Sark entered a meditative state with his mind quiet and numb while his arm mechanically intermingled the two materials together into one giant, purposeful tangle. New scraps of wool were brought into the blanket to make a beautiful swirl of radiant colour. It was something that could never sell due to its unplanned nature and ungeometric designs, but it was a thing of random brilliance. Sark was dimly aware of the moon setting and dawn slowly painting the sky, but this knowledge did not pierce the felting haze. Rays of sunlight began to overpower the night, but still he did not stop. It was only with the Sun shining bright in his eyes that Sark came to, finding a single bed sized blanket infront of him. It was deliciously soft, almost oily, to the touch with the trace amounts of natural lanolin now thoroughly spread throughout the felted construction. He blearily admired his work before putting it to the test.
With dawn's chorus over and the noise of the city growing evermore Sark cracked one huge yawn, sunk under his new covers, and slept.
Samurai: 11
Tailor: 11
Acrobat: 01
| Word Count:
358 x 1.1 Oct Art Event
393
| Pokes:
[solo]
| OOC:
Soft blanket 2/2
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