[Noihara][Craft] Right Tool For The Right Job

[Deleted]

Music: Sarafan Stronghold

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The wind was high, the light of the sun bright as the shining star hovered straight above. Dumah walked through the streets of Londinium's market district, receiving slight glances and hushed whispers as he left a local textile shop with a large bundle of assorted fabrics in his arms as he made his way back. Dumah knew he had earned a bit of a foul reputation among the local Adventurers, he could hear their gossip thanks to his Hearing Aptitude ability. "I hear he puts anyone he doesn't like on a black list, preventing them from respawning!" "That's the dude who bought the Cathedral, what a sick thing to do." "You know, I heard he's been threatening Adventurers, forcin' 'em to leave the city and stuff." Dumah always wanted a reputation, but not like this. He would be lying if he claimed it did not bother him, it bothered him so much to have been turned into a villain just with one transaction, one simple purchase and he has became the talk of the town, and a target of their fear. The rumors varied, claiming he was planning to take over the city, that he lead a harem guild, that he forced most of his guild's members to join. Ironically, the thing that had sparked the controversy became one of the few places he could escape.

Dumah entered the Cathedral, walking past the public respawn point and a duo of Adventurers who had just fallen in battle, straight to the private zone of the Abbey that had become Noihara's guildhall. He walked through the large stone corridors, sighing and walking with a fairly casual posture, a rare sight in the case of Dumah. He turned, opening a large door leading into a tavern. He walked in, seeing one of his oldest friends leaning forward against the counter, smiling and waving at Dumah. "Hey there buddy, how's it goin'?"

The Swashbuckler sat at the counter with a sigh. "I'll have a drink, no alcohol though. I have some work to tend to after this."

"What do ya want then?"

Dumah pondered deeply for a bit, thinking it over before saying "Surprise me."

The man turned around, grabbing ingredients for Dumah's drink. "You seem pretty down in the dumps, somethin' biting away at you?"

"You're a tavern keeper Aldruik, you know nearly every rumor that passes through the lips of this city's inhabitants. Tell me, what are they saying about me?"

The man began mixing ingredients, stirring, shaking, and generally preparing a drink as he listened and spoke. "You actually care about what they think? That ain't the Dumah I know."

"I am merely curious. I overheard many rumors on the street."

"Well, most of the rumors aren't all that pleasant. I mean you bought the god damn Cathedral - pun unintended - of course the Adventurers are gonna be a bit nervous. You're practically buying their lives."

Dumah sulked as his drink was presented to him, sighing deeply. "You said 'most' of the rumors are not good... There are some that still spread good words about me?"

A bit awkwardly and nervously, the tavern keeper scratched the back of his neck. "Uhh... Yeah, but... Well, just your guildsmen and other People of The Land."

"At least it's something... I swear, if I could undo all this I would."

Dumah was lightly, playfully bopped on his head by his friend. "Hey now, don't say somethin' like that. After all, there's somethin' amazing about owning a bar in a place of worship, you know?"

"You mean the irony of it all?" Dumah began to sip at his drink. It was sweet, and very well prepared.

"Yeah, that's it. So what do you have to work on? You sewing something together? I see all that fabric lying on the counter."

"Yes, I invited Sark to keep me company and help me craft a sort of uniform for the Vanguard Corps. We have mostly been growing as a Raid Guild, so some exclusive equipment would be great."

The barkeep had a bit of a passive aggressive glare on his face, clearly fed up with something. "Sark, huh? The little bastard scratched up my beautiful bar with that god damn giant sword of his..." He angrily poked the bar counter to emphasize his point, "Listen Dumah, while you're makin' the kid some new equipment, get him a normal sword or make him leave his big one outside my bar, ya got it?" His tone had an underlying anger in it, and Dumah laughed softly.

"I'll see what I can do."

"I made the bugger apologize to my bar and I'll make you apologize next time if it happens again."

Words: 781 | Total Words: 781
Tags: Sark
Coding by Sayha of LH

[Sark]

Ding dong dahn dong

The bells began their rendition of Fere Jacques, announcing the time in its own archaic way. Since the loss of the video game, Sark had perhaps missed the ingame clock most. When Elder Tale had been a game, on the German server Sark had always used it; promising himself he'd log out at such-and-such a time, or using it to remind himself where he needed to be. He had used it time how long he fought bosses, or even in unoffcial races with his friends from one town to another.

The clocktower, Big Ben, was impressive in its own way. For one, the tower and the mechanisms within had survived the test of the time, and it had penetrated the thick stone walls where Sark now sat. He was in a vacant cell within the Noihara prison, playing with a mouse he had found there a few days ago. The mouse had proved surprisingly docile, and across the prior few days Sark had tamed it even more with the promise of cheese, paper, and chilli drinks. The little guy had begun to even learn a trick; running up a slippery length of silk then sliding down it again for a spicy reward that Sark would dole out. For now though, he packed up his things and placed them in a corner of the room, then gently shooed the mouse back into the many crevices that marked the prison cell. The tailor slipped out of the room and padded silently down the sombre hallway. His large sword rested easy against the dwarf's shoulder, bouncing gently with each step. The prison was the area that Sark had liked to visit least at Westminster, so he was glad that he had found a way to make the oppressive rooms feel a little more welcoming to him.

Climbing the steps, Sark began to idly whistle the tune of the belltower. The song kept with him as he passed through the various ornate hallways, before reaching the warm and cheery tavern. A Lander was there, an older gentleman who Sark considered such a kidder. The barkeeper kept joking about how Sark shouldn't do this, or shouldn't do that, or how he was serious, or that the damage bill was being sent to the guild. Such a joker. 

The smell of spiced wines reached his nose, causing an eager grin to bloom on his face. 

"Mulled wine? Autumn is the best! Barkeep barkeep! Can I have a mug on the tab please?"

He cheerfully shouted from the entrance, before jogging between the basic furniture. Reaching the bar Sark popped his massive, wedge-like sword off his shoulder and wedged it into the wood of the bartop. The edge of the bar showed several other wounds where Sark had chopped his sword into it, using the thick wood of the table to conveniently keep the sword close and also secured. The barkeep spluttered in rage, going red all the way to his neck as he turned a 'see what I mean' look towards the guild leader. Before the barkeep could speak up, Sark began to chatter away.

"So we're finally doing it huh? Raid gear for the famous Noihara~" He spread his arms wide, leaning back on the barstool to emphasise their grandeur. 

"Now I know we were tossing around ideas; did you decide on if we're making actual armour, vanity armour that can be boosted with our Runaway Model boon, or something completely different?" 

As a tailor, Sark felt pretty confident in his ability to assist. He hadn't checked his levels in the last little while, but suspected he was significantly over level 30. He'd made cloth, leather and vanity clothes all before, and had enjoyed every minute of it. Indeed, he had enjoyed working on clothes so much that he opened a store, a job he retained even now for 4 days of each week. That Dumah and Sark were both tailors was part of what drew them together, giving them a common ground to show their passions.

Samurai: ______ 20 Tailor:_________ 20 Acrobat: ______ 01

Word Count: 676 x1.1 Oct Art Bonus =743

Pokes: @dumah

OOC:

[Deleted]

Music: Home In Florence

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As Aldruik scolded and warned Dumah of Sark's antics and how fed up with them he was, who else should just so happen to walk in through the bar's door but the boy himself. Sark threw open the doors with his usual teenage enthusiasm, shouting out to the now clearly worried bar keep, asking for a drink on the tab. "A tab, eh? What a good idea, you're gonna start paying me back for all the damages you've incurred on my beautiful bar, or no drinks!"

As Sark began to run to the bar, Aldruik knew what was coming next and dreaded it as the Dwarf approached, his life seemingly slowing down as fear for his bar pumped adrenaline through his entire body. Then it happened. Sark wedged his massive blade into the ornate wood of the bar, and Aldruik let out an audible gasp of fright before angrily walking around the counter to Sark, fiercely grabbing the top of his head and making him look at what he had done. "Look at this! You bastard, I worked hard to get where I am today, I ain't gonna let you ruin my bar!" The lecture went on for quite some time before he grabbed both Sark and Dumah by their collars, pulling up uncomfortably, scolding them both. "Apologize! Apologize to the bar!"

A bit awkwardly, Dumah complied, bowing to the newly inflicted wound on the counter. "We're sorry, bar..." Both Dumah and Aldruik made Sark do the same, apologizing not to the owner of the bar, but to the bar itself.

Aldruik walked back around to behind the bar, leaning forward seriously, his hands holding him up. "Listen kid, until you've paid me back, you ain't getting any food nor drink from me! Understood?" The bar keep truly was a frightening man at times.

After the situation had been resolved, Sark turned to Dumah, speaking in excitement. "So we're finally doing it huh? Raid gear for the famous Noihara~" He spread his arms wide to emphasize their grandeur. It seemed he had not been paying attention to - or had not heard - any of the rumors floating about regarding the guild.

Aldruik chimed in, speaking on the matter, mostly speaking to himself, but also to the two patrons - or rather, the one patron and the one menace. "Lately your guild's been more infamous than it has been famous..." Sark seemed confused, confirming the notion that he knew nothing of the rumors. A bit angry, Aldruik tugged at the boy's ear, scolding him. "You mean you haven't heard any of the rumors around town? This is the problem with you, kid, you don't listen!" Still tugging on the ear with a surprisingly strong grip, Aldruik looked to Dumah with a confused expression. "Seriously, tell me again why you accepted this kid into your guild...?"

Dumah chuckled and smiled slightly, defending the destructive Dwarf. "He's a good tailor and a good warrior; now, he's also a good friend."

The bar keep sighed heavily, releasing his iron grip on Sark's ear. The two then returned to the matter at hand, and Sark asked if Dumah had decided on what exactly they would make. "To be honest, I somewhat have an idea, but I believe it will require quite a bit of tailoring work." Dumah reached into a bag, retrieving his sketch book, opening to a page and placing it on the bar in front of Sark. The page, and two pages following it, had sketches of a fancy uniform on them. "I was thinking we should make some actual armor, but also make a vanity set. There are many Noiharans who have inadequate equipment at this point, thus the need for the armor. However, there are also many of us who have equipment better than what you and I are currently capable of surpassing, thus the need for the vanity set. This way, we all have our uniforms but without limiting some of us higher leveled fighters in the guild." There were three designs. First was a design that seemingly shouted 'authority,' and was appropriately designed for Dumah himself, serving as a sort of Commander's uniform. The second and third designs were for average members of the Noihara Vanguard Corps, a male and female uniform respectively.

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OOC Note: Just wanted to say, the female uniform is going to have a normal skirt, not a tiny miniskirt.

Words: 712 | Total Words: 1493
Tags: Sark
Coding by Sayha of LH

[Sark]

Sark did his best to hide his giggles.

The barkeep, a Mr Aldruik, was a really serious guy. He took everything so intensely serious, that Sark could only assume he wasn't serious because there was just too much evidence to show how serious he was. Whenever the barkeep demanded ridiculous things like cleaning the mud off his shoes, or bowing to a piece of wood Sark kept a straight face, but inside he was giggling like a schoolboy. His guild master, Dumah, took Aldruik at face value, but then again Dumah was also fairly noble and gallant.

As such, with a face apparently full of remorse the young Englishman bowed stiffy, hand over chest like he had been taught in boarding school.

"I shall show more respect, good bar." He intoned, apologising for using the wood as a holder for his sword. This seemed to sate the pair with the barkeep nodding once firmly. A faint blush of accomplishment seemed to hover on Aldruik's cheek's, as if he had won some sort of internal battle. The local's mood dropped as he passed to his side of the tavern, where he rested his hands and leant forward menacingly. Once again, Sark suppressed a smile. The man went on explaining Noihara's accumulated rumours and its accolades, encouraging and berating Dumah all in one go. The two clearly went back some time, so it only made sense that they had their own beat worked out.

For Sark, he was still unsure how to deal with the guild master. Guild masters were seen as an elite bourgeoisie by many of the apathetic adventurers, and much of that that rubbed off onto Sark while he numbered amongst them. Part of him still expected the glass thrones and near-infinite gold that the rumours spoke about. His musings were interrupted with the barkeep tugging Sark's wide, dwarven ears unexpectedly. He wriggled and whined and kicked, not connecting with the barkeep who kept his iron grip fast. 

"What do you say you old fart? Let me down!" He jeered, still swinging at the air.

The matter all got sorted, with Dumah calming down the duo. They got back on track, discussing their options. Dumah had excellent sketches outlining a formal option for himself, along with gendered clothing which could be made in either vanity or cloth armour variants. The tailor looked over the designs; the notes for which particular cloth types to use seems feasible, and the stitching required be laborious but not difficult. All in all, it seemed a doable job.

He clapped his guild leader on the Sark, a smile clear on his face. "Allrighty then! You take the commander's garb for yourself, Mr commander, and I 'll begin to work on the cloth armour for the ladies. I've had to some work for ladies recently, so I should be able to get the darts right." 

He turned to his friend, Aldruik. "May the good bar, and its bossman, send some nibblies and drinks down to the crafting room to keep use working hard? We can even make you a dashing uniform too!" He didn't give the local a chance to respond, for picking up his weighty sword he dashed down the hallway and soon disappeared into the crafting room. There was a dull thunk a second later when the sword was wedged into another unfortunate table.

The crafting room was Sark's favourite; he had installed a bean bag there he has devised himself, and had moved the entiretity of his personal stock into the room. Others had since chipped in, making the room a bustle of colour and smelling faintly of potpourri to keep the pests away. All in all, it was a beautiful, calming room.

Samurai: ______ XX Tailor:_________ XX Acrobat: ______ 01

Word Count: 621

Pokes: @dumah

OOC:

[Deleted]

Music: Sarafan Stronghold

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Before Aldruik could give an answer - or rather objection in this case - to Sark's request for food and drinks to be sent to the tailoring room, Sark was running off down the hall towards the guild's tailoring room. Not long after, a loud thunk could be heard. "At least he ain't wedging it in my precious bar this time..."

"I do apologize for his lack of concern for your bar. I know how important it is to you, old friend." Dumah apologized for Sark before the two waved goodbye and Dumah walked down the hall himself, joining the dwarf in the clothier. The excited tailor had offered to sew the female uniform, and as Dumah thought to himself regarding levels and abilities, he considered if perhaps Sark should make all of them, or at least one of each so it would be added to his repertoire of crafts. After all, when it came to tailoring, Sark had abilities that towered over Dumah's. In fact, when he thought about it, Dumah realized he would need to update all of his equipment... Especially his weapons; had it not been for his stats and skills, Dumah would never be able to defeat some of the creatures he had encountered along his journey through Elder Tale. His clothing, his armor, his weaponry - all of it was outdated and weak compared to what someone of his level and status should be using. The dungeons had been failing to produce any good drops, so he would either have to keep trying and hope he gets lucky, or kick Klide's butt into gear... Although to be fair, Dumah was not one to talk; he himself had found himself growing a bit lazy in his own crafts, using his guild as an excuse to claim he was always busy. While it was sometimes true, he still needed to get back into the swing of things. For now, he would rely on his guild mate just a bit. "Sark, perhaps you would like to craft at least one of each uniform? Given that your tailoring level surpasses my own, I would not wish to endanger my guild members by giving them weak gear. Perhaps we should both craft one of each, that way it is added to our list of available recipes. Worst case scenario, we can both get the crafting experience, and with your superior levels you can be the one to supply everyone with good equipment." It was not a bad idea at all, and it really was a smart plan in that it both granted the two tailors the uniform recipes for quick access in the system, and it did not force the guild's fighters to be hindered by Dumah's inferior crafting talent. "We can cycle through our crafts; I will first work on the Noiharan Commander's Uniform, then the male version of the Noiharan Vanguard Uniform, and then the female version of the Noiharan Vanguard Uniform. You can follow the same order, starting with the male uniform, or the female version. I only have one copy of each uniform's design notes."

Words: 516 | Total Words: 1493
Tags: Sark
Coding by Sayha of LH

[Sark]

Sark, now ensconced within his favourite room, got to work. Dumah was having a quiet word with the barkeep but the young dwarf was too excited to wait for clear instructions. Drawers and chests were opened and the tools of the trade brought out; scissors, coloured chalk, measuring tapes, a pedal-powered sewing machine and a huge multitude of pins. These were all gathered up in a pile and dumped on the utiliarian benches that went down the middle of the room.

"Let's. Get. Dangerous!" He shouted, finding himself reminded of a childhood superhero he used to aspire to emulate.

Three flattened bolts of silk were placed on a table for Dumah to review, along with four different woolen weaves. Sark personally preferred the Silky Sheepy wool found around Avon, though his customers seemed to prefer the harder wearing Winter Goat wool found around Snowdonia. The soft, fine-woven wool would be what the majority of the jacket and pants would be made of, just like a 3-piece suit back in the old world.

Within a few minutes Dumah entered the room. As always his gait was sure and confident, filled with unconscious bearing of a noble. The guild master suggested that the both of them become familiar first hand with the 3 patterns they would be using today. Sark nodded, eager to begin.

Dumah continued, using a self-depreciating tone as he spoke against his own skill, but praised Sark's. To Sark that was a silly thing to say. Everyone had their own skills, and it was simply a question of experience and persistence. Sucking at something was the first step towards being sorta good at it, after all. The fact that Sark had a higher tailoring level than Dumah meant very little to the samurai. In a month's time his guild master might be higher than Sark, and it still wouldn't matter. Each person just had their own pace.

Sark shook his head, banishing the circling, philosophical thoughts that tried to get him to lose his whimsy.

"Enough talk! Let's. Get. Dangerous!!!" He cried again, summoning his energy back to himself with arm wiggling goodness. The dwarf snatched the artist sketch from Dumah and ran around the table to his own side. It was the standard male uniform, with the notations suggesting it was the human, 6 ft, slim-fit variant. Small notes along the side suggested standard modifications to make it fit different sizes & races. These were ignored for now; Sark just worked on one bit of clothing at a time.

"Boss! Pick the silk lining and the wool please!" He needlessly shouted. Once that had been done he slammed the materials onto the table, unrolled a few meters, and got to measuring. He worked quickly and inefficiently, forever double-checking his measurements or re-testing the stretch in materials. The pants were finished first.

"Dumah, look!" Sark enthused. "I made it super tight around the butt! This guy will get a wedgie if he has a big booty!"

Samurai: ______ 32 Tailor:_________ 36 Acrobat: ______ 01

Word Count: 497

Pokes: @dumah

OOC: I hate having to write in circles to avoid the dumb rule that we can't use other OCs dialogue.