| Logs |
2008 November 20
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Bough Logs |
First Movement, Second Solo
After seeing Mikal settled in to her new lair, Norris has gone to the entrance to the forges that lies just off the Plaza of Songs. It isn't a terribly long walk, and the entrance is easy to find: It is a large stone work that has a broad flight of stairs downward, and as Norris stands at the entrance to it, he feels waves of warm air and a heavy breeze rising up from those depths.
Norris enjoys the heat. He's used to it in general, but this is a very comfortable heat in general...he's sure it will get hotter down below. He hopes he can find Piter...and that the king aelfar will have a spare apron for him to put on. While he's not specifically one to worry about keeping his armor immculate, it's still just plain common sense to go into a forge properly garbed. "Ah wunder how cold aelfar get...course, mebbe that's the reason they have the forges down below, yeah? Muh master says that heat rises...so mebbe that helps keep folks inside th' castle warm without needin so many big fires..."
Norris clomps down the wide steps, very curious as to what wonders await...
It fairly quickly becomes warmer, and the corridor narrows a little, but only for a short descent. It opens into a small warren of room which looks to be little more than a gathering place for the miners and smiths. The area is well-lit with lanterns, and it isn't hard for Norris to be spotted right away by Piter. "Norris!" he calls out cheerfully, coming over from the other side of the room, beaming. "Well, that wasn't long at all! You've heard the news, aye, about Mordred's army being apparently on the move?"
Norris's expression had brightened on seeing his smith aquaintance, but Piter's greeting takes the shine out of his expression. "Yuh, firsthand, even. The Lady Seneschal sent us out on th' missions what lead t' the news. We's left t' our own devices fer now, an ah figgered yew could use another hand down here...got mahself a lot to learn too, hey?" he replies, nodding at the rest of the gathered folk.
Piter shakes his head. "It's a bad situation, yes. We're working hard down here, mining awen and forging weapons and fixing them. But we've been preparing for some time, so what we're making now is surplus, replacements. Come on! I'll show you around and we'll see if there's anything you can help with!"
Piter snags a spare leather apron and what looks like a curved piece of dark glass in some kind of leather mounting, with two straps on the end. "Here! You really should wear the apron over your armor, and the shader you'll really only need in the blast forges, but better to get them now.
Norris is pleased by this. The whole matter that they learned at the second watch tower has left the large young man unsettled...and while helping Mikal find a living space distracted him for a time, left alone, his thoughts turned grim. So to stave off doubt and worry, he naturally wants to go to what he knows, where he'll feel confident. "Thank yuh, Piter." he agrees, putting them on right away as he follows.
Norris stops when he gets to the shader though, confused a moment, trying to figure out what they're for. He fiddles with it for a while, trying to figure out what exactly it protects.
Piter smiles to Norris, reaching over, and showing him how to wear the curved glass over his eyes, with the leather providing padding and strapping it to his head. "You don't have to wear it just yet, though. We've got some time before we get that far into the forges! Come on, I'll show you the whitesmithing works first."
Norris hunhs, and starts to take the glasses off...and the he marvels that he can just leave them resting on his forehead. What a novel idea! That said, his interest in the glasses themselves is completely dwarved by his excitement at this notion of 'whitesmithing', hot on Piter's tail. While one would never exactly call Norris bubbly, he certainly is quite cheerful for a a fellow that's been through what he and his kin have so far...
Piter leads Norris through one of the several corridors that branches out from this antechamber, and shortly leads him into a fairly large but irregular cavern. There are about a dozen very small forges here, as well as a small workbench for each; each workbench has fine tools and small anvils, and basis of various solutions. Perhaps a third of the workstations are in use.
"These are the whitesmithing works," Piter explains. "Mostly they make jewelry here, which the magi eventually use for talismans and such, but they also make fittings for weapons. Not much call for them right now, since we're making replacement weapons, not magical ones."
Norris is clearly listening. Well actually, not clearly, because he's already moved past Piter to stare and poke wonderingly at the tools. "Golly, Sir Piter, sir. Iffn all th' tools yew use just t' make weapons and talis-manes and whatnot all look this good, well, then the finished works themselves must be amazin." he finally says, hefting a small shaping hammer like the one he saw on Piter's belt. "Does yew needs t' put fine stones int' weapons annat t' make em magical, then?"
Piter nods. "At lest, it helps. I'm not entirely sure why, but it has something to do with certain metals and stones and crystals being more attuned to certain types of magic than others. To be honest, I'm a long way from figuring that out for myself, though apparently some blacksmiths are so good that they can just forge a weapon and it comes out magical. That's a level of skill I only hope to have someday.
Norris studies a gemcutting tool, with a diamond edge. "Why's it require skill, iffn' y' don't mind my askin? Ah mean...is the smiths magic-users 'emselves?"
"No, we aren't. That's the thing. Usually we make weapons to certain specifications from the magi, and when we're done we deliver it to them and they enchant it, ensorcell it, do whatever it is that they do to make a magic weapon. Sometimes they get involved with the forging process themselves. But sometimes, a master blacksmith makes a weapon so well that it just comes out... better than most weapons of its type.
Norris blinks, eyes getting wide at the notion. "Annat caint be taught, ahm guessin? It's just...lak, instinct?" he queries. "Wuzzat how t' Spear o' Thunder wuz forged?"
Piter shakes his head. "No, that was one of those 'cooperative' things with the magi. But it still took work, because it needed to start out special. Speaking of which." he grins and nods to the far end. "Let's go see the main chambers. I think you'll like it!"
Norris puts the tool back. He starts after the aelefar, and then stops and hops back over...putting the tool back just so, the way he found it. If you respect your own tools, then you sure as hell respect another man's tools even more. Then he runs to catch up with Piter.
Piter leads Norris through the next corridor; there are a number of side-channels, apparently used mostly for storage and also for traffic routing. The corridor gets wider and wider, the air hotter and hotter, until almost suddenly they stand at a ledge, looking out over a great irregular cavern.
There are dozens of forges of all sizes here, some as small as the forge Norris worked on, others five or even ten times the size. The roaring of the flames as bellows work is almost deafening, the light they cast a bright firey red that fills the cavern with an almost hellish light; the heat doesn't help at all. And amidst the roaring of the coal fires, there is the clang, clang of dozens of hammers upon metal.
Almost everyone here is dokkalfar, with only one or two ljosalfar and a few more slightly unrecognizable types of people.
Norris is in awe, his jaw slack as he marvels at all these folk working together...surely it makes perfect sense, if you're forging weapons for your own army, that you should have many smiths all working together to increase your output. But to see it in action is breathtaking, and not just because of the heat. It takes him a moment to remember to close his mouth again, as that's not smart in a normal smithy, let alone one with a dozen forges or more. "What're they makin th' weapons out of, now? More bronze?" he queries, thinking back to what they found at the first tower. "We saws some amazin work wi' the leaf armor at th' widdershins tower..."
Piter nods, glowing with obvious pride at the sight. "Aye, bronze, and a few more exotic metals. There are a few working on iron, but since it's just as bad for the people wielding it as it is for the one being hit by it, we don't do a lot of ironworking." He beams to Norris. "Ah, the lamellar armor? Yes, it's some of the best armor we make."
Norris headtilts. "Lamellar? Whut's that mean? Is that an armor style, or sommat?"
Piter nods. "Oh,yes. It's laminated armor scales, about the size of your palm, all welded or woven together into overlapping scales. Like a fish's."
Norris feels a little gloomy. Maybe it's nothing that he would have ever learned at home, but it's moments like this that he feels the most self-conscious. "Pard'n me, Piter...what's 'laminated'." he queries.
"Ah! Here, I'll show you!" He gestures, leading Norris over to a nearby workbench where one of those coats of armor is being assembled
Norris ambles forward agreeably...being shown is better than being told, in this case. He pays close attention to the actions of the smiths working in concert as Piter narrates. Maybe if he's lucky, he can even help...
Once there, Piter holds up the thin leaf-shaped bronze scale. "Laminated just means 'made into layers,'" he begins, adn spends a good amount of time explaining laminates, enameling, welding techniques, and the like to Norris. it's quite informative, and it seems like it could help Norris in starting to make similar armors in time.
"Laminated bronze is a bit stronger than normal bronze," he says, "since it's in layers. The scale mail lamellar is lighter and more flexible than a solid cuirass--" He is interrupted by a nearby scream of pain; it's like nothing Norris has heard before, and it clearly startled Piter as well. "What the hells?" Piter asks, looking around, then heads off towards it. "Come on"
Norris gets this weak feeling in his stomach...a scream in a smithy is never good. "One preserve us..." he mutters, before getting up and chasing after Piter.
The two run a short way along a ledge, to an out-of-the-way forge. A group of four dokkalfar, and pulling a smith from one of the forges, the dokkalfar is wearing thick cotton clothing and gloves in addition to the apron, and is still crying out, though not as loud now. He is gripping his leg.
"What happened?!" Piter shouts.
"Skaldsen was ironworking," one of the smiths says, as another is cutting open the cotton trousers, while the others try to keep Skaldsen from writhing in pain too much. "He struck the iron, and I guess a hot flake came off the piece, and burned it's way through the trousers.
Norris goes ashen...burns are bad, but burns from a metal that's toxic to them? This could be really bad. "Without trying to displace anyone, he moves over instictively to tend to the man. "Don't pull away any clothing what's stuck t' the burn!" he cautions, as he crouches, trying to see what they're dealing with.
Norris looks up at Piter. "Sirrah, make sure cold water an a clean rag is onna way!" he thinks to add, the lad practically leaping into action. Working in a forge, he made sure to learn from both his master and the town healer how to tend to burns.
On close inspection, it looks like it's pretty much nothing -- just a now-cool flake of hot metal upon skin. Barely would have even caused a blister. But on the aelfar's flesh it has done something awful, making the wound severely aggravated, albeit cauterized. It doesn't look at all well, though it sounds like it hurts ten times worse.
Piter nods, "Already on it's way," he says, as a runner comes up with a bucket of cool water and clean rags in it. The runner, looking a little dazed -- probably an apprentice -- looks around quickly and offers the bucket right to Norris.
Piter murmurs, "Need to carefully get the iron fleck off him first. Then treat the wound."
Norris takes them gratefully, and looks at the folks gathered. "Yew, get sommat t' put unner his legs. Gotta keep em up a bit higher. SOmmat fer his head, too." He takes a cup and dips it into the bucket. "Doan worreh fella, s' gonna be okays...ah know whut ahm doin." he assures the man. Listening to Piter, he grimaces. "Try coolin it down a moment, firs...but somewun get me some small tongs, an a razor!"
Norris is uncertain at first...burns are one thing. Toxic metal is another. But everything seems to focus to a single point...he's not going to get this wrong. Not just for the sake of his patient, but that he wants to fulfill the expectations of Piter and his friends, that these mortals can bring something good to bear, rather than those that threw in their lot with Mordred.
After a little while, as Norris takes his time, he shortly has the tiny fleck of iron out of the dokkalfar's leg, who breathes an immense sigh; he is covered in sweat from the pain. Norris is asked to put the iron flake in a thick wad of linen, as it is folded up and put in a thick bucket. Piter lets out a breath. "That could have been worse," he says, as the other smiths take Skaldsen away. "Thank you, Norris. That was really helpful of you."
Norris smiles, dabbing at the sweat on his face with a clean rag. "Ah know how important th' first few minutes are after a burn, nevermind wi' toxic iron. That there didn't look good at'all. He gonna heal okay from that?"
Piter grimaces. "in time. It might take until Cadence before he's better, but he'll be okay." He looks at the forge, and the crowd of dokkalfar smiths who are really unwilling to get closer, and at the large, elaborate iron polearm-head siting on the anvil; it has long since cooled into a carbonized black. "I don't think anyone's going to want to work this for the near future," he murmurs.
Norris gets up, considering the weaponhead. It's more complex than an axehead, but... "Ah'll do it." he says with surprising confidence. At the looks from the others, he adds, "Whut? Ah mean, mebbe one of y'all could stand back an give me pointers...but ah aint allergic, so havin' me work it makes perfect sense, yeah?" He picks up a hammer in his gloved hand, testing the weight and balance of it.
The group is silent for a moment, then Piter grins. "I'll help," he says. "Give me a moment to suit up."
Norris beams at Piter, and then gestures with the hammer. "Aright now! Get back t' work y' worthy smiths! There's an army comin', and the fightin' folk r' dependin on us! Yer fallen man'll be fine, but we got work to do, hey?" he says to the gathered others, flushing a little at the quiet attention they're giving him. "Nothin' else t' see here...ahm just another man workin th' hammer!"
Piter puts on a pair of thick cotton coveralls, puts the shader over his eyes and sets a facecloth of cotton over his mouth and nose, flexing his hands in the heavy gloves, he takes up the heavy, leather-wrapped handles of the tongs, and nods. "All set. I really hate working iron... but it's got to be done....
Norris nods agreeably. "Look at it this way...th' sooner we's kin make sure a kin make what yew need, ye won't have t' worry none bout that anneh more. Ah'll work th' iron day an night if ah gots t'." he drawls reassuringly. Amazing, that they've found his niche so quickly...but then, it hadn't occurred to him that they likely don't have many - if any - mortals working the forges. "Now let's get to it...just make sure t'step back whenever possible...bad form for a smith in another man's forge fer the guest t' let anneh one get hurt.."
Behind the mask, Piter chuckles softly. "Right. I'll hold the tongs. That does mean you'll have to run the bellows, but you'll be able to see the iron and hammer it right...."
Norris nods, the top lever of the bellows in one hand, stoking the fire and heating the metal back up...and then bringing the hammer down, restarting the process of working the head into shape...adjusting his blows per Piter's direction.
BoughGM says, "Let's see... I'm going to assume you're going to take 10, but if you want a better roll, you can roll?"
After some time of hammering, heating, and hammering again, the minutes blur into each other and for a long time there is just the roaring heat of the forge, the anvil, the hammer, and the iron. Until at last, Piter's muffled voice calls out, "OKay, I think that's it, Norris! Let's have a look!"
Norris Nods, putting the hammer safely aside. "Aright. Allow me..." he gestures, slowly switching places with Piter...it's a little tricky to switch hands and keep pressure, but they manage...and then the worked metal is doused in the water, sending up a cloud of steam that Norris turns his head from, even with the goggles on.
After a short while, Norris pulls the blackly-gleaming, wet polearm-head from the water. Piter carefully lifts his shaders from his eyes, and crouches down, looking over the head. "Huh!" he says. "You said you were a blacksmith's apprentice?"
Norris blinks behind the glass shades, grimacing. Wanting to wipe away condensation or take them off, except he's still putting pressure on the tongs. "I hope it's not that bad. I did th' best I coul', but ah never made too many weapons before...just some knives an arrowheads...and ah wuz workin on an axe blade th' day before Myrddin brough' us here."
"On the contrary, Norris, it's excellent! I think it is actually sharper than most glaives." he considers for a moment. "Do you have a master's mark or such that you put on your work?"
Norris blinks...you can't really tell if the young man is blushing at the praise, what with the forge's heat already making his cheeks red. "I, ah...yassir, ah's taught how t' make an oak as mah mark. Is that really aright fer this sorta thing? Not tryin' t' steal no one's thunder..." He squints again at the blade, marvelling at the shape of it. This, he has to admit, is probably the best work he's ever done. Maybe he should take risks more often...
"Not at all. Skaldsen will put his own mark on it, but smaller; it looks like he'd barely started to properly shape and hammer it. In fact, doesn't one of your group use a polearm? This might be very useful if you want to give it to him. But I do want your master's mark on it! And I hope it'll be the first of many more.
Norris blinks. He hadn't even thought of that. Without intending it, he's now outfitted his whole party...a knife for Jareth, a buckle and arrowheads for Mikal, and now a new glaive for Tomas. "It'll be mah pleasure, Piter, on all counts." he assures demurely.
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