Post by Darius (retired) on Jan 21, 2020 12:55:19 GMT
(Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 and Darius joint-downtime write up)
Baine pauses briefly at the arched entrance to the courtyard, eyes fixed on the door to the Grandmaster’s quarters, deliberating. He sighs and decides to delay the inevitable conversation just a little bit longer. Instead, he changes course and heads towards the forge, Frankie at his heels. The sun has long since risen up, so the sounds of metal on metal ringing out from the smithy come as no surprise to him.
The door is slightly ajar and Baine casts a careful glance in to make sure it’s not Varis, taking out his feelings on a piece of steel. To his relief, it's not the bossman working away, but Darius, the grizzled, serious fellow Baine has seen Varis and Gretcha talking with occasionally.
The man is standing at the central forge, his back to the door, intent on shaping and hammering a long, flat chunk of metal. Despite being almost a foot shorter than Baine, Darius is as broad - if not broader, his shorter-than-average height accentuating the sheer bulk and size of his chest, shoulders, and arms. The combined roar of the bellows and the clanking of tools is loud, but Baine can make out the occasional word Darius is muttering under his breath, a repeated litany of names measured out in time with his blows.
Baine, hand raised and about to knock and let himself in, pauses again and listens for a minute.
“Karl” clank
“Isobel” clank
“Fredrick" clank
“Doroon" clank
“Cas“ clank
“Siobhan" clank
“Garion” clank
“Jen“ clank
“Balin“ clank
“Johan“ clank
With his left hand, Darius expertly flips the object over to address the other side, not halting the hammer strokes with his right. As Darius works the piece of metal, Baine’s trained eyes recognises the tell-tale shape of a giant blade, too large for a regular sword,
As Darius pauses briefly to inspect his work, Baine raps his knuckles softly on the doorframe. “Alright, mate? Can I join you? Got a spare set of hands if you need ‘em.” He blinks a couple of times, waiting for a response from the other man who’s clearly already aware of his presence.
“Or, like, I have some stuff I wanted to work on as well, if you want to do that by yourself, I just thought I’d offer, y’know-” Suddenly aware that’s he’s rambling, he stops abruptly and shuts his mouth with a click, tries to shrug casually and leans against the doorframe.
Darius starts hammering again, not looking up or acknowledging Baine.
“Karl” clank
“Isobel” clank
“Fredrick” clank
“Fetch me a clean rag, will you.” He says, not stopping, jerking his head over his shoulder at the pile on the low table a few feet away from him. As he gestures, sweat flies off him in a wide arc. Baine can see the older man’s salt-and-pepper hair and beard are soaked.
“Doroon“ clank
“Cas“ clank
“Siobhan“ clank
“Garion” clank
“Jen“ clank
“Balin“ clank
“Johan“ clank
“Sure thing, mate.” Baine turns to Frankie and points to the floor by the entrance to the smithy. “You stay right there. Big, dangerous fire. Stay.” Frankie gives him an unimpressed look but lies down, head on his front paws. Baine sets his pack down next to him. “Good boy.”
Walking over, he ties his hair up in a tight bun on the top of his head before picking up a clean rag from the pile. He moves to stand next to Darius, hoping to learn a thing or two, rag at the ready for when the other man wants it. Quietly, under the steady stream of names, he asks, “Greatsword?”
Darius nods tersely, concentrating as he draws the metal out slowly from the white-hot forge fire. “Rag.” He says, brusquely. “Can’t see properly.”
“Alright, hold still for a second, mate.” Darius obliges and Baine does his best to wipe the excess of sweat from the other man’s face and not poke him in the eyes at the same time.
“Ta.” Darius says, resuming his work.
“Have you considered a headband?” Baine asks. “A cool-looking little scarf?”
Darius doesn’t respond, continuing to work on the sword for another minute or so. Eventually, he slows his pace, eyeing the five-feet long slab of metal critically between blows. Seemingly satisfied, he heaves it up and over into the cooling trough by the central forge; the heated metal hissing like an angry dragon as it enters the mix of water, oil, and salt.
As the blade sizzles, Darius takes another rag from the table and mops his face. Picking up a water skin from the table, he finally turns to face Baine.
“They come in loads of different colours,” the half-orc offers innocently. “Just sayin’.”
Darius snorts a brief laugh, taking a long drink from the skin before holding it out to Baine, who accepts it. He takes a drink, shoots Darius a look when he gets a mouthful of wine instead of the water he was expecting, shrugs and swallows. He hands the skin back and starts preparing an empty workbench for his own project.
“Haven’t seen you around for a while. Been on jobs?” he asks Darius, while setting out some tools - a set of delicate tongs and a small hammer. He pulls a piece of parchment from his pocket and studies it before gathering more tools and materials. “Didn’t get mixed up in the giant business, did you?”
Darius shakes his head, lifting the cooled metal out of the quench with cloth-wrapped hands and setting it down carefully on his own workbench. “Had no dog in that fight. Heard it was a bad one, though. Were you there? I’m done with the main forge, boy, if you want it.”
Baine starts measuring out small pieces of scraps, abandoned projects and leftover steel and throwing them in a small crucible. He shakes his head at Darius. “Not doing anything big like that. Cheers though.” He sets the crucible in place and works the bellows on one of the smaller forges instead. “But yeah, I went. Whole order mobilized. It was a mess, but in the end I think it could have been worse than it was, so. That’s something I suppose.” His eyes go distant for a second before he visibly snaps himself out of the spiral of memory and regret. “So what brought you back then? If it wasn’t the giants.”
“Apart from the occasional pleasure of knockin’ your boss on his arse, you mean?” Darius deadpans, as he opens the pouch of tools at his belt and fishes out a tiny engraving hammer and chisel.
Baine grins and shakes his head. “I still don’t believe that. It keeps happening when I’m not around, for some reason, and I am not buyin’ it, man.”
“Yer, we’d noticed you’d disappeared recently.” Darius says, not glancing over from where he’s measuring off regular intervals along the blade and marking them with the faintest of grooves. “Gretcha was on the verge of givin’ your bunk away.”
Baine busies himself with filling molds with sand and doesn’t look at Darius either, but his voice is steady and warm as he answers. “Nah, mate, I’ve worn Red down. I’m her favourite now, she wouldn’t do that to me.” He measures out long, thin lines in the sand and packs it tightly. “Plus, they all knew I was coming back. I told the bossman before I left. I just needed some time to sort my head out, you know.”
Darius looks over at Baine properly for the first time. “First real war, was it, lad?” He asks, not unkindly.
Baine looks into the flames surrounding the crucible, intent on the metal melting within. “Sure was.” He picks up a set of tongs and carefully pulls the white-hot metal out of the forge. He carries it over and stars pouring it into the molds he prepared - it’s more delicate work than he’s used to but he does alright, his hands are steady enough.
When he’s done he cleans the tools and set them aside to cool, and turns to Darius properly.
“Had some other shit on top of that as well. But I reckon I’ve got most of it sorted now. Made my peace with it.”
Darius takes up the engraving equipment and begins to lightly, carefully, tap out a series of lines and shapes into surface of the blade. “Glad to hear it. Back for good, are you? Word ‘round the compound is, you’ve got some oaths to take.”
Baine raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, is it really? Good to hear I’m still a person of interest even when I’m not ‘ere.” He glances down to where the metal is setting in their forms and takes his hair out of the tight bun again and begins to braid it instead. “Yeah, I’m back for good. Reckon I was meant for those oaths, as cheap as it might sound.”
“All talk sounds cheap to me, lad. Don’t worry about it.” Darius shrugs, shifting his position and working on the second sequence of engravings. “Long as you’re sure in your own mind.”
Baine finishes off the long braid and inspects the molds, poking at them with a careful finger. Seemingly satisfied he takes them over to the bucket of sand and empties them out, sifting through the sand with a pair of tongs to pick up the still-hot, thin rods and carrying them to the small anvil at his work bench.
“Sure as I’ll ever be. But since talk is cheap I won’t bother you with the reasons why.” He gives Darius a quick look and sharp grin full of intent before picking up the small hammer and getting to work. He hammers and pulls, stretching the thin pieces of metal out and shaping them carefully. “You bein’ a man of action, I reckon I should show you instead.”
“I’m not followin’ your meanin’, son” Darius says, a quizzical look on his face. He puts his tools away and folds a large cloth gently, almost reverentially, over the blade before walking over to stand by Baine’s bench.
Working quickly, before the metal cools too much, Baine shapes the many thin strands until they form a loose circle, a crown almost. He holds it up in the light, looks it over and shrugs. “That’ll do.” He reaches over and dunks it in the quench and through the small cloud of steam he eyes Darius again, looking him over for a moment. “No? That’s a shame, then.”
He puts the circlet on the bench in front of them and unfold the parchment again, comparing notes and measurements for what looks to be a simple crown; strands weaving together to form a circle covered in flowers. Satisfied, he looks up and locks eyes with Darius, eyes glittering in the forges’ flames.
“You keep saying you’ve handed Varis his arse on a platter, it’s only fair that I get a chance at the same treatment.” He gestures down to his work. “This needs to set properly before I can start adding flowers anyway. You look about done with your work as well.”
Darius runs a hand through his hair, and scrubs some of the grime from his face. “Truth be told, lad, I’m not quite myself at the moment.” He gestures back towards his bench. “Been up for a while now workin’ on that. Another time, maybe?”
Baine cocks his head slightly and squints a little at Darius, taking in the plain exhaustion on his face before smiling at him. “Sure, mate. Another time. Where are you staying? Here or in town?”
“Got a room at the Ettin. Just here to make use of the forge for a couple of days.”
“Buy you a drink? I’m staying there myself at the moment.”
“Aye, won’t say no to a drink. Maybe this evening? I’m in sore need of my bed right now.”
Baine claps a large hand on his shoulder. “Sure thing. See you down there around dinner time.” He then gently ushers the other man towards the door. “Go on, mate. Get your beauty sleep.”
Darius nods and heads out of the forge, briefly stopping to drop down next to Frankie and scratch the dog behind the ears. Frankie wags his tail enthusiastically and makes a go at rolling over for belly scratching. Baine rolls his eyes. “You are not touch-starved! Leave the poor man alone.”
Darius laughs once and stands up, nodding again to Baine and making his way across the courtyard and back into town.
Baine pauses briefly at the arched entrance to the courtyard, eyes fixed on the door to the Grandmaster’s quarters, deliberating. He sighs and decides to delay the inevitable conversation just a little bit longer. Instead, he changes course and heads towards the forge, Frankie at his heels. The sun has long since risen up, so the sounds of metal on metal ringing out from the smithy come as no surprise to him.
The door is slightly ajar and Baine casts a careful glance in to make sure it’s not Varis, taking out his feelings on a piece of steel. To his relief, it's not the bossman working away, but Darius, the grizzled, serious fellow Baine has seen Varis and Gretcha talking with occasionally.
The man is standing at the central forge, his back to the door, intent on shaping and hammering a long, flat chunk of metal. Despite being almost a foot shorter than Baine, Darius is as broad - if not broader, his shorter-than-average height accentuating the sheer bulk and size of his chest, shoulders, and arms. The combined roar of the bellows and the clanking of tools is loud, but Baine can make out the occasional word Darius is muttering under his breath, a repeated litany of names measured out in time with his blows.
Baine, hand raised and about to knock and let himself in, pauses again and listens for a minute.
“Karl” clank
“Isobel” clank
“Fredrick" clank
“Doroon" clank
“Cas“ clank
“Siobhan" clank
“Garion” clank
“Jen“ clank
“Balin“ clank
“Johan“ clank
With his left hand, Darius expertly flips the object over to address the other side, not halting the hammer strokes with his right. As Darius works the piece of metal, Baine’s trained eyes recognises the tell-tale shape of a giant blade, too large for a regular sword,
As Darius pauses briefly to inspect his work, Baine raps his knuckles softly on the doorframe. “Alright, mate? Can I join you? Got a spare set of hands if you need ‘em.” He blinks a couple of times, waiting for a response from the other man who’s clearly already aware of his presence.
“Or, like, I have some stuff I wanted to work on as well, if you want to do that by yourself, I just thought I’d offer, y’know-” Suddenly aware that’s he’s rambling, he stops abruptly and shuts his mouth with a click, tries to shrug casually and leans against the doorframe.
Darius starts hammering again, not looking up or acknowledging Baine.
“Karl” clank
“Isobel” clank
“Fredrick” clank
“Fetch me a clean rag, will you.” He says, not stopping, jerking his head over his shoulder at the pile on the low table a few feet away from him. As he gestures, sweat flies off him in a wide arc. Baine can see the older man’s salt-and-pepper hair and beard are soaked.
“Doroon“ clank
“Cas“ clank
“Siobhan“ clank
“Garion” clank
“Jen“ clank
“Balin“ clank
“Johan“ clank
“Sure thing, mate.” Baine turns to Frankie and points to the floor by the entrance to the smithy. “You stay right there. Big, dangerous fire. Stay.” Frankie gives him an unimpressed look but lies down, head on his front paws. Baine sets his pack down next to him. “Good boy.”
Walking over, he ties his hair up in a tight bun on the top of his head before picking up a clean rag from the pile. He moves to stand next to Darius, hoping to learn a thing or two, rag at the ready for when the other man wants it. Quietly, under the steady stream of names, he asks, “Greatsword?”
Darius nods tersely, concentrating as he draws the metal out slowly from the white-hot forge fire. “Rag.” He says, brusquely. “Can’t see properly.”
“Alright, hold still for a second, mate.” Darius obliges and Baine does his best to wipe the excess of sweat from the other man’s face and not poke him in the eyes at the same time.
“Ta.” Darius says, resuming his work.
“Have you considered a headband?” Baine asks. “A cool-looking little scarf?”
Darius doesn’t respond, continuing to work on the sword for another minute or so. Eventually, he slows his pace, eyeing the five-feet long slab of metal critically between blows. Seemingly satisfied, he heaves it up and over into the cooling trough by the central forge; the heated metal hissing like an angry dragon as it enters the mix of water, oil, and salt.
As the blade sizzles, Darius takes another rag from the table and mops his face. Picking up a water skin from the table, he finally turns to face Baine.
“They come in loads of different colours,” the half-orc offers innocently. “Just sayin’.”
Darius snorts a brief laugh, taking a long drink from the skin before holding it out to Baine, who accepts it. He takes a drink, shoots Darius a look when he gets a mouthful of wine instead of the water he was expecting, shrugs and swallows. He hands the skin back and starts preparing an empty workbench for his own project.
“Haven’t seen you around for a while. Been on jobs?” he asks Darius, while setting out some tools - a set of delicate tongs and a small hammer. He pulls a piece of parchment from his pocket and studies it before gathering more tools and materials. “Didn’t get mixed up in the giant business, did you?”
Darius shakes his head, lifting the cooled metal out of the quench with cloth-wrapped hands and setting it down carefully on his own workbench. “Had no dog in that fight. Heard it was a bad one, though. Were you there? I’m done with the main forge, boy, if you want it.”
Baine starts measuring out small pieces of scraps, abandoned projects and leftover steel and throwing them in a small crucible. He shakes his head at Darius. “Not doing anything big like that. Cheers though.” He sets the crucible in place and works the bellows on one of the smaller forges instead. “But yeah, I went. Whole order mobilized. It was a mess, but in the end I think it could have been worse than it was, so. That’s something I suppose.” His eyes go distant for a second before he visibly snaps himself out of the spiral of memory and regret. “So what brought you back then? If it wasn’t the giants.”
“Apart from the occasional pleasure of knockin’ your boss on his arse, you mean?” Darius deadpans, as he opens the pouch of tools at his belt and fishes out a tiny engraving hammer and chisel.
Baine grins and shakes his head. “I still don’t believe that. It keeps happening when I’m not around, for some reason, and I am not buyin’ it, man.”
“Yer, we’d noticed you’d disappeared recently.” Darius says, not glancing over from where he’s measuring off regular intervals along the blade and marking them with the faintest of grooves. “Gretcha was on the verge of givin’ your bunk away.”
Baine busies himself with filling molds with sand and doesn’t look at Darius either, but his voice is steady and warm as he answers. “Nah, mate, I’ve worn Red down. I’m her favourite now, she wouldn’t do that to me.” He measures out long, thin lines in the sand and packs it tightly. “Plus, they all knew I was coming back. I told the bossman before I left. I just needed some time to sort my head out, you know.”
Darius looks over at Baine properly for the first time. “First real war, was it, lad?” He asks, not unkindly.
Baine looks into the flames surrounding the crucible, intent on the metal melting within. “Sure was.” He picks up a set of tongs and carefully pulls the white-hot metal out of the forge. He carries it over and stars pouring it into the molds he prepared - it’s more delicate work than he’s used to but he does alright, his hands are steady enough.
When he’s done he cleans the tools and set them aside to cool, and turns to Darius properly.
“Had some other shit on top of that as well. But I reckon I’ve got most of it sorted now. Made my peace with it.”
Darius takes up the engraving equipment and begins to lightly, carefully, tap out a series of lines and shapes into surface of the blade. “Glad to hear it. Back for good, are you? Word ‘round the compound is, you’ve got some oaths to take.”
Baine raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, is it really? Good to hear I’m still a person of interest even when I’m not ‘ere.” He glances down to where the metal is setting in their forms and takes his hair out of the tight bun again and begins to braid it instead. “Yeah, I’m back for good. Reckon I was meant for those oaths, as cheap as it might sound.”
“All talk sounds cheap to me, lad. Don’t worry about it.” Darius shrugs, shifting his position and working on the second sequence of engravings. “Long as you’re sure in your own mind.”
Baine finishes off the long braid and inspects the molds, poking at them with a careful finger. Seemingly satisfied he takes them over to the bucket of sand and empties them out, sifting through the sand with a pair of tongs to pick up the still-hot, thin rods and carrying them to the small anvil at his work bench.
“Sure as I’ll ever be. But since talk is cheap I won’t bother you with the reasons why.” He gives Darius a quick look and sharp grin full of intent before picking up the small hammer and getting to work. He hammers and pulls, stretching the thin pieces of metal out and shaping them carefully. “You bein’ a man of action, I reckon I should show you instead.”
“I’m not followin’ your meanin’, son” Darius says, a quizzical look on his face. He puts his tools away and folds a large cloth gently, almost reverentially, over the blade before walking over to stand by Baine’s bench.
Working quickly, before the metal cools too much, Baine shapes the many thin strands until they form a loose circle, a crown almost. He holds it up in the light, looks it over and shrugs. “That’ll do.” He reaches over and dunks it in the quench and through the small cloud of steam he eyes Darius again, looking him over for a moment. “No? That’s a shame, then.”
He puts the circlet on the bench in front of them and unfold the parchment again, comparing notes and measurements for what looks to be a simple crown; strands weaving together to form a circle covered in flowers. Satisfied, he looks up and locks eyes with Darius, eyes glittering in the forges’ flames.
“You keep saying you’ve handed Varis his arse on a platter, it’s only fair that I get a chance at the same treatment.” He gestures down to his work. “This needs to set properly before I can start adding flowers anyway. You look about done with your work as well.”
Darius runs a hand through his hair, and scrubs some of the grime from his face. “Truth be told, lad, I’m not quite myself at the moment.” He gestures back towards his bench. “Been up for a while now workin’ on that. Another time, maybe?”
Baine cocks his head slightly and squints a little at Darius, taking in the plain exhaustion on his face before smiling at him. “Sure, mate. Another time. Where are you staying? Here or in town?”
“Got a room at the Ettin. Just here to make use of the forge for a couple of days.”
“Buy you a drink? I’m staying there myself at the moment.”
“Aye, won’t say no to a drink. Maybe this evening? I’m in sore need of my bed right now.”
Baine claps a large hand on his shoulder. “Sure thing. See you down there around dinner time.” He then gently ushers the other man towards the door. “Go on, mate. Get your beauty sleep.”
Darius nods and heads out of the forge, briefly stopping to drop down next to Frankie and scratch the dog behind the ears. Frankie wags his tail enthusiastically and makes a go at rolling over for belly scratching. Baine rolls his eyes. “You are not touch-starved! Leave the poor man alone.”
Darius laughs once and stands up, nodding again to Baine and making his way across the courtyard and back into town.