[center][h2][color=#008b8b]Fionn MacKerracher[/color] and [color=goldenrod][i]Gerard Segremors[/i][/color][/h2][/center] [hr] [color=goldenrod]“— Yeah, I’m guessing she just figured you’d be more personable about it, or something. It’s [i]Serenity[/i], I can’t imagine she hasn’t had her fill on talking with other heirs to nobility twice over by now— I can get why she’d want a break. You said he got [i]strangled[/i] wearing all this?”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”Magic, lad, you know how it is. Damned mage had him cursed before we could even start the real fight.”[/color] Within the confines of Candaeln’s walls, there were many footpaths that were well-traveled enough to, by virtue of thoroughly foot-traffic pulverized grass alone, count as their own little trails despite lacking all the usual markers of designed intent— masonry, symmetry, so on. One such cut through the training yard at an angle that had been collectively decided to be “the quickest from the quarters to the smithy when trying not to get other people in the way” in ages past— and Gerard was pretty sure he’d seen supply caches being ferried along it too, despite usually passing in through the main gate. So to speak, then, it wasn’t much an outlandish sight for those nearby to see a pair of their peers ferrying a crude burlap sack that clanked, jangled, and was generally unwieldy in the way loose steel tended to be. Raw materials could be sourced for commission by the knights themselves, after all— as slapdash as things looked, with one of the men single-arming the load due to a firm warning from the Healing Corps that So Help Them, If He Didn’t Take It Easy He’d Make The Other Arm Worse— most onlookers quickly went back to going about their day The strangest thing about it was probably that the injured party was chatting freely, so often instead locked in his own little world, for better or for worse. Usually worse— he wound himself up with that shit sometimes. In the aforementioned free hand, the rolls of parchment was held gingerly enough that it probably hadn’t set into shape yet, and was his end of the deal the dynamic duo of ex-soldiers of fortune had cut. They were to become missives— one to a house of minor nobility, as suggested by their leonine counterpart, and the other… Well. [color=goldenrod]“Hell, speaking of. Your family even know [i]you’re[/i] still kicking?”[/color] Fionn furrowed his brow as they walked along. He’d offered to carry all the armour himself and spare Gerard some trouble, but he wasn’t cruel enough to deny the younger man an opportunity to feel useful if he really wanted it. It just made their current travel a bit more awkward, though with the benefit of some more time to converse. [color=#008b8b]”I don’t think they ever expected anything, really? I didn’t learn to read or write until I left with that merchant caravan. Last my family likely heard was when they went back to the village and told them I’d kept going further south.”[/color] His gaze turned northwards, staring thoughtfully off into the distance. He’d not heard of any news of anything bad happening in the general northern part of Velt, though the likelihood that anything about his home village would reach so deep into Thaln with any recognizable identifiers remaining was low. Alette had mentioned anything, either, though he had no way to know if she’d ever veered up towards where he was from. [color=#008b8b]”Do you think I should write them? The old priest is kindly, like. He’d probably read it to them if none of them have learned yet.”[/color] [color=goldenrod]“Huh. Merchant caravan passing through taught us too.”[/color] Gerard’s eyes followed a similar path, the words on his tongue idle as his mind briefly transported itself far to the northwest. To Shilage. There, a young woman, barely older than their Captain or the aforementioned scion of the Arcedeens surely was wiping sweat from her brow, knee deep in her task reaping summertime fields of wheat. Her cause was every bit as noble as his, in some ways, moreso. Reon’s rays venerated them evenly, but this was what he had been born into and left. She continued with dignity, day in and day out. Halfway done now, she’d be thinking. As a gust shook the canopy of apple trees close by, she would look towards Velt in turn, where many a trade wagon had kicked up dust along the road that split their village in two. One such had given her the gift of reading. Another had taken her brother, as though an exchange five years in the making, and left her to handle [i]his[/i] half alone, on days like this. He blinked, shifting his grip on the mass of fabric as Ardor’s shop crept into his periphery. It was by no means small, as he’d yet to hear of the Dwarf ever wanting for more equipment or facility, but when he considered the scale of the Order, of Candaeln, Gerard thought it… artisanally cozy. [color=goldenrod]“I dunno.”[/color] he admitted, [color=goldenrod]“I’ve never really stopped to think about them. Never managed to make my way back, either. They probably figure I bit it.”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”Ah, I’m sure they’ve got more faith in you than [i]that,”[/i][/color] Fionn protested. [color=#008b8b]”Maybe if they knew just [i]what[/i] you did with the Faceless, but there’s no way they know that, right?”[/color] Now, had his family known just what role Gerard would fulfill, no doubt they would’ve found a way to stop him from ever setting off—and they’d likely have been right for it, Fionn had to admit. His family likely would’ve done the same had they known he’d ever leave the merchants and join a free company himself. But Fionn’s didn’t know he’d ever do that, and Gerard’s couldn’t have known he’d be thrown into the forlorn heap at the front of every charge. The only reason they’d have to assume either man had died would be the lack of communication, and outside of the major cities and roads, getting messages back and forth was often either dangerous, costly, or both. They could nurse the worry if they wanted, but to assume either man had outright died after only a few years, when missing people had reappeared after longer than that, would be going overboard. [color=#008b8b]”Wait. It’s been more than ten for me, hasn’t it?”[/color] Fionn shook that unintentionally-verbalized thought out of his mind, looking back to Gerard. [color=#008b8b]”Come now. Think about something happier in all this. You’ve never told me much about your family—how many siblings have you got?”[/color] A midday gust brushed against the pair, warm as it rolled down the ivory walls that soaked up Reon’s blessing. On it he tasted wheat, apple, split wood— a small “heh” heralded a soft smirk worming its way up to meet the sun. [color=goldenrod]“Three. I was the second son, sisters coming after me.”[/color] he explained a moment later, twisting his trunk to reach for the door as they drew upon it. [color=goldenrod]“Me and Izolda were the ones that had the time and minds to hang around long enough to learn when they passed through. Our brother was too busy with Dad, our baby sister still learning to talk.”[/color] Knuckles rapped against the entryway, stone warm in spite of being veiled by shade. A moment later, to account for the possible work noise in there, the younger knight hollered— a knock was easy to miss beneath a beat, but a name could be picked out from within a storm. [color=goldenrod]“Ardor! Fionn and I good to barge in here?”[/color] [i]”Whit?”[/i] As expected, the dwarf still couldn’t quite hear them. [color=#008b8b]”We’re coming in!”[/color] Fionn called, pushing on through the entrance without a care in the world. At [i]that,[/i] the castle smith, who had ceased his work for the moment just to be able to hear what was coming his way, filled the air with a litany of curses while rushing along to meet the pair. “Like [i]hell[/i] ye are, ye [i]glaikit,[/i] up-jumped freebooter!” Ardor Rockhammer rounded the corner quickly, his chiseled face red from the forge he’d just been stood in front of, eyes glaring menacingly out from under a heavy brow. [i]”Get tae f—”[/i] he bit back on the last words, noticing Gerard stood next to Fionn, and gave a weary sigh. “Why is it ye cannae gie me some [i]warning,[/i] MacKerracher? It’s three times in the last [i]month[/i] ye’ve just barged on in. A need tae hae some time tae [i]clean[/i] first, dafty!” His glare softened, Ardor looked over the pair, before his eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Whit’s in the poke?” Fionn waved him over, opening the sack slightly. [color=#008b8b]”Raw materials, or a payment for such. Lad needs armour.”[/color] The dwarf took out a piece, turning over the rerebrace with a critical eye that had days before been worn by a Golden Boar. His eyes narrowed further, glancing up at the pair. “Man died in this, aye?” [color=goldenrod]“Strangled, to hear him tell it— by an invisible hand. Some damn magic took the poor bastard in the middle of a duel.”[/color] Gerard cut in, glancing sidelong at Fionn. The highlander had been wearing his furor around him like a cloak the whole ride back— while Gerard didn’t see any signs of his anger regarding it spooling up today, to be fair to him, he couldn’t imagine that point wasn’t still a little sore. No need to get him on the topic. [color=goldenrod]“Why do you ask? Just a question of cleaning the stuff, or is it some kind of bad luck?”[/color] He’d heard similar suspicions passed around fires and trenches alike— oftentimes while wielding hatchets, short blades, and the like all pilfered from fallen foes. He tended to dismiss them as paranoia earlier on… but as the years dragged by, and as his career took the shape itr did, his stance on the idea as a whole had mellowed considerably. It probably would have explained some things. Wearing a Boar’s armor, whether the size and quality were mostly amenable or otherwise, had enough reasons to rankle him internally without anything like that. [color=goldenrod]“If Fionn’s talking me into five years of spurned fate, I’m gonna be upset.”[/color] Ardor turned his gaze from Fionn over to Gerard. “Whit? No, wis just wondering how dented it’s gang tae be. But, strangled? Magic? Better than A’d thocht.” He put the rerebrace back in the bag, yanking it out of both of their hands. [color=goldenrod]“Oh, good.”[/color] “Aye. Come on, then.” The smith waved for the pair to follow him deeper in, carrying the bag on his shoulder without any trouble. Fionn clapped Gerard on the good shoulder, and followed along. The temperature rapidly rose as they penetrated the heart of the smithy, where Ardor’s apprentices and assistants had resumed their earlier work. [color=#008b8b]”Can’t say it’ll fit him all that well, and I can’t imagine he’d want to wear it as-is, knowing who it came off of. But if you’re willing to take that all as payment for a set to his liking—”[/color] “Ach, quit wi’ your bletherin’ an grab me book,” Ardor commanded, cutting Fionn off and pointing at a loosely-bound parchment notebook with a stick of charcoal next to it. Rummaging around on another table, he pulled out a length of knotted cord. “A need tae measure ye, Segremors. How padded d’ye want tae be?” Measurements? Oh hell, this was the tailor again. He was about to learn that half his gear was five pounds out of date. He shelved his misgivings quickly— much as he didn’t care for certain elements of the process, ill-fitted armor would be a death sentence on the field if he wanted to commit to better coverage. Belts and straps could manage a lot on a budget, but entering the realm of harness meant those days would be squarely over. Solid pieces of steel didn’t quite have the [i]give[/i] cloth or maille offered to cover up inexactness after the fact. This was why knights had to be so damn rich. [color=goldenrod]“Conservative with it where we can,”[/color] he replied after a deep breath through the nose bought him time to mull it over. [color=goldenrod]“I like a high workrate in battle, so whatever can be thinned out in the name of staving off overheating.”[/color] With this, he’d be able to keep himself safer in the field while the corrections to his form and tactics came through his time spent in the yards. He wasn’t of the belief he could change wholly within so little time— the forlorn’s aggression would doubtless return as, if nothing else, a safety valve before he could truly settle in. He’d be working up a sweat for a good long while. Confident as he was in his own stamina, he needed to ensure that he could still leverage it if need arose. Ardor nodded, stepping in towards Gerard and pulling his right arm up. “Good. Ye arenae the sort tae think ye need a full gambeson under. A get the [i]pleasure[/i] o’ pointin’ that out tae half the lads come through here.” Gerard elected not to mention how close he’d come to being half the lads that came through here, nodding along. The measuring passed quickly, Ardor manhandling Gerard into position without bothering to request the movement first, calling out numbers to Fionn to write down. He had no clue what the units were; certainly not anything either knight was used to using, at any rate, so it must have been something Ardor had adopted from his home culture or had developed for his own use. After that was all done, Fionn passed the notebook back to the dwarf, who began pulling out the former Boar’s harness out of the sack and laying it out in full, gazing over it with an appraising eye. In the heat of battle or his own sulking afterwards, he’d not had a moment to really inspect the armour himself, but with it all in the glow of the forge Fionn could recognize that it was, surprisingly, fairly high quality. The mercenary captain may well have been a disgraced knight with a harness like that. “Hmmph. Aye, this should cover something decent for Segremors. Ye want flashy?” Ardor turned, squinting back at Gerard. “No, ye arenae the sort, are ye? A ken your sort. Ye want practical, not parade. It’s A will owe ye, not the other way around.” [color=#008b8b]”Can I make some extra requests, then?”[/color] Fionn asked hopefully, before Ardor shot him a glance that at least [i]looked[/i] like a sullen glare in the forge’s light. He didn’t imagine it was, though, unless the smith was playing up some sort of faked disappointment at not being able to extort the pair for coin. “In a bit. Ye have any preference for style, lad, or shall A jus’ sketch some ideas an’ ye’ll pick frae them?” Somewhat against type, Gerard had an answer for him. [color=goldenrod]“Are you familiar with some of the older Veltic styles?”[/color] He doubted the answer would be “no”— he’d heard somewhere once that dwarves were a long-lived race much akin to the elves. At the very least, moreso than men. There was every chance that Ardor had seen what he envisioned falling out of vogue. [color=goldenrod]“I’m from Shilage. We’re a border town, and got passed around plenty between here and there depending on which earls or marquesses or whatever had the backing to call their shot. Ends up leaving us a lot of their stories— our namesake was Count Istvan, who fought with the Hraeslegs.”[/color] A tower of a man, taller even than Renar and sturdy as a castle’s gate. The iron count’s brutality was legendary, and his whirling flail was said to have struck fear into the hearts of a legion of Morahti raiders by sound alone. Having been a warrior for five, nearly six years now, Gerard had of course come to realize that bit being [i]likely embellished[/i]. What wasn’t, though, was the truth that he had torn out the chunk of Thaln upon which Gerard’s village sat for Velt eight hundred years back— though few believed he’d gobbled up territory for a nation’s sake moreso than his own. [color=goldenrod]“That kind of silhouette’s always been what I’ve envisioned, truthfully. Imposing, solid, but… not quite brutish. Hm. He’s not a perfect example, is he?”[/color] Ardor nodded along. “Aye, István Shilage. My granda told me stories o’ the Lions, he remembered when they wis roving a’ over. He took a sketch o’ their armour, A hae it around somewhere...” He turned, grabbing a different notebook and flipping through it. “No, that’s the Demet lad...ah, here.” He glanced between Gerard and the sketch quickly, before moving to grab his own book again. “How long d’ye hae tae wait? A can draw up some ideas, here, or A can find ye later on tae show ye.” [color=#008b8b]”Why don’t you interrupt him like you do me?”[/color] Fionn wondered out loud, though just quiet enough that Ardor seemed to have missed it. The parchments in Gerard’s injured hand took center stage now, rising to meet the dwarf’s gaze. [color=goldenrod]“Spare us some charcoal and we can keep busy until you need us.”[/color] “Use the piece MacKerracher’s got. Hope ye’ll switch tae ink afore ye send that off.” [color=goldenrod]“We will.” [i]I’m not that dumb.[/i][/color] he thought, less inclined to take his chances with Ardor’s hearing. [color=#008b8b]”Alright, I know where there’s a free table and we’ll be out of the way,”[/color] Fionn cut in, tugging at Gerard to follow along behind him. [color=#008b8b]”We’ll be keeping our ears open, Ardor.”[/color] Once they passed to an outer corner of the workshop, under a window giving some much needed air movement and light to the shop, Fionn cleared some tools off of a nearby table and pulled a couple stools over. [color=#008b8b]”Now, lad, who are these for, anyways? I didn’t catch what you said at first, other than Serenity thinking I’d be more personable-like. Family’s one, aye?”[/color] [color=goldenrod]“I’ll be honest, the spare was just in case I completely bungled it until an hour ago.”[/color] Gerard sighed, placing the sheets to either side of the table between them. [color=goldenrod]“But yeah, I’m getting to thinking I ought to write home. Izolda can read it to the rest— they oughta know I’m still kicking, at least.”[/color] Here, he tapped the one to the right side, as though there were a difference to point out. It may have been a little fresher, but it was every bit as blank. [color=goldenrod]“The one she suggested I get help with is to head to a house of minor nobility— well I would imagine it ideally to be one of three, but I’m going to start with Sir Galfont Tulburn, and his daughter, Angenese.”[/color] He couldn’t help it that he was most immediately drawn to the shared experience of crushing a slaving ring, that he had the most idea of what to say. He was literate, sure, but the act of transcribing words onto paper was not so simple as being able to read things as well as you could say them. Doubly complicated in that he dipped his toes into “courtly friendships” with these missives, a world he had only scratched the surface of thanks to the lioness’s guidance. [color=goldenrod]“The three I met at the ball,”[/color] Rhetorical explanation. He knew Fionn would know. He’d caught the weird looks when Sergio was talking out of the corner of his eye— Man, what was up with those two and Nicomede? Like Oil, Water, and Some Third Thing that didn’t mix with either. [color=goldenrod]“We had a friendly enough chat between us— Least I can do is follow up and wish them well after ordering them beneath a table.”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”Aren’t they just kids?”[/color] [color=goldenrod]“So’s the Captain. So were we, setting out.”[/color] … [color=goldenrod]“I mean, [i]I agree,[/i] but that’s the point she would have for the both of us. The young lady Cazt’s also in that mix, and look what she’s capable of. Look what she’s got to handle.”[/color] His jaw tilted to the side and came to rest on his knuckles as he propped an elbow upon the table. [color=goldenrod]“I can see why she’s advising it, from that perspective. Kids, sure, but people deep enough in court to be invited to that Ball all the same. ‘They’re going to be in these spaces we occupy now for a good long while, so why not be friendly?’ Is probably the idea.”[/color] He looked Fionn in the eye. [color=goldenrod]“Like you befriending Princess Maletha, you know?”[/color] Fionn turned away for a moment, head rocking back and forth. [color=#008b8b]”I doubt she even learned my name that night,”[/color] he said after a moment. [color=#008b8b]”But I hear you. Wanted to make sure you weren’t getting any of the funny ideas actual nobles do.”[/color] Eyes narrowed. [color=goldenrod]“I should slug you, fucker.”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”Hey, you know it all as well as I do. I’m almost surprised Renar hasn’t suggested something like that just to make you angry.”[/color] [color=goldenrod][i]He knows I’d slug him, the fucker.[/i][/color] [color=#008b8b][i]You’d never slug me. You like me too much and you know I’m looking out for you.[/i][/color] He sighed. [color=goldenrod]“Yeah, I [i]do[/i] know what you mean. Rest assured I want nothing to do with anyone younger than my sister.”[/color] He placed his hand over his heart. Fionn nodded. [color=#008b8b]”Aye, best give it another few years at [i]least.”[/i][/color] With that comment hanging in the air for a moment, Fionn maintaining the straightest face he could, he pointed back at the parchment. [color=#008b8b]”I think [i]I’ve[/i] been talking with Renar too much. Now, let’s get started. You remember [i]all[/i] their names, aye?”[/color] Gerard put his fist down, with some reluctance. [color=goldenrod]“I do. Angenese Tulburn, Tenessa Heinlein, Violette Scarnsbek. The last is going to be a bit barebones by necessity, I imagine— poor thing was bored to tears talking with people not titled ‘Princess’ near as I could tell.”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”And Tulburn’s the one for today, aye? What all do you remember about her, personality wise, how she talked?”[/color] [color=goldenrod]“Gregarious.”[/color] He replied, leaning forward and clasping his hands. [color=goldenrod]“Of the three, she was the oldest, the one that did the majority of the talking—I’d describe her as the ‘leader’, so to speak. Did the introductions, did a lot of the explaining of the quirks of the other two. Excitable, real friendly, seemed not to mind a little uneasiness between Sergio and I, for whatever that might be worth.”[/color] He had to wonder why the hell [i]how[/i] she talked factored in, but Fionn had explained methodology well enough with everything else he’d asked of him (guards, managing ranges, reversals, funny things to do with the false edge) that he trusted he’d not be in the dark [i]too[/i] long. [color=goldenrod]“Her father is a Sir Galfont, in service to the Crown. She downplayed his standing… well at least in comparison to us, but she was very proud of his deeds, the stories he brought back to her.”[/color] He smirked, faintly. [color=goldenrod]“He recently took the head of a slaving ring’s captain, I’m told.”[/color] [color=goldenrod][i]Didn’t I tell her to tell her Dad I owed him a drink? It’s a bit of a blur there. I should try and make good on that just in case.[/i][/color] Fionn closed his eyes, thinking back on the what he could remember of the girl’s appearance as Gerard continued to describe her. It was important to try and piece together the person that the communication was directed at; happy accidents might come along every now and then, but talking and writing were strategic activities just as much as battle. The trouble so many ran into that understood that, in Fionn’s mind, was that they forgot to remain [i]genuine[/i] through it all. [color=#008b8b]”So. Friendly and personable, noble born, and I’m guessing enjoyed the stories, but they might have been more for the benefit of the Heinlein girl, and she was more in it for the novelty and the interaction.”[/color] He nodded to himself, opening his eyes again to stare directly into Gerard’s own. [color=#008b8b]”Try to meet her on her own level, the way she talked. She’ll probably appreciate the attempt even if you aren’t perfect at it. It’ll show you care to try and reciprocate the friendliness as much as the letter will. Don’t be [i]too[/i] direct. And—while you shouldn’t go into too much detail—talking a bit about how we just dealt with a patrol of Golden Boars should help maintain that link between yourself and her father while she’s reading.”[/color] He paused to think again, brow furrowing slightly. [color=#008b8b]”Oh, obviously make sure you wish her well and hope she’s doing alright after the ball. I’m sure they found that quite a bit more stressful than we did. I know Elisandre and Maletha didn’t enjoy it one bit.”[/color] He glanced over the way they’d came. [color=goldenrod]“Be shooting myself in the foot to mention where we got the armor.”[/color] he wryly intoned, before turning his gaze back to Fionn. [color=goldenrod]“Definitely mean to do that, yeah. I had a full head of steam when they last saw me— soon as they were beneath something solid, I was after Tilli.”[/color] He’d not wasted any time. In the moment, he was sure it was the right call, as indecision became paralysis in those sudden tumults. With as little as they’d known in those very first seconds, he stood by the act— but now, weeks removed, he could see how it would have only added to the Chaos for the three. [color=goldenrod]“Friendly, not too direct…”[/color] he repeated, audibly searching for the balance in his head. [color=#008b8b]”You can be very blunt, friend. Like a hammer against a platter.”[/color] [color=goldenrod]“That’s progress.”[/color] he blithely retorted. [color=goldenrod]“Last time I heard it, it was ‘hammer through a window’.”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”Sack of bricks landing on a workman’s head,”[/color] came the bland reply. [color=#008b8b]”Tyaethe’s just as bad, though, and she [i]still[/i] grew up with it. Try and handle it a little more dexterously than...well, than the way [i]we[/i] talk to each other, but just as friendly. Handshake, not hammerfist. Like you’re handling a sword, not a club.”[/color] He loved a good hammerfist to the temple, but the point was made well and clear. Not a shock— of his own volition, there was a lot he reigned in when speaking to their fellows of more genteel background, The Fleuris and Serenities and Captains of the Order’s ranks. From the sounds of it, it wasn’t going to be too far removed from just… going back to where he had ended up when first speaking with them. It was stilted compared to this, but so were a lot of things— even those that he’d subsumed readily into his day to day. The elaboration, by that metric, almost seemed overwrought… Almost. [color=goldenrod]“I’ll have to hear what I’m writing, then— but I think I’ve got the gist. Don’t overthink it, don’t make it flowery either. Just write like I’m chatting with…”[/color] He looked for an example. He landed on one. [color=goldenrod]“Viora? One of the maids? No, no.”[/color] He jumped the hell away from it, visibly catching the issues there. He was polite to them out of necessity— such as it all was, Gerard still valiantly tried to ignore the fact that the knights [i]had[/i] servants that way as much as he could. You ordered little shits born after you around to do menial stuff, not other adults with dignity. Hell, you know what? [color=goldenrod]“If I’m going to be writing one letter as an elder brother, why not two…”[/color] he ventured. Fionn’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as he listened. [color=#008b8b]”Not a bad idea,”[/color] he agreed. [color=#008b8b]”But like I said, try to meet her on her level with the diction. You can afford to be awkward, you can’t afford to be stiff.”[/color] He raised his hand from the table, gesturing back in the direction of the garden. [color=#008b8b]”You’re pretty stiff with most of them. You’re more personable than you think you are, I reckon, but words just aren’t how you show it, usually. That’s where the struggle is going to be here, but you can just grab me to proofread for you once you start writing. You need to be as [i]warm[/i] as you are friendly, so the brotherly tack is a good idea.”[/color] Still, he was content as it was that Gerard had more or less perfectly grasped the point he wanted to make. Enough so that he’d nearly forgotten something else he meant to mention to the younger man— [color=#008b8b]”Oh, right, the maids. That reminds me of something.”[/color] [color=goldenrod]“I thought this [i]was[/i] proofreading.”[/color] Flat as the head of a mesa. Innocent like a toddler learning a curse from an older brother, whose hiding was now imminent. Serenity had told him to bug Fionn for proofreading, and whatever that had to mean it meant enlisting his help. [color=goldenrod]“What are we doing [i]now[/i]?”[/color] This guy definitely did not have much occasion to write. [color=#008b8b]”...Coaching? You haven’t written anything yet, and I can’t tell you how to fix it until you [i]start,[/i] otherwise it won’t be your words and thoughts on the page.”[/color] Fionn blinked. [color=#008b8b]”Anyways. You heard that Gemma came down sick, right?”[/color] Refer to the top of page 11. [color=goldenrod]“No, I didn’t.”[/color] he replied, frowning. [color=goldenrod]“It kicking it outta her?”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”Enough that she’s not going to be able to do anything tomorrow. She and Mirèia were supposed to do the cleaning behind all the store chests and such down in the cellars.”[/color] He shook his head, thinking about just how much that would be to have to get behind. [color=#008b8b]”You know how small that lady is? She’ll have no hope of getting it all done with how much she’ll have to move on her own. [i]I[/i] won’t be around, though, because I’ve got to head off to the orphanage.”[/color] Fionn glanced back at Gerard, piercing green eyes making direct contact with wolfish amber once again, concern across his face. [color=#008b8b]”You’ll help her, won’t you? Arm should be alright enough by then, and if not, at least with the one you should still be a good help for her.[/color] [color=#008b8b]”You do remember which one is Mirèia, right? Tawny hair, very quiet.”[/color] [color=goldenrod]“Think I remember.”[/color] Gerard replied evenly, not rising to the bait but well aware he was gonna get strongarmed regardless. That was fine, the more he helped, the less grief he got for whenever something else would pop up down the line. [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/59/55/fd/5955fd8de607dab4800dd17559229c8f.jpg][color=#008b8b]”I think she’s, what, a quarter Hundi? It’s strange just how strong those ears are coming in down the generations.”[/color][/url] [color=goldenrod][i]If I say ‘I thought her hair was just a little messy” like a dumb asshole, he definitely believes me.[/i][/color] [color=goldenrod]“Wonder why that is.”[/color] He murmured, casting his eyes onto the ceiling for a moment. [color=goldenrod]“Do they even hear all that much better with four sets?”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”...[i]What?”[/i][/color] [color=goldenrod]“Two sets. I misspoke.”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”They only have the [i]one[/i] set.”[/color] His brow furrowed, his gaze burning through the masonry above, his mind double checking every memory involving Lein for the bottom set of ears. [color=goldenrod]“...”[/color] They were getting sidetracked. Then again, he could have started putting charcoal to paper at any time, couldn’t he? They’d laid things out more than sufficiently. With a snort, he plucked the lonely stick of blackened grey, his hair’s kindred in hue, and brought it to the top left of the first sheet. [i]”Segremors! MacKerracher!”[/i] [color=goldenrod][i]yeah I deserve this[/i][/color] Ardor Rockhammer’s booming voice drew up both of their eyes out of the conversation they’d just been having. The muscular dwarf’s stubby legs still managed to carry him to their table quickly, where he laid his notebook down between the pair. “Thae are my sketches, lad. Pick that ye like the most.” Gerard leaned in, eyes scanning the drafts for the details that resonated most. Ardor had decades of experience sketching out his vision for the steel, that much was evident— it hadn’t felt all that long that they’d been at their back and forth by his count, and here the old craftsman had cooked up a quartet of form factors at remarkable fidelity. [color=goldenrod]“...Here.”[/color] he indicated the second sketch after two minutes of silent contemplation, poring over the lines. [color=goldenrod]“I like this one’s balance. I can fight in that well.”[/color] Ardor nodded, making a check mark next to the design chosen. “A’ll hae it ready by the next time your crew puts out,” he affirmed, before looking over at Fionn. “An’ ye were askin’?” [color=#008b8b]”Two requests,”[/color] Fionn said, unbelting his sword that he’d grabbed along with the Golden Boar’s armour and laying it on the table. [color=#008b8b]”Sword could use something to reinforce it, and nobody topside knows that rune work better than you. Also, if you’re able to make it double as a sort of spell focus, that would be grand.”[/color] Then he grinned, an expression that might have made Ardor’s heart shudder if he hadn’t already gotten used to Fionn in the past. [color=#008b8b]”Second, do you think you could make me and Tyaethe some boar spears?”[/color] Even Ardor went pale at that request. “Dinnae tell me the twa o’ ye are huntin’ the oversized swine down south.” [color=#008b8b]”That’s [i]exactly[/i] what we’re doing, and I need spears for it!”[/color] “Ye’d best bring me back a hide. Quality.” [color=#008b8b]”Pristine, like. And any other parts of it you decide you want, although we’ll keep the best cuts.”[/color] Ardor nodded, sticking out his hand, one that Fionn grasped and shook enthusiastically. [color=#008b8b]”Fantastic! Alright, I’ll leave the sword with you then. I’ve got to go grab something from the kitchen—missed breakfast—and then get back to work on the cider mill. Gerard, you’ll grab me once you’ve got your draft written, aye?”[/color] [color=goldenrod]“Yeah. Will do. Meet you at the press.”[/color] [color=#008b8b]”I’ll be waiting!”[/color] Fionn exclaimed, before pushing back his stool and rushing out of the smithy faster than was normally his wont. Unsurprising, if he [i]had[/i] missed breakfast, the big man needed to eat. Of course, he also had to go and tell one of the maids that he’d secured her help for the next day. “How’s that cider rig comin’ out, anyways? A couldnae get a chance to see it since he started.” [color=goldenrod]“Near done,”[/color] Gerard replied, having seen the older man off with a wave and a grin.[color=goldenrod]”Pretty rustic stuff, all told, but we’ll be drinking some proper quality by winter.”[/color] He turned away from the exit, and back towards the pages, still smiling. … … [color=goldenrod][i]He took the damn charcoal with him.[/i][/color]