If that’s movin’ up…

[PM to Join] ... then I'm movin' out! Gale is moving out of their old forge and into a new one.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Gale
Posts: 254
Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:07 am
Topics: 42
Race: Human
Occupation: Metalsmith | Resistance Gunsmith
: Artful Gunner
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Tue Dec 11, 2018 9:21 am

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old saunders' forge| early morning
37 Vortas 2718
Gale chewed on the toothpick. Out in the cold the smith found themselves stopped on the street, form tensing as they looked down it. It was early in the day still, the low light of morning barely cresting the rooftops. It was necessary to start at this time, if not to assess the damage then to simply go through the process of packing. Yet it did not stop the wrenching sensation that grew in their pi. That burning that flooded through their chest. They were here again, the dark recesses of their mind replaying that night over in their mind.

This time however, they were not alone.

A plume of condensation escaped their lips, the shoulders rolling deeper into their coat. It caused a wince, the left pinching uncomfortably while the attached arm hung in a sling. Things always took time to heal, yet while an element of patience was needed there was little time for it. The smith needed to sort themselves quickly before the Gentleman and his sort caught wind of them.

They stepped, quietly, the thin ice cracking beneath their boots – the better arm tugged the worn green scarf closer around their neck. They felt the cold this year, the body complaining as they closed the gap. Anticipating eyes, of someone to notice, to be spotted; their eyes lingered to the single word painted in bold white letters across the forge wall.

Die.

Someone certainly did die.

That reality haunted them.

The smith could not get themselves to look upon where the pair of them fell – but the blood had faded, peeled away by foot traffic. Even the corpse had disappeared, to where exactly Gale did not know. The throat tightened; head down as they felt the weight of the key in the pocket – the writs and paperwork were tucked away in some inside pocket. To remove their possessions and vacate the premises by the end of the year.

Fortunately their new premises awaited them, all be it a distance away from the neighbourhood they were accustomed to.

The smith never did like that kind of change.

As they stepped around they saw the mess left behind. The key was unneeded; the forge door had been forcibly broken in. Wood bowed and splintered, the remains hung limply from the frame. Beyond the counters were over turned, frames scattered and broken. The chewing paused, eyes looking to the remains of their kingdom – if it could even be called such – that had been built by theirs and their father’s hands. The right hand cautiously shoved the door aside, stepping in and over.

“Shit. It’s… this is… a wee mess.”

That was an understatement. The mind was already calculating the losses. They would rebuild given time, the core was still there – not everything was gone. But the pessimist within hungrily gnawed away, nibbling and biting at their resolve.

Of course, it did not mean they could actually do the work. They needed an extra body to do the laborious activity if they were ever to keep afloat.

Soles on stone flooring, scraping and scratching as loose tools and metal caught on toes. Shards of graphite from broken molds, shattered from where they fell from their racking. It was cold in here; the forge had been dead for days. Coal had been spilled out across the floor, the mold pit ripped open and the sand dug into. One of the wood pillars drew their attention; a dented and warped metal mask was hanging onto the surface through one of its eye sockets. Parts curled and ripped asunder, they could see where something had pierced through – rather forcibly they imagined. Gingerly fingers took it down, the cold metal a heavy weight in their hands. It was now a mere shadow of Gunner’s mask.

Bare fingers stroked across the surface of the mask, installing the changes to memory as they made their way to the ladder to their quarters. The mask was placed down onto the counter for the moment. Merely beginning the climb and poking their head through the hatch showed that here was touched by whoever came after. They saw the open units, the thrown goods, even the mattress ripped open.

“Whoever came was lookin’ for somethin’,” the smith breathed, brow pinching as they climbed the rest of the way. A sorry state of affairs, it left an unpleasant prickling sensation. Who was looking? Why were they looking? What were they looking for?

Did it even matter anymore?

They knew the answers of those questions, and they knew that meant they would have to move quickly. Spending time out was dangerous; it left them exposed to whatever was to come. Shifting through the fingers grasped onto the corner of the blanket and began to awkwardly fold it. It was slapped down onto the ground when it was done, the rest of them moving through, fingers tracing along the sloping ceiling and between the beams. It paused on one of the panels, a small testing push.

They were looking for things on firearms.

It was the logical conclusion; if they could not get the maker onside then stealing their schematics and plans was the next best option. But only an idiot would keep such things to paper, the smith was not that much of a fool. It did not stop one lingering problem however; there was a man out there with Liberator. In return the smith was defenceless. The issue quickly went back around to the problem of forging; they needed another to assist with the heavy work in their current state.

Chewing at their lip, they unceremoniously stuffed the few important pieces – if they could even be called that. They were the unbroken necessities with barely an emotional attachment to them. The sack was tossed through the hatch, landing with a thump at the bottom, “Can confirm, it’s a mess everywhere ‘nd I don’t fancy hangin’ round too long. So throw things into boxes and mosey on quick.”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance

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Francis Pusher
Posts: 37
Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 11:16 am
Topics: 4
Race: Human
Character Sheet: Francis Pusher
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Wed Dec 12, 2018 2:52 am

37 Vortas 2718
Francis let out a huff of breath as he stood outside hands rested on the bar of the push cart he'd borrowed more or less without permission. He could not say he was a fan of the current climate truth be told, though his reqsons beung was that his choice of attire was relatively thinner than that of his companion.


It was strange to think Gale as a companion in a way he wasnt quite sure they were friends, the signals with Gale weren't quite clear in that regard, and being part of the same group didn't mean that either, just on the same time. No, it seemed companion for the time being was the only word he thought might fit the moment, that and he knew the word's meaning so he didn't have to try and look up something more obscure or complex.

Also he didn't have anything he could use to look up truth be told, something he hopes to fix soon enough.

His eyes fell upon the building that is, ir rather was, Gale's home and part of him could not help but feel sympathy for the metal worker. He wasn't aware what incidents occurred for Gale to recieve their current injury, but fron what it all looked like it was enough of a danger to warrant Gale to relocate. Perhaps to less obvious and more hidden surroundings? Francis didn't really know. While he was here as muscle both in terms of being a fellow resistance member and helping with the move, mostly the latter, he wasn't here for his smarts and he trusted Gale to have made their own efforts to assurr their own safety.

Still, to move from ones own childhood home after so many years? To say he wondered what memories flashed through Gale's head was an understatement.

And so as Gale searched the olace in their own firs, Francis was left to his own devices waiting and keeping a sort of lookout. He wasn't the only one doing the lookoit for the time being of course but he found himself imagining that if he could ignore the others oresence long enough they'd... Fade away

No such luck of course, especially as Gale had tossed out a sack with what could only be persumed unceremonious grace , letting out a sound that startled Francis from his focus.

" 's why I bought cart an' spare boxes" He replied as hescratched his chin while looking towards the smithy, before mosying onwards to grab one of said boxes from the cart and made his entrance to the forge. It was a sight indeed, his own visits may have been few but they were recent enough that to see it as it were now... Ached the Mugroby as a wince colored his face. Still, time was a thing that was drainin, and so he got to work putting the lightest of the items that weren't broken in the box and making his way about to collect more.


No rest for the weary.
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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Tue Dec 18, 2018 3:41 pm

37th of Vortas, 2718
SKIPPING out on WORK | EARLY MORNING
The golden glow of autumn filtered through the fog as it curled off the Arova, flitting through buildings and glinting off frosty windows, casting its amber light on the familiar green-dyed, well-cut threads of a Seventen uniform. Four snaps sparkled in the light, shined like the buttons that held his coat in proper place, Rhys' gloved hands reaching to adjust the paler sash that crossed one shoulder as he made his way over now-familiar thoroughfares in the Soot District, striding with the bravado-filled illusion of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

No matter how wrong it was.

He'd been to his office already this morning, early when the dawn was still dark and moved papers around on his desk, stamping and signing. When he knew enough time had passed, he slipped away, nodding to Constable Potiphar as if he had somewhere else important to be, as if he'd had plans made all along, as if he wasn't walking away from duty to help someone no one even knew existed move from a place of danger only he knew about, the files of everything from that night and the days that followed tucked into a folder in the locked drawer of his desk. Right there in Seventen Headquarters. As if it mattered.

The young Valentin had learned to time his walks to Saunder's Forge with the Patrol schedule, his blue eyes fixed on the back of a pair of chroven and their green-uniformed riders, watching them turn a corner and fade from view before he stepped so boldly down a side street and came upon the writing on the bricks, the painted words, gaze instinctually wandering to where two bodies had once been before they sought out the one that had lived—

Voices from inside the open doors to the smithy, a cart and boxes outside, all revealing to Rhys that Gale had invited others to help them flee one location and settle somewhere new. Hopefully somewhere better, somehow. Eventually, safer, too, if the not-galdor in his freshly pressed uniform had anything to do with it.

He'd felt the eyes on him in the street, the looks, the curiosity. His Perceptively-attuned glamour had felt the ripple of nervousness his presence as a Seventen caused in the denizens of the Dives. While he could have come in plain clothes, arriving in full dress may have actually given this hasty migration the kind of cover his sister needed.

Stepping into the open doors and let his gaze adjust to the difference in light, taking in the dark-skinned, broad-shouldered man standing in the forge through the cloud of his breath. Clearing his throat just as a sack dropped from above, he couldn't help but look around the room and realize how different it was from the last time he'd been—someone had been looking for something inside, someone had been desperately searching for far too much information by the looks of things,

"Good morning, gentlemen." Rhys didn't smile, but there was the hint of what could only be called amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Inappropriate. Ill-placed. Indomitable none the less. He'd let go over the past season of every expectation he'd ever had, part of the life he thought he had wrenched from his hands by truths he hadn't wanted, and part of his life surrendered to a strange current he could no longer swim against. He simply rode.

"I'm here for some community service." The tall, blond Sergeant gauged the other man in the room's reaction to his presence, "Don't worry, I'm not here to check writs or ask about whether you're caught up on your taxes. I'm Rhys." The not-galdor's ramscot field belied his truth, powerful for the reality of his half-bred heritage. He offered his hand in greeting, friendly and without the expected tone of judgement in his voice.

Glancing upward, he craned his neck to attempt to spy a Gale, "Tell him I'm mostly safe, would you? Mostly. I swear. Tell me what to do, too. You shouldn't clocking be up there."
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Gale
Posts: 254
Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:07 am
Topics: 42
Race: Human
Occupation: Metalsmith | Resistance Gunsmith
: Artful Gunner
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Writer: Crosspatch
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Tue Jan 08, 2019 3:29 pm

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old saunders' forge| early morning
37 Vortas 2718
“Aye, aye. I know, and a clever bugger ye are too. Well done, much help Francis,” the smith looked around the space, lips pulled into a line as it was considered. What was missing? What did they need? What was truly important. The fingers found the pieces of broken pottery, eyes studying the broken line before gently pushing both sides together. All of it, ruined in a single act of… they did not know what exactly.

The sides gave a complaint, face twisting into a small grimace. A lingering discomfort that refused to ease. The head turned to the sound of work below, the entry of the Seventen changing the atmosphere. Taking a perch by the hatch, the smith peered down. They found focus on the middle distance, not quite looking at him but never the less acknowledging him. They knew the voice as Rhys.

Swinging a leg over the edge, they found purchase on the ladder. The better arm came next, gripping before they pulled themselves over to it. For a tense moment they were certain they had lost some form of balance, the lack of control taking over before they braced against it. Wood groaned, the steps down and measured before they returned to solid ground. Inhaling, they took up the tossed sack and dumped it firmly on the counter – covering the mask from sight.

“Good Mornin’ Officer Rhys,” There was a small bow, largely ignoring the hand that was presented to them, “S’good to see a member of the Seventen such as yer self ‘elping with us folk. Though, please, as an act of formality.”

Going into the inside of their coat pocket, they pulled out a stiff envelope. A collection of several papers acknowledging that the current business was moving location, along with the end of the current rental term and finally details on the new address – a place located by the canals at the edge of the district. Dated and signed, it was indeed as Gale said – a mere formality. Holding it between them, they passed it over before returning their attention to what was at hand.

The smith began some form of introduction, “Francis, this is Sergeant Rhys. He’s… alright. Y’know. For a guy in green. Sergeant, this is Francis. He’s a good human ‘nd good strength too. He’s assistin’ me today. Uh... play nice?”

And I wonder how much Francis will notice the similarity between us? How many internal or external questions will be asked? If at all.

Pausing, Gale contemplated the box Francis was already working on, “Oi. What you puttin’ in that one?”

Reality it paid little mind, the smith was already off. Pausing briefly to push aside the broken pieces, to pull out the contained and whole that remained. They wondered briefly on how much of it was caused by the original trespassers and how much of it was caused by opportunists. They more they looked, the more they saw the pieces that were missing. Stepping around one of the tipped counter, they saw the spilled tools that remained scattered across the floor and promptly picked up one of them – a large club hammer.

“I shouldn’t be many places, but you’re not my pa,” Gale snorted. The arm stretched out, muscles tensing and relaxing as it adjusted to the weight of the hammer. This was something easy and light weight in comparison to others. Their head turned, lifted and looked across the room to one of the other work benches. There, hanging limply was the tipped over frame of the drill press. Fingers rubbed at their eyes, drifting down to the broken and scattered drill bits that rolled across the floor. Gingerly they began to step over and around, moving past the others for a closer inspection. It was one of those few things that could not easily be replaced – their eyes glanced down to the unscrewed bolts. Someone had clearly attempted to take it, but decided against it when they realised the sheer weight of it.

Sighing, the smith scratched their head, “Cheeky fucking bastards. When the pair of ye get a moment, gonna need many hands on this bugger ta move it. Till then, grab a box – get the tools together in one place. I’ll be gettin’ on the molds ‘nd stackin’ the not broken.”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Francis Pusher
Posts: 37
Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 11:16 am
Topics: 4
Race: Human
Character Sheet: Francis Pusher
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Wed Jan 09, 2019 2:09 am

37 Vortas 2718
Francis felt his muscles tense less as he looked between Seventen and Saunders, they were acting... friendly? He wasn't sure that was the correct word if he was to be honest, not hostile but... there was concern from this Rhys fellow towards Saunders, and Saunder's while not the best of conversationalists talked without much discomfort it seemed and had no issue being.... arrogant? Playful? Mocking? So many words yet which fit best?

There was also trust involved, if their about papers proved anything. Confusing it all was, and that was something the Resistance made him feel on what seems to be a daily basis.

Francis simply sighed and nodded, lifting the box " nothin' yet, is gonna hold light stuff I reckon though what sorts depend if ya want me puttin' things like tools or parts?" He turned the last part into a question. One which was quickly answered but not before Saunder's threw some banter at Rhys.

Yes, there was definitely something there in spite Saunders and this Rhys being on opposing sides. Did that make Rhys a friend of the resistance? Or was there more to it?

Still he nodded and started moving about, dropping the box in the center as he scanned around for tools or anything that looked like a tool to his eyes. Oh well, he could always ask incessant questions at Saunders, no doubt getting at his gears would alleviate the air and tension he felt.

His eyes darted towards Rbys brief in question "You take right, I take left?" Dividing their search zones as it were. Clockin' hell, who knows? It might lead to conversation to pass even more time.
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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
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Fri Jan 25, 2019 10:22 am

37th of Vortas, 2718
SKIPPING out on WORK | EARLY MORNING
Papers were shoved in his direction and it was with easy habit that the Sergeant rifled through them, deftly scanning over all of the official language and reading familiar signatures and seals, taking his time looking over each sheet before he handed them back with a smirk,

"Everything looks in order here, Mister Saunders. Thank you."

Glancing back to Francis with a nod, the tall not-galdor took the other man's hint of unease and curiosity in stride, used to the reaction to his uniform and his title from those who weren't galdor. Would anyone have acted differently had they known he wasn't galdor, either? He couldn't tell, wouldn't. The Kingdom wasn't ready for such a truth, though Rhys wondered briefly how many others in the Seventen had unwittingly lived their lives with a mixed heritage. Surely he wasn't the first half-bred bastard to graduate Brunnhold and Numbrey both over the past fistful of centuries. He just was perhaps one of the first who knew.

Hands now freed of official use reached to undo the buttons of his dark green coat and shed the layer, draping the decorated part of his uniform over a worktable before rolling up his sleeves, rolling his eyes at Gale's response to his warnings,

"Nor do I want to be your pa, but that doesn't mean someone can't look out for your erse. You do such a plumb clean job of it on your own." He taunted, still smiling when he turned to the taller, broader human, "That's a decent enough plan, Francis. We can meet in the middle."

With that, he moved to the right side of the room to gather scattered tools, most of which he could guess the use of but had no particular picture in his mind of how to go about it all, into a box. Stepping over what was smashed and broken, pausing to sift through things as if he could at all comprehend what was beyond repair and what was salvageable, he aimed for whole-looking things and set aside tools that looked destroyed into a neat row along one side of the wall, taking his time. He considered it better judgment not to overfill and make too heavy the box he assumed he'd be lifting and carrying again, and so he was careful to decide how many weighty objects to shove into one container.

"What do you do for a living?" Rhys' attempt at small talk while bent over the dirty floor was perhaps the most common of questions, but it was, hopefully, the easiest one to answer provided the other man wasn't a criminal. He could have asked if he had a family, but clearly questions of that nature could be complicated.

The blond Seventen knew that all too well now.

Once he was satisfied with the tools that he'd gathered and the piles of questionable use he'd made, he turned back toward the center of the room, blue eyes washing over the drill press as if judging its weight. He, too, noticed that someone had made an attempt at either stealing it or knocking it over with the removal of the bolts that held it to the floor. The fact that it was both still standing and in the forge was a reminder of how heavy it must be,

"I take it this thing doesn't come apart any further for easier transportation. Think it will break the cart?" Rhys' fair brows drew together as he mulled over the task, considering their options and aware he brought a bit of magical intervention to the situation so long as no one had any strong objection to his abilities, a galdor-trained wick among humanity as he was in this moment.
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