A New Domain

Where Gale spends a morning getting used to the new forge.

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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
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Crosspatch
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
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Wed Jan 09, 2019 4:57 pm

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the forge | early morning
04 Achtus 2718
Gale did not sleep as well as they used to. They put it down to the recent changes of lifestyle. The foreign ceiling, the alien bed, the different position and covers. The floorboards did not creak as loudly here, the windows barely rattling as the northern winds raced its way down the street. The threat the roof made to lift never came, instead only the faint whistling up and around the eaves was the sound produced by nature. There were other sounds too, voices of the outside world; all different as they worked their way up the narrow canal throughout the day. The gas lamps lit on time, the hissing spark of noise. The people were different too, they did not know the smith – they were an outside despite only having come from a different borough. A blessing in some respect, they became an unknown.

And the less people knew the better.

But that was the lie they told themselves. A fabricated reason for their discomfort. Yes, they were still factors to it – but they were considerably minor in comparison to the real reason.

Their back was on the bed, blanket pulled up around them, shirt covering their form. The chest rose and fell, the green orbs blinking at the sloping ceiling – they inevitably locked onto a cobweb that nested in the corner. The healing injuries gave a complaint, tightening and tensing before easing. The stitches may have been gone, but the pain was still very much there. Angry lines of healing injuries, scarring over and leaving tiny dots where the knots once laid. The removal hardly hurt, but the reminder of what could have been lingered. Fear had become their bedfellow. It found them in the darkest of nights, chased them through the shadows of restless dreams, whispering into their ears. It haunted them, relentless in its pursuit.

Scars ever served as a reminder of what was and what could have been.

A bell sounded somewhere in the distance, echoing out across the city as the time was tolled.

Gale sighed and rose from the warmth. The air was cold; the shoulder gave a complaint as the chill pinched at it. Stiffly, the left was rolled with the fingers of the right massaging into it as they surveyed the space they called their bedroom. Binding, clothing, it was all tugged on in the low light before they left. Across the threshold of their better described apartment, they took the wrought iron spiral steps down into the street level forge below.

Heat still lingered here, the embers of yesterday floating through their business. As the lanterns were lit, the glow cast across the forge grew. Poker tended to fire, better arm pulled against the bellows. A rush of air, the embers grew, growing warm against the cold, the lighter kindling pieces beginning to smoulder and burn. Another pull, the same rush chased through the piping as heat spilled out. The chill that threatened to sink in was chased away, a warm numbing flickering against their features.

They stopped when they heard the crackling, withdrawing to move around the rest of the forge. Fingers traced against tools, the left attempting to rise a distance above the waist – it complained and refused. They had been warned enough about pushing themselves, told they needed to let it heal. An easier said than done statement when their livelihood was dependent on physical labour.

Round to the front they opened the furthest pair of street doors, hooking them back and allowing passage way into the building proper. It was still dark outside, the long nights upon them now. But that did not excuse them from working. More so as they had acquired a willing victim to aid them. From the front they paused at the displays, checking the molds were as they were, that things were still where they had been left, before returning to the heat of the coals. Stool pulled up, they took a perch and quietly waited for what the day brought them.
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
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Hollowbreak
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Thu Jan 10, 2019 1:42 am

04 Acthis 2718
The weather was cold, and francis had to adnit he hadn't much cared for the cold. And this season he cared for it even less as he trudged about in a worn out coat, heavily gloved hands stuffed in his pockets to keep his numbing fingers warm although his toes had no such comforts save for the boots that covered them.


He'd left hus home quite early, the blackness of the sky evidence of this. Though soon he felt ithers will be making their way to work just as he was. They all had to make a living after all and Francis... he certainly needed to as well, Ol' Coney having bagged him sometime ago, the old clocking arse.... twasnt like Francis planned to be gone so long and the fact he couldn't explain hadn't help.

'Oh sorry Conny, was' jus' caught up in some resistance crock an' kinda found out I ain't too good with flyin' Oh he would have loved to see the look on everyone's faves had he said that. Oh sure he would have been caught, tortured and probably vomited out all he knew but part of him petulantly felt it would be worth it.

Oh well, it hadn't all been bad. At leasr he found hinself with new employment in the form of an unlikely source. His mind couldn't quite wrap around that still if he were honest, in fact he was still surprised that he was now part of the resistance. Gods his Ma would have tanned his hide had she been alive and knew what he'd done. His Da would probably hand her the belt and watch, though not before getting drunk off his arse.


He allowed his thoughts to distract him from the cold. Boots clicking agains the ground as he hurriedly made his way to the new location of the shop after he helped with the move. His thoughts quickly went towards the warmth he expected to find there, definitely a good sourch of heat he could make use of so long as he doesnt slack off and find his new employers ire upon him.

Soon he came upon the door of the place, skies still dark as his pulled out a hand from the warmth of his pocket and laid a few heavy knocks on the door, begging to be let in before he froze to death.
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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
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Crosspatch
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Wed Jan 23, 2019 6:58 am

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the forge | early morning
04 Achtus 2718
“It’s already unlocked,” the smith spoke. During the time of their staring at the coals, they let the warmth bleed in. Fingers rubbed at extremities, a crack and pop of knuckles as they contemplated the heat. It needed more in the long run, to be fed if it was to melt metal and allow the process of smelting. For now however it served its purpose. They gave a small turn of the head to the noise, watching the other enter. Part of them expected some comment from them – aimed around not keeping it secure and the risk it carried.

A small frown bloomed, the thought trickling through their mind. Was it dangerous? They were expecting him. Yet there was no doubt that others still wanted for their blood. Or their brain. They were not sure on which exactly. Did it really matter? Right now? No. They were struggling with their own internal processes and the feeling of the metaphorical noose closing in around their neck. Social demands and expectations aside, they still had to keep up appearances.

The fingers fiddled with the handle of the poker, feeling the small bumps and prods in the wrought iron surface.

“And good mornin’ to you Francis. Well I hope? Guessin’ the cold’s not frozen ye balls off yet,” they pointed to one of the wall hooks in the work area, “Hang ye coat there. Less the heat will smother ye somethin’. Then, pull up a pew. Got a lesson for you.”

Gale waited, poker brought across their lap. They inspected the tapered point, digits brushing the ash off while he settled, “So, welcome t’ the forge. Now, learn its layout. Our space for working. It’s ‘ere we make things possible. Create all manner of tools for the common folk. Everything this side of the counter is our space. If neither you or I are behind ‘ere, I want a damned good reason why they are. They stay in the front ‘alf. Our workin’ space is our premium. Extra bodies piling in makes it ‘ard.”

“Now for as long as anyone can remember, we’ve been making tools. Thousands of years, yet a constant is the same. Metal. What’s changed is how we harness an’ use it. We used to only be only able t’ shape metal, nowadays we can melt it and mold it. Foundry work. Guessin’ you’ve seen ‘em up in the mills. Great big cauldrons. I do similar, but much smaller and not so much mass producing.”

Passing the poker to him, they continued to speak, “So, look about you. What you see? What tools do y’know or used before – not for smithin’ mind, but for any labouring of a sort.”

Getting off the stool, they walked around the work area – finding the various iron scraps and collating them into an ingot mold. Returning to the forge proper, they placed it on the side, “Yer probably used a hammer before, and probably a pair of pliers, and ‘course, yer trusty crowbar. Anythin’ else?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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