Darkenhold: A package delivered, only a few hours late

[Glenn]

For Glenn Burnie, there were a great many differences between residing at Esraeux, Master Deost's manor, and at Darkenhold. One of the most noticable ones was that he was a great deal farther away from Myrkentown now. It meant easier commutes to training (in that he had to just leave his room), but it made it slightly harder to go to the Dagger every night.

It meant that Glenn did not quite feel up to the journey last night. It was one of his first days active once more, and perhaps he did a bit too much a bit too soon. He was to deliver two maps to the returned Ymir that night. That did not happen. Luckily, Ymir just happened to be staying at Darkenhold as well. It meant that the two maps in question, one of Myrken today, post-Myrkenwall and the other of Myrken for when the Ringwall was being planned, could be delivered straight to the mans door, or in this case, under them.

[Wendy]

To Ariane Emory, the lady instructed, and handed off a quickly penned note with a scrawled script that may take time to decipher. The teahouse has been busy with its new hours, and there is hardly time enough to put care into her writing. Eventually, Miss Emory might understand.

Ari,

Cinn has relayed your messages, but I can't recall what I may have been right about. That means I haven't seen you in too long. Let's get together.

Hurry,
C.

[Ymir]

The maps, delivered in due time, were welcomed by the half-dwarf. Indeed it was fortuitous that he had received them upon returning from the teahouse. Ahhh how relaxing the teahouse was. He had been honored to sample teas that would probably end up on a new menu that the Madame of the house would create. Yet he was not alone in the testing, he was later aided by the Governor of Myrkenwood himself. The Mul had perhaps found an environment within which he could relax. He had already selected a favourite tea.

Unfortunately, despite the relaxing atmosphere at the teahouse, he had tasks to complete. The first piece of the puzzle would be the maps, yet they were left, face down, upon his bed as he strode from the room and locked the door. They would be of use very soon, but now he needed to acquire another tool, and it would require no small amount of work.

Clad in loose brown breeches, brown hobnailed labourers boots, and a sleeveless labourers tunic he made his way through the corridors of Darkenhold. Quincy had informed him that there had been a forge, and he would put it to use this day. Likely the place was so new that the forge had been completely untouched but if there was any luck for the Mul, and there usually wasn't, a fire would already be stoked and burning.

When he got to the forge, it was as he predicted, barely used if at all. It would be a dirty job, but the Mul was prepared for it. He sought a leather apron hanging on a peg on the wall by the tools of the forge and hung it over his head, then tied the apron strongs neatly at the small of his back. He began to unwind the bandaging on his right hand, that flowed all the way up his arm and to his shoulder. He then began to heap coal into the hearth. Using his hands and ensuring it was spread around enough into the firepot and some excess outside. Once satisfied, he took a moment to light the fire...

After the fire was lit, the Mul used the largest set of bellows he found and inserted the nozzle into the tuyere beneath the hearth. He then began to fuel the fire with steady and strong movements. The blaze began to burn hotter, and once the half-dwarf found a temperature he deemed acceptable he dropped an large iron ingot into the firepot with a pair of tongs. He placed the tongs aside and then began to use the bellows once again to ensure a hot temperature continuously assaulted the metal. It would take some time til it became white hot.

Once the ingot became white hot, he used the tongs to take it from the fire and place it on the anvil. He began to work the ingot with even powerful strokes. Constantly shifting the metal on the anvil with the tongs in order to ensure it was becoming flat. Sparks flew and spattered his frame and clothing, yet his eyes did not tear up, nor did exhaustion hit his limbs. This was labour, this was what he was bred for.

Continuing his work until the metal was very flat, the Mul placed the material back into the firepot of the hearth and began to work the bellows once more. His eyes searched around for a swage block, a hardy tool for shaping, and a punch. Once he determined the the material was hot enough once more he began to use the swage block, using the tongs to hold the material steady as he pounded the hot iron and the metal began to gradually take shape.

Using the horn of the anvil, the hardy hole and hardy tool for some shaping, the pritchel hole to punch a hole through the material. Eventually the half-breed finished the item and used the tongs to dip it into the slack tub. The hiss of steam as the heated item met the water. Once it had cooled enough, and he ensured the fire was doused, the Mul took the item and examined it.

He retrieved a long wooden shaft and bored a hole through the end of it. He then placed the item on the end of the shaft and used a pin arrangement to lock it in place at the end of the shaft. With a gleam in the half-dwarf's crimson eyes he began to run his thumb over the edge of the item. There was a wickedness in his gaze, fortunate that none present could see it.

Exiting the forge he spun the implement on it's shaft in his hands and thrust it towards the earth, satisfied as it bit into the soil with ease. He smiled, so very lightly, to himself. The expression looking, as always, rather grim on the man's scarred features. Yes, it was ready...

...the shovel had been prepared.