Open for Business...

[NightSteel]

...sort of.

Eagle's workshop was complete. The building was up, the roof was on, the tools of his trade and anvil had all been moved in, along with the small stock that he had brought with him from Glenmoor. He'd built on the rear lot of the house that he and Jinx had bought, on the border between an upscale residential neighborhood and the town center.

Now all he needed was a furnace.

The quantities of stone required to build a new furnace turned out to be prohibitive. It was hard to find, thanks to the wall that was still rising around the province. To complete his forge, he would need to find some way to have the materials diverted. Until then, he was stuck making minor repairs, doing the unimportant jobs that most blacksmiths foisted off on their apprentices.

Well, getting back to the basics for a little while wouldn't hurt him. Maybe he would find something upon which to reinvent himself. He was sharp, as armorers went. Back in the day, he had been known for innovation and simplicity. In those roots, there might be something new for him. So, he hung up his sign on the fence. Upon it was the outline of an anvil bearing his maker's mark, the same symbol that was displayed upon the collar of the plate armor he wore: A simple tree surrounded by a bit of ornate knot-work. He needed no words, no title or name to convey his trade, the anvil would be enough.

Now, he just needed to find customers..

[Rattrap]

Harold was a man who believed in hard and fair work. And while the less competition there was, typically more money he made, Harold was still always up for...well, friendly interaction. When word came around of another blacksmithy opening up in town, Harold decided to visit. The two shops were not far at all from each other, either, which would probably bring up some conflict - but Harold was confident in his customer base.

It was definitely with an air of competitiveness that Harold stepped inside Eagle's workshop, looking about the displayed stock as well as for the smithy.

[NightSteel]

Well, Harold was met by a blacksmith's workshop with no bellows, no furnace, and almost no wares. Harold couldn't be *too* intimidated by such a thing. After all, what was a smith without his forge? There was an anvil and a rather extensive set of tools, though, all well cared for.

No, the sight that would likely be the most worrying to Harold would be the outfit with which the tall elven smith adorned himself; a set of flat black plate armor that stretched from his neck to his ankles, bearing his maker's mark on the collar. It was simple and yet elaborate at the same time: The plates were unadorned, but there were many, and they moved very well with their wearer. The armor afforded excellent mobility along with good protection, and such a thing would improve its value greatly.

He wore a matched pair of weapons that followed along with his motif of black. They were longswords of black steel, pommels each inset with an onyx, and with crossguards resembling up-swept wings. The detail on the feathers was exquisite, such a thing would have taken forever to complete.

These two things were by far the best indicators of his skill, at least, if one were to believe that he made them. He wouldn't have done it *here*, not without a forge. But they didn't look particularly new, either.

Out loud, Harold was welcomed politely. "Good afternoon," offered the dark-eyed, long-haired elf, looking up from paperwork upon his workbench. He had gauntlets, but they were set aside so that he could continue writing. Red tape from the taxman, no doubt. "Is there something I can do for you?"

[NightSteel]

With The Wall encircling the province, the scarcity of stone had finally eased. The armorer could then finally begin the construction of his forge. In keeping with his determination to reinvent himself, he performed the work alone, all except for the delivery of the stone--he had sold the horse and cart in which he and Jinx had arrived long ago. So, block by block, the huge furnace took shape, growing towards the opening in the ceiling that he had left for the chimney. He chipped away at each slab with a hammer and chisel to make it fit.

Soon..

[NightSteel]

The armorer Eagle walked home, smiling. He had his first real customer. He'd have to wake Jinx with the news, bright and excited. Then, he'd have to get a good night's sleep and get back to his forge in the morning. He'd have the rest of the stones up in a matter of days, and then, well, look out world..

It was so close he could taste it, and it only redoubled his drive.

[Carnath-Emory]

This must be 'Eagle's lucky week -- or perhaps what greets him at his door, the next morning, is simply the inevitable. They'd met long ago, after all. In that humble tavern, they'd exchanged weapons, and she'd learned an appreciation for his deft touch, for his solid workmanship. There were no flaws, in the weapon he'd shown her. Its balance had been exquisite.

So just past dawn, there comes a sound knock upon Eagle's doors -- and there she shall await him, this woman in dark silks, from whose hand an elegant shamshir hangs. It is, quite obviously, too much sword for her, balanced and elongated for a body much larger than her own.

And this may well suggest to him what her purpose here is.

[NightSteel]

Ariane of house Carnath-Emory would find the humble workshop sharing a lot with a somewhat large home. Large enough for there to be a separate stable and a fairly decent rear yard, upon which a rather large horse and a small pony grazed. Not that there was terribly much to graze on given the recent heat, but still.

In that workshop, she would find a few simple weapons, many shining tools, a nearly completed forge, several slabs of stone that it was awaiting, and a shirtless and already sweaty Eagle chipping away at one of them with a hammer and chisel. He had a lot of muscle definition, for an elf; one could assume that he'd done all the construction himself, in spite of the heat.

Of course, he straightened up when he realized that there was someone waiting for him, and smiled when he realized who it was. In addition, when he saw what she was carrying, he laughed, walking over to his workbench and beckoning her to join him, taking a quick drink from a glass of water.

Laid out upon the workbench was a set of drawings of a weapon identical to the one she held in her hand, save for its intended size. "If you want more of these, you'll have to wait in line," the armorer informed her cheerfully, dark eyes shining. "Thank you for sending the governor my way. It will take a period of about six weeks for me to complete a set of weapons to his specifications, and then I can start on a match for this one."

By the time he was finished with all of those, it would no longer be a weapon design with which he had only a passing familiarity..

[Carnath-Emory]

That he'd completed the work himself is not an assumption that the woman is prepared to make -- not when there are so many able bodies in Myrken. Still, it has been impressive work, sound and swift, and it's an approving gaze that has passed over it as they speak.

But oh, such a brief conversation! There is a moment's tightness to her features, at that laughter, but it fades soon enough as she follows him to that workbench, and sees what is laid out there. It is relief, rather than disappointment, which fills her grey eye now, and her head lifts with a small nod for the man.

"Excellent. There will be no need for any others: it was a replica of this that I'd wished -- but for the Governor's use, you see? But if it is not these alone that occupy your time, there will be coin to ensure that you make them your priority. I wish no trouble spared in their shaping, but no time, as well."

She'd meant to leave then, her business being concluded far sooner than she'd expected -- but the sight of those horses gives her a moments pause. There is some time taken to examine the larger of the pair, and closely, before she wanders back to the workbench. There's a tilt of chin towards the pair, as:

"Your mounts; the large one. Was it purchased here, on Myrken land?"

[NightSteel]

The armorer listened to and nodded in agreement with her first words. "The metal for these weapons shall be the only metal that my hammer strikes until they are complete," he informed her. "But as in your art, rushing can lead to trouble. They will be completed as soon as possible.. but they will be *completed*." Can't rush perfection. As for the horse..

"May I ask why you ask?" He turned to face her, here, resting one hand upon the workbench. He knew, of course, that if one was curious about the reasons behind the asking of a question, one should inquire after them before answering it.

[Carnath-Emory]

Can't rush perfection. And she clearly has no intent to demand that of him; his explanation draws a nod of quiet assent from the woman, and the matter is duly laid to rest. Of the horse, however....

"Of course," she responds, with a glance sidelong towards the man, although its his beast which holds the most of her attention. It is assessed, even from this distance, in terms of height and muscle and the limberness of its stride. "My steed," comes the slow, simple explanation, "fell in battle some months ago. I am dissatisfied with its replacement. What I have sought is something of that build. So I wonder if it was bought here, and if you would direct me to the one that sold it."

[NightSteel]

"In that case, I wish that I could.. but Lumenn has been with me for many years, and like me, he has come from far lands. I will keep my ears open," he states then, with only a slightly joking tone. "You probably wouldn't want a horse from any province now, though. The poor things can't exercise in the heat. It'd be a waste of your money."

The big horse was fairly old.. still strong, but perhaps just a little thin, not quite so young and vital as he used to be. The heat was probably as big a factor in that as anything else, too. Eagle had been relieved at the appearance of the clouds for the sake of his horse, as well as himself. Lumenn had carried him far, and deserved to live out his days comfortably, where he could.

[Carnath-Emory]

Not so young. Not so vibrant. But still of size and shape enough to replace what had been so senselessly slaughtered. 'Horse', she'd called the great beast, it being tradition amongst her people to avoid naming things that might die easily, and without warning.

It had stood her in good stead.

But here is a nod to the man, as she turns to move away at last. "As I have noticed, ser. Still, you've my thanks. For that much, and the weaponry as well. I will look forward to testing your work." Just that, before she makes her exit, a narrow figure soon lost amidst what meagre shadows the noonday sun might cast.

[NightSteel]

As the rain pattered away overhead, Eagle worked.

The forge was finished. His bellows were in place, the coals were loaded, and the fire was hot. He had been beating away at what had previously been raw metal for days now. The elf was a very patient worker, as befit one with their longevity. He would first have to pound the metal into a workable state, and then shape it into the instrument that the governor had specified.

Three weeks apiece would be long enough. Two blades, two crosspieces, two grips, two hilts. He could save a bit of time by constructing the two simultaneously, beating one while the other heated, a nonstop shower of sparks arcing down to the ground like miniature fireworks.

It felt good to be working again. It made him feel.. Young.