Forging Ahead (Fia)

by **Dariel** on November 30th, 2012, 6:19 pm

The Azure Market
82nd of Fall, 512 AV

After spending maybe a dozen days and nights in the Diamond of Kalea, Dariel had quickly learned the Azure Market was a good place for shopping. For many and varied things. Simple but comfortable local style garb, foodstuffs raw or prepared, all kinds of little household items... pots and pans both literally and figuratively. That included quaint versions of the local garb in various color schemes.

For one, it would allow him to blend in better, even if his pallor of skin and hair would forever mark him as not being a native. He could still be a local. Lhavit was a rather cosmopolitan city in spirit, if not in fact. He had quickly settled on a silken robe of a somber blue, rich but not vibrant. When next he picked a set of white shirt and pants with copper embroidery, the merchant had however protested and insisted he would only sell Dariel a black pair of the same, ornamented with a pewter thread instead.

After much back and forth with the vendor insisting that white was not appropriate for Shinyama garb -whatever that was- Dariel had decided to follow the man's wisdom and added a matching black sash as well. Then he snuck off to another stall and tried to buy a white silk scarf, but instead he ended up with a midnight blue one that had little silvery stars and Leth's crescent embroidered on it.

He made a mental note to look into these unwritten clothing laws, but he had to admit that he really liked that scarf. While his other spoils were wrapped into a bundle tucked under his arm, the scarf had already found its proper place around his neck, with its tails left to flutter in the draft whenever it picked up. While ultimately rather dark, he trusted that it would still look acceptable.

Especially the scarf.

Ledger :

by **Dariel** on November 30th, 2012, 6:23 pm

Dariel had quickly learned the Azure Market was a good place for shopping. For many and varied things. Simple but comfortable local style garb, foodstuffs raw or prepared, all kinds of little household items... pots and pans both literally and figuratively. Weapons however were not a thing the market would ever be known for.

Which presented a problem for the boy who fancied himself a mage. His recent outing in the nightly forests around Lhavit had been a reminder that his trusty old glaive lay broken in a rotting or maybe already eaten corpse off the road. Oh, and here was that stall where a smith's apprentice sold forks and spears from a barrel that also contained shovels and hoes, and he had a selection of knives and utility daggers on a table, but there was a but.

But there was no way in this world or any other Dariel was getting what he wanted from this stall. The daggers were quaint but their make was crude and none of them truly fit the long slender hands the pale man called his own, and the gaptoothed boy selling them had never even heard of what Dariel really wanted. "A Glaive! A slightly curved blade atop a staff, taller than a man all in all. Like a spear made for cutting... No, no, not a petching shovel! No, not even if you whet the edge a bit! Sweet Eyris have mercy!"

About the time of 'petching shovel' Dariel's voice had started doing summersaults and his face had begun to take on a pinkish tone that would have looked healthy on most anyone else. Considering just how close to white the young man's natural complexion was however, one might have surmised his head was close to rupturing. Exasperated, he trimmed his gaze on the boy across from him, narrowing his eyes as if he was the snake staring down the rabbit before it was going to eat it.

The boy in turn replied by maintaining his cheerfully bland expression of blessed ignorance. It only served to drive Dariel more and more furious until he just sighed, "Fine! How much did you want for this one again?" Snatching up a dagger from the table at random, he weighed it in his hand, grimacing at the awkward balance. He was no weapons expert by any description, but he knew that the pommel of a weapon shouldn't outweigh the entire rest of it.

Then he heard the price the boy's master asked for this awkwardly-shaped hammer and his desire to just beat the smiling youngster's head in was positively written across his features. Dariel's hand even seemed to twitch up when this quickly descending downward spiral was broken up by an unexpected savior.

by **Fia Eaven** on December 1st, 2012, 7:48 am

"If'n you please." The mild voice was womanly but diluted of its power by shyness. "I'd like these ones." Interposing a little between Dariel and the unfortunate shop boy were a pair of wool scarves, a neat pile of kinas on top of them. Fia didn’t look at Dariel in the midst of his temper, but kept her eyes on the boy. "The kinas will need to be broken a mite." It was a happy distraction for the boy who was bearing the brunt of Dariel's overflowing frustration.
A few overheard words and Fia recognized he was the sort her Da said "did not suffer the fool". She was a fool in many things, but not regarding the tool that awkwardly pitched in Dariel's pale palm. A man deserved a blade worthy of his labor and his coin.
When the boy stepped away to fetch her change, Fia was able to advise Dariel discretely. She seemed uncertain of his reaction as she had pushed her purchase before his. Distraction though it was, the act made her nerves begin a reel.
"'Tis not good for you, Sir," she said without withstanding Dariel's imperious eyes. Knowledge fed courage and she fixed her glance on his hand and the half cudgel it held. Her words came in steadier lines. "For chopping vegetable, 'twill be fine. But you—your hands need something nimbler. Me Da hand long-fingers too. In the forge we made plenty of tools to suit him. That's what I do, by the by." Her eyes lifted, striking his true. "I'm a smithy," a persuasive clarity was beginning to inhabit her, "And I can make you something for half that wage at the Touch of Fire."

by **Dariel** on December 2nd, 2012, 8:54 pm

To say he was taken aback would be putting it mildly. From the moment the little redhead pushed past him, through her exchange with the boy who moments ago had only been saved from strangling by the fact that the table he stood behind was too big to just reach across, Dariel just stared. Much to everyone's relief this moment of shock also also allowed him to calm himself, inwardly chide himself for losing his temper to begin with... and analyze the scene.

His gaze picked at the back of Fia's head as if it could chisel the answer to the question as to why she was interrupting in the first place from it. He'd hate if it was out of ignorance. Spite and selfishness, or even wanting to be helpful, all had a vector, a purpose. Things he could comprehend and respect. But there was no excuse for ignorance. He never got an answer from the back of the head he so intently stared at, but rather from its front.

He sought eyes when she turned, but found only lids at first, and words. Curious. The woman seemed meek, but also seemed to know what she spoke of. She saw with a glance what he had taken a few chimes to work out. With a sigh, Dariel accepted that he could not force this piece of dead weight to use. Well, he could, but the result would be far from acceptable. Discarded, the weapon landed on the table, forgotten like the boy minding it.

His attention now was entirely on Fia. His by now composed mask of a face was letting on little beyond the fact that he was no longer upset, but when she finished he allowed a smile to melt onto his face before it faded into words. "Only a fool would dismiss such an offer. Shall we talk somewhere more comfortable? Or are you not quite done with your purchases?" His speech was calm, his diction so free of any kind of accent that it felt artifical, but the tone of voice the young man affected belied his curiosity.

Then he heard himself offer,"I can carry your purchases meanwhile." Nobody was more surprised about that than Dariel himself. This city must be getting to him, he surmised.

OOCSorry, this one was a pain to get out. I presume it's equally painful to read. I promise to improve.

by **Fia Eaven** on December 5th, 2012, 6:05 am

OOCHaha, don't even sweat it. It's all good.

Despite the hobbling of her tongue, the woman's ensuing look had a straightforward shrewdness, like a farmer about to barter for seed. All sense and no cunning, she could only speak plain.
"Don't normally care for giving advice unasked. But we all have a sticking place. Man's tools ought to be worthy of his labor." It seemed a refrain she inherited from older kin, spoken like a creed. Her smile was swift and only a little fettered by her dim eyes. "If'n you don't mind waiting, I have to get some soap for laundry still. Just down the way a bit."
Fia pocketed the loose kinas the boy returned with. He handed her the scarves tied in a bundle with twine. Dariel's offer to carry Fia things had struck her with the same surprise it was given in. His face barely yielded to the courteous expression he sought to wear. Here was a man not easily moved to deference.
"Kind of you, Sir. Thank you." It was an unnecessary gentility, most were, but Fia knew the joy of offering and would never discourage a small kindness. It didn't seem like the man would run free with the scarves one they were in hand. Colors wouldn't suit his graceful marble tones anyway, she thought with harmless mirth. So, the bundle of scarves was passed along.
"I'm Fia, by the by," she said with a quickly bowed head. "So, tell me what your purposes are for the weapon you want. Is it a knife for hunting, defense or traveling?"
She had done her part to foment conversation. The task would normally be nothing to her, but her spirit had been supped on by forces voracious and grim in recent days. As she walked toward the stall that sold soap, timidity faded into mildness. Small things pulled her attention but did not slow her pace. Her hand sometimes drifted over objects as she passed, curious as to their texture. A quietness that might have been serenity or fatigue inhabited her again. She was posed to listen and little else.

by **Dariel** on December 6th, 2012, 1:27 am

Following Fia in this fashion locked Dariel into a casual gait that would not have come naturally. Too long was his usual stride to not find the baby steps he felt he took behind her awkward. Not that she tarried. He was just used to striding with an efficiency others called haste. Oddly, he did not mind. Elation, he surmised. Sheer elation at a solution to his quandary presenting itself out of nowhere. A God must smile on him today, or so was one of the thoughts Dariel entertained. Hopefully it was Izurdin.

His own bundle of blues and blacks tucked under his left arm, he grasped Fia's ball of scarves with the left as they maneuvered the crowd, hearing her words spoken between bouts of curiosity. Hearing them, entertaining them and mulling them over, chewing them, sampling their texture and taste before settling on a response."But how do you know if the man is worthy of the tools? A toddler is hardly fit for a master's tools, no?"

He'd never learned to leave well enough alone. There was a hint of levity in his voice, certainly, but he still had to ask. His own higher functions picked at the question and wondered the same thing he'd asked of the redhead. Dariel had no answer except one, and an almot forgotten pleasantry."I presume the man may grow to fit the tools, but the tools will never grow to fit the man. Oh and before I forget, I go by Dariel."

"As for the tool I require, I was not even looking for a dagger originally per se. My weapon is the glaive. Tall, slender but with curves in just the right places, cutting... vulgar, I know, but oh so fitting. But try finding an infantryman's weapon in a market. Or better, try not. Myself making that mistake is enough."

"But come to think of it, a smaller blade is certainly a more... sociable choice for self defense."Dariel thought back to where he left his first and up to now last glaive.That weapon ensured he got to live the life he now had. It had been a sacrifice well worth it. But he had also begun to feel exposed and vulnerable without any stell on him at all. Even in such a peaceful city as Lhavit.

"Forgive me if I come off as rustic, but I accidentally trod outside the city on a night not long ago. I was just walking and well, I did not exactly got lost, but I was reminded that the world outside is not the world inside these walls. It is not good to wander unarmed." Dariel's gaze dropped to the little coin purse hung from his belt. How many Kinah were still in there? How much would he need merely to get by?

And did he have a choice? He could not lug a polearm about town. But neither did he have any interest in facing down the wild beasts of the mountains with a weapon the size of his forearm if it ever came to that. It was not really a choice after all."I am in the market for both, and not in a terrible hurry either which way."

But first there was the matter of soap.

by **Fia Eaven** on December 8th, 2012, 10:01 am

"Dariel," she pronounced his name as if she liked the sound. It was both sturdy and flourished, like a blade made right. "You sound proper like to me. I'm not the sort you apologize to for rustic habits." Fia's laugh was low and full of indulgences, for him, for herself, for the world at large. "I'm not from here neither." She wasn't from anywhere anymore, but it was not the time to consider that. The thought was returned to the pool from whence it came. It would find her again come evening, rising up like a pale and terrible fish.

The stall for soaps had blocks and bricks of the stuff with merchants cutting pieces with cleavers. Fia lifted broken waxy pieces to her face to inhale their bouquet.
"I have never heard me motto turned about like that, Dariel." Her smile was like candlelight, gently bright. "It's just a bit of hope I wind about people, that some are worthy of good things." She considered his point a bit longer, listening to him again in her thoughts. "If'n the man isn't worthy it will be no fault of mine. But if'n the tool isn't worthy, then I have done another wrong. All in all, let the toddler grow into the master's tools."
Half a pound of lavender soap eventually joined her purchases. This one she chose to hold, soothed by the crisp, floral fragrance.
"Perhaps you can walk with me to the forge. We'll talk a spell. I like to understand a bit of the person I'm making a weapon for." Fia explained. "Hope you don't mind overmuch." Her intent was not to pry, but to learn the shapes others chose for the outline of their life. There was a strain of courteous kindness that hopefully turned her curiosity from working harm. "I don't mean to sound fanciful, but I think there's something to a weapon made to suit. When you pluck it off a table you hear only the smith's voice. It should be yours too." Her thumb idly rubbed the white surface of the soap as she considered what few questions would serve her best. "It's a mite strange far as questions go, but what manner of thing holds your approving eye?" Merriment softly touched her, "Apart from your lady glaive?" To know his aesthetic taste would help her understand the nuances necessary to make a useful object a beloved symbol of its bearer.

OOCApologies, it seems tonight I get to stumble through writing!

by **Dariel** on December 9th, 2012, 1:53 am

Dariel had seemed quite overwhelmed by the olfactory din of the soap stand. Not that the Azure Market wasn't brimming with impressions. Other people blocked the sights, though they were often sights in thesemvelves, but nothing blocked the sounds nor the smells. This soap stand however was an army of aromas crammed into a very tight space; there was no getting past it. He'd taken the leisure of eyeing a stark white block that supposedly contained Okomo milk, though Dariel suspected it was from a simple goat.

Concentrating on it, along with Fia's voice, allowed him to deal with the barrage of smells however, commenting her words with nods and approving hums. But a piece of soap could naturally only hold his interest for so long. When she suggested he walk with her, Dariel turned to face the redhead again, twitching a smile."I will have to come along at any rate. I am carrying your scarves. And as you noted already they are not exactly... me."

"Speaking of which, I am actually quite smitten with your approach to your craft. While there is obviously room for such items as are not personal I for myself much prefer your way. But I am admittedly uncertain how your question would be best answered. Well, I presume you speak of corporeal things. Shapes, textures, colors and the like, not more flighty concepts such as patience or candor."

Dariel dodged a man carrying a brace of fish, wondering to himself where those had come from, and shoved past another haggling over an enamelled amulet of some description. The crowd in the market swelled and slimmed with an unseen tide. Now it was crowded, moments later it might be spacious again. To Dariel it was chaos unleashed, the realm of a mad god unleashed upon Mizahar. "That said, I like order."

"Method, rhythm, reason, sanity, purpose: Order." From the sound of his words, they were not even meant for Fia, but the entirety of the market. Dariel knew it, too, and found himself forced to voice his understanding of the futile nature of his complaint with a dry chuckle. Soon after he had made enough peace with the inevitable mess of the Azure Market to properly address Fia's request. "One cannot live in Lhavit without liking the stars I presume. And Leth; he very much is one of my deities."

"Leth and Eyris. Sweet, scorned Eyris. Well, not scorned here, but you would be surprised. In colors I seek out blues and whites, in shapes slender and tapered, in tastes caraway and saffron. I... have a soft spot for weeping willows; there is something quite sublime about reading or writing under one. I prefer cooler weather to warmer climes. A crisp cold clears the head, a sharp breeze makes the blood rush. I am rather averse to rain, though."

"No. That is not quite correct. Summer rain. When the stone on those paved and cobbled roads and paths is so hot you could prepare food on it. When the rains come down, carrying with every drop the scent of bloom in the air. When the water connects with the stone, there is a smell... Apologies, I doubt that helps you."

"I am very much a creature of touch as well. Polished stone or metal, glass, silk, all kinds of smooth cool surfaces meet with my approval. But I am also partial to those man-made things that are so weathered and corrugated as to have grown a shell entirely their own. These things tell stories. Running one's fingers across a cracked monument, finding the moss in the fissures, blown, rained, hailed upon... These things tell stories. They wear their entire life on the outside."

"I am also fond of serpents, though I am uncertain how many of these one sees around here. The simple yet efficient shape, the scales, their texture and patterns... these creatures are the epitome of elegance, are they not? Certainly, there are long-legged deer and swift swallows, but serpents are another thing I hold in high regard. I apologize, I am all over the place here, figuratively and literally."

by **Fia Eaven** on December 15th, 2012, 9:54 pm

It was a spiraling litany of things beloved and accrued. The moon-colored human did not seem the singing sort, so Fia was startled by the precise poetry that rained steadily over her.
Minute stories were scattered at her feet for her to harvest and fill her pockets with: the coppery smell of water and stone, things swayed and smooth, the soft lichen and moldering bone, objects pale, cool and seamless as a pearl. Fia dashed to collect the fragments, and wondered how they became dear.
She wanted to set the ideas together and show him the incomplete mosaic. How each splinter touched another to begin a picture complete. But Fia was oppressed by her language. It felt plodding, and crude as a post when she tried to translate understanding. It had all poured from him dreadful fast.
"Forgive me. I seem slow, but I am listening." She wondered if it would matter to him that they had felt the same impulses of pleasure over some of the same bric-a-brac. Fia searched Dariel's face for a soft chime. No, he was like the prow of a ship. He would turn aside for nothing when given a course. Her meandering words had little place here.
New understanding rose in her: his blade would require a double edge, no serration. It could not hitch when he pressed it forward. This was not the sort of man who stuttered. Even the careless trajectories of other bodies seemed to strike him as a poorly choreographed dance.
"Kin to the moon." She spoke the thought when she had purposed for it to simply drift past. Suddenly bound to the words she had intended to subdue, Fia had to complete them with color rising under her freckles. "I mean... Odd thing to say aloud," she laughed weakly at herself. "I've been indoors overmuch or breathing in too much smoke. But you-- I see the strings— the moon is in the same place in its seasons in the dark and brisk. Keeps a perfect shape but when you squint a mite… it's pocked up like the rest of us. All the stories he wears on his skin." Unwittingly her thumb ran over the pink and white scars on her hands, the small marks haphazard as the sparks that made them. "I think I have a measure of what to do. You've been more generous with fair words than I would have figured." Her smile played with mirth. "There's a bit of a bard in you."

by **Dariel** on December 17th, 2012, 12:47 am

Dariel stopped dead in his tracks once he'd moved to face her, almost causing an incident with a fat woman carrying a bolt of cloth on her shoulder. She had to careen about to evade him while another passer-by only barely managed to sweep his tray of pastries out of the thus swinging bolt's arc of destruction. Dariel didn't even notice, nor would he have cared if he had. His eyes were locked on Fia's and before she could even think to cast hers down as she had before, he thought to smile at her. He just had to.

In many ways, the little redhead didn't fit in his idea of the world. She had just proven how smart that copper-wreathed head was yet at the same time she went out of her way to evoke the image of a much simpler person. And friendly, far too generously so in his eyes. He even felt a tinge of worry that someone might abuse that friendliness. Modesty, true modesty, it occurred to him, went a long way in endearing one's self to people. He was just glad he didn't care to endear himself to anyone. Fia's modesty would have suited him as much as one of her dresses.

Which didn't change the fact that it worked for her. In fact her friendliness felt inescapable and infectious. And so he smiled. Dariel's smile even carried over from his lips into his voice as he spoke, just a little bit of spring to his verbal strides. "A bard, she says even as she makes herself out to be a scholar or diviner. Here you go plucking out bits and pieces from me and shaping them into a cohesive whole. One that I do not mind one bit as you can imagine. And you have the audacity to compliment me?"

"It is you who deserves the compliment. That was plain lovely. Even poetic. If your hands are even half as capable as your head I will need to sell myself into slavery to pay you the coin you deserve." Dariel's smile became unsteady, but he held fast. Fia would blush, at the very least, he predicted. As he had meant most everything he had said, bar entertaining the idea of slavery, he had no wish to make her feel awkward however. In a way, she reminded him of Keper. Warm-hearted, hard-working, earthbound. He only hoped Fia didn't share the bookbinder's sense of salesmanship or rather his lack thereof.

"I know this must be coming out of nowhere, but do you by chance sing or hum to yourself when you work?" He just had to ask. It was another thing Keper did and it would have been... did he just think something would be 'too funny' if it were to match? This city was really eroding the foundations of his stoicism. With any luck he was simply too blessed to meet people worth a damn for a change. But it was not something he could depend on.

Reminding himself that they were not entirely here to chat he prepared to get moving again. Still smiling, still more than impressed by the forgewoman making connections, sensible connections at that, about his person that he himself had not seen. Granted, not all of it had connected but she had refined it well enough from what had been a random list. He'd be very curious to hear the details later on. "Also, if you are going in the direction I am thinking you are, I might need a ring or hole to tie something to. But that is a bridge we can burn when we come to it."

His fingers wandered up to the silk scarf tied around his neck. Night and stars. Blue and silver. If she was going anywhere near the moon with her ideas and designs he'd be able to add his own flourish. Even though he'd need a new scarf then. A streamer or tassel would certainly please the eye, though its practicality was debatable. He would just have to trust her, but that seemed allright for once. On the other hand, he did not really have a choice. That made it easy.

Closed Forging Ahead (Fia)