One Ring to Bind Them...?

by **Matthew** on August 14th, 2013, 5:40 pm

32nd of Summer, 513AV.

Matthew moved quietly through the trees of the Bronze Wood, glancing back every now and then to make sure he could still see the walls of the fortress city somewhere on the horizon. He had gotten lost in these woods once before, and it hadn't ended well. Their journey here hadn't taken that long, though. They weren't incredibly far out from the walls, and Matthew had only needed to make one stop on his way out. If Isolde hadn't been to the Heralds Arms before, she would have been introduced today as Matthew returned the cleaning supplies he had borrowed. A few of the women there made cute remarks about the new friend Matthew had brought to play, but one or two of them had gone white once they had managed to puzzle together that she was possibly a Nuit. A few hushed whispers later, and all of those little remarks had been rendered silent. Matthew hadn't seemed to notice at all, just going about his business politely and quietly, introducing the Nuit where he had to, and then had escorted her out and towards the Bronze Wood.

They had a list of things to get, and Matthew once more mentally checked it off in his head.

Matthew wasn't all too sure where to get more wire. He didn't even know if his meter would work that well. From what he understood it was rather hard to find, though the indoor market in Syliras was suspiciously filled with hard to find things. Mulling this over, he absentmindedly turned to his companion, blue eyes seeking hers out before he softly and carefully spoke. "Would you like to pick out the stones? It was your idea to come here, so perhaps you had ideal shapes in mind? I can help you look. Once we gather them, I don't mind carrying them in my backpack." He shrugged one of his shoulders, gesturing to the sack slung over it. He had the quill, paper, and ink safely stowed away in one of the side pockets. If he was careful, he wouldn't break them. The only other thing he had in the sack was a little bit of dry rations for potential snacking, and a few copies of his crude business card. Better safe than sorry.

He couldn't help but pause a moment to breath in the air. He enjoyed nature, especially in the warmth of summer. While the Wood intimidated him, he was slowly growing more comfortable with it. Step by step, and perhaps one day he would actually be able to walk around the outskirts of Syliras without a nervous knot in his stomach. Eventually. He briefly wondered if Isolde found the same enjoyment he did when it came to the outdoors. Could she feel the brush of the wind, or the warmth of the sun? He was fairly clueless about life as a Nuit, but had a nagging feeling that it was best not to pry.

by **Isolde Seibold** on August 14th, 2013, 8:17 pm

Isolde hadn't had the best time in the Herald's Arms. She'd spent most of the visit there with her head ducked down, shuffling her feet around, trying not to make eye contact and definitely not saying anything, fearing that she might stutter and end up causing Matthew to create even more of a scene. It was all so embarrassing. The little fits the women there had had, the teasing... before some of them realized and started whispering, eyes watchful and shocked, hands held over their painted mouths.

If there was one thing Isolde had grown to be contemptuous of in her day, it had been whispering. Gossip. She had practically been the town celebrity back in Mithryn. There had been so much hushed interest in what she had been doing, though she had known that nobody had really cared, that they just wanted something to talk and giggle about when they thought she couldn't hear. Personalities tended not to be too big in such a little place. Forced to work all the time, rarely were there any social events to distract from the tedious humdrum of everyday life.

Somehow Isolde had always been the talk of the town, even when young. She had started out the misbehaving little girl who went with that flirty Seibold boy. Then she'd been the young lady who married the man her father had always despised. Then the woman with two men, two-- one her husband, and --to make things worse-- the other her husband's best friend. She became the mother that bore the other man's child. The dutiful wife and more dutiful mistress, not even ashamed enough to bother to hide from the town the infamous love triangle she had tangled herself up in.

Walking with Matthew through the Herald's Arms had been just like that. The clandestine looks cast through the room. The attention had almost caused Isolde to shiver. She had been glad when they left.

She imagined Matthew was going to have to deal with a lot of awkward questions when he went back to work.

When they left the gates of the city, Isolde seemed to relax by degrees just as Matthew seemed to tense a bit. He might not like being out of the city, but the Nuit didn't mind it at all. She should have. She knew she was growing ever too complacent in this dangerous place. That these Woods were full of beasts and predators, of the human, animal, and monster sorts... hell, she had almost been killed out here once, by a ghost child that she'd met. It was not safe. It was not good to be out of the city.

But it was good to feel Syna's rays soaking into her pale, cool skin. Perhaps in the Herald's Arms she'd been reminded of the negativities of her... relationship with Vaughn. Out here, under the sun's warmth and the gentle breeze, she was able to think of his hands, those ugly, scarred knuckles, and how softly he could wind his fingers in hers. The fire that he summoned in her heart. The heat of simply being around him, that warmth, that love. His laugh. How perfect he had been with Wyn, his little Doe.

Isolde found herself sighing, running a hand lightly, absently over her aching shoulder. She glanced over at Matthew and found his eyes searching for hers. Would he be able to identify the odd, clouded sadness in her gaze--? A melancholy smile rose to her face, and she struggled back to the present as he spoke.

Isolde still had Alchemy, Creation wrapped snugly in her arms in case they needed it, tucked securely close to her body. Now she flipped through some of the pages --nearly tripping over the exposed root of a tree as she stopped paying attention to where she was going-- and skimmed a section concerning the keystones. "I think pretty much any shape will do. We should keep an open mind about that. Square rocks, rounded rocks... doesn't really matter, as long as we find two that are, overall, about the same size and shape." She didn't actually know if they needed to be as close to identical as possible, but it just seemed like a smart guideline to stick to. "Texture... that's mainly what we'll be looking for. The stones should be as smooth as possible. It'd be most likely that we'd find smoother rocks in or near a stream, or anywhere with running water. Hopefully we won't have to get too wet in retrieving them." The Nuit seemed to shudder. Gods, she hoped she wouldn't have to go swimming today.

"Other than streams... er, well. Let me think. Um, I wonder if there's any place within the Woods that people come out to gather slate rock...? If there's an exposed cliffside of slate anywhere nearby, people will have pounded off slabs of the stuff to use in various applications, from roofing to blackboards. Slate would be good for what we want: it tends to come free in rectangles with relatively flat sides, easy to glyph. Anybody coming out here would probably have left any bits behind that weren't big enough to be worth selling, the smaller pieces that they wouldn't need to load onto a cart to haul. So that might be worth searching for. Slaters will have brought out wagons or sleds to move the pieces of rock, so if you spot a path that seems too straight and wide to be natural, like a deer trail, we can follow that. Maybe we'll get lucky." She crinkled her nose like she doubted that might happen, then said, shutting the book and tucking it under her arm once more, "Until that happens, if that happens, we'll be stuck searching streams."

It might seem strange that the Nuit knew so much about rocks, but she had grown up in the Outpost, after all. Her parents had raised both she and her brothers with little distinction (in some areas, at least) regarding gender. Many of the families in Mythrin tended to be outdoorsy, and all of them were caught up in each others' business. People had used to make a day trip --almost like a mini-vacation-- out of labor-intensive chores like finding slate. They'd turn any little trip into an outing and anyone with enough free time would come along. Isolde had liked to skip her own chores in order to take part in others'. When she had been young, somehow doing the work intended for other people had always been more enjoyable than doing work assigned intentionally to herself.

by **Matthew** on August 15th, 2013, 7:27 pm

He was probably going to have to deal with a lot of awkward questions when he got back to the Herald. He didn't mind, though. He was slowly becoming known in the Arms for the man who would bed just about anyone if they asked. He had been brave enough to handle the two Isurian females, so what was a Nuit? Cold and lifeless wasn't all that bad compared to being dominated by two women who had right arms (left?) that felt like they were made out of pure rock. That, and all the inventive things they had thought of doing with those arms...

Matthew momentarily made a face, turning his attention to Isolde to stop his mind from going down that particularly horrible path.

She had thought it all over quite well. She went through all their options intelligently, listing them quickly and without a single stutter still. He was secretly delighted with how well his threat had worked on her, but had no idea how to go about rewarding her. He supposed not kissing her was reward enough for the Nuit. The harlot did keep an eye out for her, making sure to hold out an arm or tug on her shoulder if she was about to walk into a tree. She was focusing quite intently on the book, which he couldn't blame her for. If he had it in his hands, he would likely be focusing on it as well, and she would have to be the one who prevented him from walking into some random shrubbery. He was quiet when she finished her description of where to get the rocks, and after a moment of thinking, he veered off in a different direction. If she was still nose-deep in the book, a light tug on her sleeve would keep her on his tail. "I don't know anything about slate mines, which is sad, because that is a good idea. However, I have come to one location quite often that has a steady flow of running water..." He wove through the woods, glancing from the castle walls to the invisible path ahead of him, mentally mapping out where he was as compared to his destination. "...and the rocks supposedly are filled with minerals, so maybe that is a bonus. Whatever the case, I'm sure we'll find something smooth to use."

Even if knowing so much about rocks was strange to most people, Matthew didn't see it that way. He was quietly impressed with her knowledge. Any sort of knowledge was good knowledge, and having practically grown up inside of the Zeltiva University, he knew nothing about the outdoors. The only way he was able to find his way to his destination was because of the visible walls of Syliras, and the fact that he had traveled this way quite often. Other than that, he was completely in the dark. For all of his book smarts and analytic thinking, he was proving to be a bit useless to the Nuit so far. He would have to change that.

Eventually they broke through the treeline, and there were the Hot Springs. It was a natural land bridge of stone that the waters had eaten away at over the years, until only an arch remained, and the pool underneath. If the water had eaten away at that, there was no doubt a little bit of searching would reveal some stones they could use that had been polished as well. Taking the lead, Matthew took a bit of time to roll up the hem of his britches, painstakingly making sure they were straight and crisp. Soon enough they had been converted to shorts, and he quickly stepped into the warm water, leaning over to search for stones. It didn't take long before he had produced an oval one, and then another oval, and then something of a square. They had all been smoothed out by the waters that ran over them, and the dozens of feet that felt their way around them day after day. He deposited his findings one by one onto the shore, leaving them there for Isolde to examine and choose from.

"If anything, we can try to make multiple keystones. If we can somehow have the ring crafted so that we just insert stones as we please, then we can test out all the different ones we make? As long as we are careful, we should be able to find two that work the best, therefor making the rest of the process that much more safe and stable." He tilted his head at an odd triangle-shaped rock he found, noting that it was almost exactly the same shape as the picture in the book. With a shrug, he tossed it upon the shore, adding to the small collection they were growing.

"Do you feel normal mortal emotions?"

The question was sudden and cold, distant and apathetic. He didn't look at her, didn't regard her, merely kept focused on his rocks. "Or did the process take those away?"

Even though his tone was neutral, his mind was racing. He had a purpose for his question. She had her pursuit, and he had his. His was different. He needed a solution. A solution to a puzzle. Was becoming what she was a possible solution? He had considered it. Can you solve my puzzle, Isolde? The Final Problem?

by **Isolde Seibold** on August 16th, 2013, 1:19 am

The Hot Springs?
Smart. Isolde kicked herself. She should've thought of this place herself, instead of babbling on about slate. Gods. Not that she came here, or even really thought about this place often... but still. Use your brain, Nuit.

Multiple keystones, too? It seemed the harlot was full of good ideas.

As Matthew rolled up his pant legs, Isolde did her own version of the same, operating under the logic that two looking would be more efficient than one. She shucked her boots and then her socks, not really having to roll up her own pants, which were already capri-length.

The water was so warm. She stepped into it and it was like her feet had come alive again, the coolness vanishing, heat reverberating up from the soles of her feet all the way to her waist. She stuck to a shallow area, toeing around for rocks, leaning to pluck them from the clear pool. She would study the rock in her hand for a moment, comparing size, shape, and smoothness to the others that Matthew had already set out, and if it was found wanting she would send it gently back from whence it had came.

The Nuit was just sloshing her way over towards the pile at the edge of the pool, juggling a few of her own smooth stones, trying to keep hold of them... when suddenly: "Do you feel normal mortal emotions? Or did the process take those away?"

She flinched at the sudden, unexpected, personal question, splashing a little to correct for the movement, and a rock slipped free. Without thinking, she lashed out a hand to grab it-- too slow, reflexes always too slow-- and because of her arm's jerking motion the others unsettled themselves from their careful placement in her grasp. Isolde spent a tick or three spinning around, trying to keep hold of the slick, wet rocks almost as if they were a particularly sudsy bar of soap --or, more like, five or six particularly sudsy bars of soap. She only managed to save one, which ended up clutched hard between her hands like a hard-fought-for prize. The rest returned with assorted plops into the warm water.

For a few long moments the Nuit didn't do anything. The animation of her recent movements faded into utter stillness. Her expression dulled from lively to just... absent. Somehow lacking. Her eyes stared down at her feet, at the rocks. A memory flickered in her peripherals. What had Matthew called it, so very neatly? The process...?

She didn't want to have to remember that. Not at all. The Nuit shoved it forcefully away, sucking in a breath. But her hands had started to shake. She gripped her fingers harder to that one remaining stone, trying to find control. Squeezing it very tightly. Compressing it, applying hard, steady pressure, as if she might change its very essence by the strength of her touch--

Just. Just the feeling of having that done to your soul. After it had already been rended adrift from your body. After you should've died and moved on.

Her lips had pressed into a hard line. She forced one hand to let go of the stone. She bent, mechanically, gathering up the others that had managed to get away.
One~

Two~

Three~

Four~

Five~

There. The Nuit finished plodding over towards the pile that Matthew had set up. She pulled herself from the pool, sitting on the edge with her feet dangling into the water. All of the rocks were gathered onto her lap. That one stone was still clutched very hard in one hand. She tried to loosen her fingers, but she couldn't let it go. So she went through measuring which ones of the others would go best with that one.

It looked like none of them would match it, but she went through painstakingly anyway.

As she worked she said, voice quiet and subtly wrong, just not hers, "I-I feel. M-Maybe not the same as others, but I feel." She acknowledged the stutter with a tilt of her head, turning unreadable eyes towards the harlot. He looked like maybe he was going to glide his way over. She held up the rock gripped tightly in one hand and said flatly, "I-If you even think about it, I w-will hit you in the face with this." The threat felt acidic on her tongue, and she soon dropped her hand.

That feeling. Changing everything. So that you would never change again, and yet be forced to change all the time. And at the same time never be yourself.

"The pr-process takes a lot of t-things away. For s-some, more than o-others." Immediately it had taken her husband. Her daughter. Her very life. Her happiness. Within a few months, her friends. Her family, her mother, her brothers. Her home. Within a few years, her Vaughn. Finally, her hope.

Nearly her sanity, after she realized all that it had stolen.

The process.
The Nuit wasn't looking at her partner. She counted to five again, idly clacking the stones together on her lap. Then she cleared her throat, forcing the stammer out once more with a grimace. Some of the life returned to her face, but her tone remained eerie. Wounded, frail, and still somehow... detached.

"Eventually you don't feel anything. That's what I've heard, at least. I wouldn't know. I don't want to know. So please. Be careful."

The rock. She focused, breathing deeply, calmly... and her fingers finally released it. Her knuckles ached from clenching onto it so hard. It rolled from her lap to the side of her leg. She nudged it with a knee to roll into the water. That one was useless. There were no others like it.

Isolde set the rest up into her best approximation of matching pairs. Her eyes flitted over her work, scrutinizing, calculating. Eventually she gestured to the rocks. With the gesture she said, "So what do you think? Enough? Or should we try to match them more precisely...?"

by **Matthew** on August 16th, 2013, 4:01 pm

If anything, the harlot was actually a little nicer all of a sudden, sensing that he had touched upon something more than a little sensitive. He slowly shuffled his tall frame over to her, and went about helping her pick up some of the stones she had dropped. She was getting them fairly quickly herself, and he really only had time to offer one or two of them to her before she was heading over to his pile. He followed her quietly, figuring that they had enough for the time. Finding a flat spot to sit on, he soon sprawled himself out on a clean patch of ground, allowing the sun to dry his dampened flesh. He was close to her and the pile, and helped her sort through them, trying to match the ones he could. Her sudden stutter caused a slow turn of Matthew's head until his eyes were nearly glaring at her. Her threat seemed to work though, as empty as it really was. He took a glance at her rock, a glance back into her eyes, and then turned and went right back to his previous work. He could tell without looking that he had definitely touched upon an odd point. Her voice was completely different, a sure sign of his suspicions. After she was fininished, he didn't press it any further, merely gave a slow nod. "I understand. It is... different than what I would want. Do not worry." Not a solution. Not to the problem. Not to his problem. It wasn't a cure.

"I think those will be fine." His own gaze snapped back to attention and he slowly rose, offering Isolde a hand to help her up. He felt oddly protective of her. She seemed so frail, and not just in the sense that she was a Nuit. He didn't quite like the feeling of protectiveness, but at the same time, he didn't quite lock it away either. It could be productive to the partnership to have a somewhat intimate connection, like friends did. If it became a problem, then he would wrestle with it. Bending at the knee, he crouched and gathered a small collection of the stones, emptying them into his pack carefully and slinging it back over his shoulder. He left a few for Isolde, just as many as could be carried in her pockets or whatever bag she had brought along. When they were ready to go, he took the lead once more, heading back to the city of Syliras.

Once again they existed in comfortable silence, unless Isolde had anything to say to Matthew. One of the reasons he enjoyed her company was because of the fact that she could fulfill the basic need for social interaction with another being, but at the same time, practically not be there. She seemed to be lost in her thoughts just as much as he did. It was an odd thing to appreciate, but it was certainly something important to the harlot. He was naturally an introvert, even if he could throw on an outgoing mask at the drop of a hat.

Oddly enough, he found himself thinking about holding her hand. It wasn't a sign of attraction or affection, more of the harlot instinctively trying to pick up on what the woman would need. He remembered thinking about it back in the bookshop. Did she ever wish for a hug, or the touch of another person? Something beyond the looks he had seen people give her just about everywhere they walked? He chewed his lip in thought, considering it. Eventually it was just tucked away in his mind, a note jotted down in the book in his library. Her book.

Soon enough they were in the city, and Matthew led her through the streets. They were an odd pair to see, really. A tightly-bundled reclusive Nuit who recieved some dirty looks, to a handsome and well-dressed harlot who recieved some admiring looks. A stark contrast. Matthew didn't even notice. He was too focused on leading them to the Harbor. "I was thinking that we might find some scrap steel bands from broken-down barrels that arrived on a recent ship. Perhaps we can snag one or two if we ask politely, or maybe even recieve them as payment for wheelbarrowing them down to the local metalsmith. We need to go there anyways. However, I am not so sure where to get the steel cups from. Perhaps we should just go to the Bazaar and look for some to purchase? If we can't find any good steel bands, we might as well just purchase a barrel or two from the market as well, and have the metalsmith disassemble it for our use." He threw a sideways glance at Isolde, checking for her approval, shifting the slightly heavy backpack on his broad shoulder.

by **Isolde Seibold** on August 17th, 2013, 9:06 pm

"I understand. It is... different than what I would want. Do not worry."

It's not what anybody should want. It's not what anybody should even consider.

The memory still swam at the corners of her eyes. Isolde blinked rapidly, trying to will it away, trying to come back to herself-- and did so by dragging out a question. "What would you want?" She didn't know where it came from, it just came. As soon as she said it she regretted asking something that could end up being so... personal. But, well. Wasn't it-- wasn't it fair that she ask this? He couldn't have known how very vulnerable his words would make her become, how vulnerable to the memories, the pain. The regret. Wasn't it fair that she ask something personal in return?

She didn't know. Maybe she was being vindictive. Trying to press at him because he had unwittingly injured her. She didn't want that. No. Not at all. More hesitantly, now, she offered, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I don't mean to pry."

Matthew was scooping up some of the rocks, leaving others to her. She set about collecting them, settling them carefully at the bottom of her knapsack, where they wouldn't have a chance of crushing any of her jars of paint. Then she was taking the hand that the harlot had offered, lugging herself up. She took a moment to shift her pack, keeping the strap from digging into her injured shoulder. Her muscles were already complaining from the extra weight. Pathetic. She sighed to herself, shifting her pack again, then trooped after her partner as he led the way back to the city.

Once within the walls of Syliras there was still much to do. There was findings the rings and metal cups, and getting them all to a metalworker. Though Isolde was loathe to admit it... the Bazaar would probably be one of the best places to head. Gods, she hated that place. All those people, all packed together. She was already catching the looks that people gave, and she wasn't even there yet.

Not that she was the only one getting appraised.

Isolde looked up at her handsome escort, sticking close --but not too close, of course-- to his side. She allowed herself to wonder, since it was easier to think about how people judged him than it was to think about herself.

What must it be like to be Matthew? Someone like him, whom the women lusted after so openly and whom the men so obviously envied? So far as she could tell, he wasn't paying attention to any of them. How was that? How could he not see how they all looked at him?

Perhaps Isolde felt herself a little jealous of him, something she didn't like to admit, not ever having been the envious type. Of his nonchalance, his poise. The way he just didn't seem to pick up on how he affected others. If only she had it so easy-- but no, what was she saying? It might work for Matthew, but it would never work for a Nuit. She had to pay attention to everything, lest she not notice someone who was intent on harming her before it was too late.

The Nuit could barely recall what it was like not to be afraid all the time. Not to be wary. Not to be watching, and waiting for something bad to happen.

It must be nice to feel safe.
Isolde sighed, and looked away before Matthew saw her staring.

Well... at least they could postpone their trip to the Bazaar, inevitable as it was. "How about we head to the Docks, then, first?" She was happy that her logic made sense, that it wasn't just her being a coward and not wanting to have to face the crowds. It made perfect sense to go to the Docks to check for rings before going to the Bazaar and having to buy them.

Unless, of course, you thought of the layout of the city.
Shyke.

Almost grudgingly the Nuit added, "Unless you want to run through the Bazaar on our way over...? Then we could check for cups, head to the Docks, and then go
back--" She forcefully held back the stutter on that one word, gritting her teeth.
"--to the Bazaar, if necessary."

by **Matthew** on August 20th, 2013, 12:22 pm

He understood the reasons why she had returned his personal question with one of her own. That is why he wasn't really offended. It was only polite. He had pressed a sore spot it seemed, even if he hadn't meant to. The fact that it was a sore spot only raised more questions, though he wisely kept those to himself. Why had she changed into a Nuit if she was so very opposed to it? Was there no way to turn back? Why was she still alive if she hated the thing she was? Did she hate what she was, or just whatever had turned her into it? Chewing his lower lip for the umpteenth time, he quietly and distracted answered her inquiry. "A problem I have. Just... a problem. My head... thinks too much." He was vague and cryptic, though it didn't seem to be on purpose. For once, he actually visibly struggled for the words to let out of his lips. There was a brief look of confusion at what he was trying to say, and frustration that he couldn't say it clearly. Then it was back to normal, the moment only there for mere seconds.

If she shifted the pack around enough to be noticeable, he would quietly offer his hand to help lug that one. He wasn't particularly strong, but he was fairly sure that he was stronger than a slowly-rotting body. He cast another eye at her, now suddenly curious about that. How did they preserve their bodies? He had actually been to Sahova once before, and encountered a large number of the things. The time that he had spent there was fairly faded in his mind.

Blinking a bit, he realized that it was very faded. He hadn't really remembered that trip in quite some time. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced away, focusing hard on the vague thoughts swelling deep inside of his mind. Isolde wasn't the first Nuit he had met, or the second, or the third. There had been one or two back at the University, but then there had been so many in Sahova. But why...?

Slightly bothered by his own mind betraying him, Matthew was just as quiet as Isolde was for about all of the walk. He was completely oblivious to all the people staring at the two of them, and barely aware of the road they were walking. He was so detached and distant that he simply didn't notice any stares that they received. He was more than happy to lose himself in his own thoughts, which was really probably a bad thing. He missed details that way. He liked to be keenly aware of his surroundings, but at the same time, he was often lost in another world. It was a stark contrast that would annoy him if he ever stopped to think about it.

"We'll go to the docks first." He suddenly snapped out of his stupor, finding that searching through the haze in his brain was almost completely useless. He didn't give a reasoning for going there first, as he wasn't sure what the reasoning was. He had simply decided. They would once again be left in quiet, until their path ended at the Harbor. Almost immediately Matthew started heading over to a little section on the side, noticing that several ships had just docked. Luckily for them, several of the crewmembers were discarding old and worn equipment, giving it up to the Knights in order to be recycled. There were plenty of barrel ring clamps, as well as some old silverware and dinnerware. A guarding Knight eyeballed them as they approached, finding them just as odd as everyone else did. "Might I help the two of you with something? It isn't very safe to be wandering the harbor, unless you have business." Matthew nodded, not put off at all, studying the pile of rusted and stained metal. "We were looking to salvage some metal for a project of ours. We just need a ring, as well as a few cups. Do you think you could spare it?" The Knight tilted his head, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "The metal here is recycled to go back into the city. Every bit counts. I am afraid I can't just hand it away. The metalsmith will want every piece." Matthew glanced from the metal to the Knight, blue eyes suddenly sharp. "Perhaps if I lug the portion from this ship to the metalsmith? If I can just wheelbarrow it over, it would save you some trouble. Payment would be as simple as just three or four of these worn out pieces."

The Knight paused, considering this. It wasn't often that someone so readily offered to help. After a moment of thinking, he glanced back and forth between the two partners, and offered a small nod. "That will be fine. It'll only be a single wheelbarrow load." The Knight wasn't even worried about them simply stealing from it. He had a small paper with the metal count, and the smith would double-check. Not many people would steal old metal and risk an encounter with the Knights. Turning to Isolde, Matthew offered a small smile. "Would you like to sort through what is already here? Maybe they even have the cups. If anything, we can stick to the Harbor all day long, and help with scrap metal where we can. From what I understand, this place is always busy." After a moment of discussion, Matthew would then roll up his sleeves and go offer his help to the sailors having to lug stuff off the ship. Might as well pass the time.

by **Isolde Seibold** on August 22nd, 2013, 5:54 pm

"A problem I have. Just... a problem. My head... thinks too much."

His head... thinks too much? Isolde thought she might possibly know what he was talking about --she certainly had times when she become beleaguered by her own thoughts, feelings, and especially memories. But though it wasn't always the most pleasant experience (to put it kindly) she always embraced it, endured it. Because even experiencing such a thing meant that she was at least partially still who she had been, didn't it? She might have been changed by the... process, as Matthew had put it so kindly earlier. Her body and even her soul might have been warped. But she really did still feel. She really did. And that meant that she was still, somehow, a person, didn't it? The Nuit might struggle a lot with herself, with morality, with the decisions she made and the actions she took... but at least she struggled at all. The fact that it was never easy meant something, didn't it?

She liked to think it did.

Perhaps she understood what Matthew was --for once-- unable to say. And perhaps she didn't understand at all. What she wasn't going to do was make him talk about it if it was hard for him, or if he didn't know what to say or how to say it. And honestly, he probably didn't want to talk about it with her, regardless. Still, she couldn't help but offer, tone lashed down to remain carefully neutral, "If you ever need to discuss your, ah... problem... well. What are partners for?"

The harlot's next statement, that they go to the Docks first, caused Isolde to beam up a smile at him, ridiculously pleased. She forced the smile from her face, scolding herself for letting her dislike of crowds control her. If she was smart, she would head over to the Bazaar some uneventful day and immerse herself in the people, there. Figure out how to ignore what was unimportant, figure out how to pick out what might be crucial --someone who was purposefully going to knock into her, shove her, or otherwise try to do her harm by such a small act of unkindness-- and especially figure out how to properly go about walking in a big crowd. Well. Walking without getting stampeded all the time, or turned around, or distracted, or tripped up. Now her expression turned a bit glum. Yes, she would probably have to do that at some point in time, now that the idea had come to her head.

Perhaps Matthew could come with you.
The Nuit blinked, eyebrows drawing down. She crossed her arms.
No. The escort shouldn't have to babysit her.

Isolde made sure to pay attention to the conversation between Matthew and the Knight, keeping to the harlot's side but not opening her mouth to say a peep. She wasn't necessary in the conversation, and she didn't want to catch the Knight's attention, to advertise --with her black tongue and painted, pale face-- what she was.

"Would you like to sort through what is already here? Maybe they even have the cups. If anything, we can stick to the Harbor all day long, and help with scrap metal where we can. From what I understand, this place is always busy."

"Sure. I'll go through what I can." The Nuit gratefully rolled her knapsack off her back, setting it down --with a dull thump-- somewhere she thought it would be safe from kicking feet, and also making sure there was absolutely no way it would be able to tilt or be knocked into the Suvan. In fact... she positioned herself so that was unlikely, too, giving the water a distrustful glance. She would be certain not to let herself stray too near. Didn't want to give herself the opportunity to fumble over her own feet and fall in --which wouldn't probably end well unless Matthew was a strong swimmer or someone felt like rescuing an abomination. Her placement also meant that any practical jokers --or particularly malicious sailors-- wouldn't be able to push her in. Not that she thought that might happen. But one should always be prepared.

"If you find anything interesting, make certain you bring it over. I'll do the same." With that, Matthew prepared himself and then started off. Leaving the Nuit to her assigned task of sifting through this stuff.

Isolde knelt next to the pile. Matthew had said vinegar would take the rust off of metal... so she didn't have to worry about that unless the quantity of rust affected the strength and structure of the metal itself. There were actually quite a few different rings that had been bashed from barrels. Most were dented, some so much that it wouldn't be worth it to scavenge them. She pulled those out of the pile, her left arm working awkwardly against twinges of pain and stress, and once she'd removed them she was able to set them to the side. That only left four or five. She carefully inspected each, running her hands over them, feeling for dents, picking at the rust with her fingers to measure how badly each ring was affected. She almost wondered if they could get two of them and set them one on top of the other to thicken the build of the ring, have those welded together for a sturdier product. That would probably be something to ask Matthew about, and so she settled two such eligible rings to her other side.

Once during her inspection, one of the workers wandered over, arms full of metal refuse from the ships, and dumped his load unceremoniously into the pile. Isolde felt herself automatically murmuring a thank you, and the man gave her a stiff, disgruntled look before strutting his way off again to continue with his own work.

Finding metal cups was a lot harder. There were a lot of different clasps and hooks, large nails, even clunky metal tools that must have been replaced by newer, lighter models. The silverware, obviously, was their best bet. Problem was... there wasn't much of it. So far there was a lot of grungy forks and knives. Larger pieces, like cups and plates, were less common.

Eventually, after digging through most of the pile, Isolde came across a bowl that looked suitable. The corner was chipped; perhaps they would have to get that fixed. Now her goal shifted to trying to find one of the same shape and thickness... ultimately, the Nuit felt (like with the keystones they had gathered) that symmetry was good for this sort of thing. Perhaps they would have more like this one on the ships, still? They might even be willing to let her and Matthew buy them for a cheaper price than market value... or give them away if the two agreed to do more labor. This type, though, she thought would be best.

With the entire pile sorted through, the Nuit set to loading the nearby wheelbarrow with all the throw-away pieces that would need to be delivered for recycling. Some of them were rather large and bulky, and she was small and a Nuit, besides. When she came to those pieces, one would see Isolde straining to get a good grip and lift the heavier bits up, before staggering and swaying around with them haphazardly in her grasp, furiously hoping that she wouldn't end up dropping the item and crushing either her own foot or some unsuspecting passerby's.

When Matthew next wandered back, the Nuit showed him the scanty pieces she'd picked out with a discerning, serious eye, which only amounted to the two best rings and the one little bowl. "Since the doorway we're creating is rather... different than those modeled in the book, we're going to have to be a bit creative in our design. So, I'd like your opinion on the build. Do you think it would be better to go with one ring for the base or two, welded together? Using one ring would have the bonus of being lighter, easier to transport, and probably a bit neater and more seamless. Two, however, might lend strength and extra support to the project as a whole."

The Nuit paused, considering, then held out the metal bowl for Matthew to take in his hands. "This was the only suitable piece of tableware that I thought might meld easily to the ring, and was appropriate in size and shape for our beginning needs. Have you seen any more like these on the ships...? If you have, then I think we need to talk to someone about either purchasing them or doing extra labor and receiving the bowls as payment. Which leads me to my next question of design."

Isolde glanced up at her partner. "Do you think it would be better to use four bowls of like type --two to be used for a fount and filter, and two for two keystones-- or perhaps to use two different shapes of container, one style to be used for the chargers and one style designated for the keystones? Some glyphing might be enough to distinguish between different slots, but a distinct shape for each might turn out to be a better idea." The Nuit was saying all of this pretty openly, her voice at a carefully conversational level, and despite that the pair weren't drawing any more glances than usual. Their discussion would most likely seem like a bunch of strange blather to anyone with inexperienced ears, and to one who knew enough about Alchemy to understand, well. That person likely wouldn't want to draw attention to themselves by alerting the Knights to possible magic discussion.

The Nuit sighed, not quite through. "And then there's still the matter of finding or creating more djed wire. That part isn't necessary for the circle, it doesn't seem... but it does help create a product that is more efficient, that can channel djed faster with more focus... and not to mention the safety aspects..."

She'd never really built anything remotely like this before. She had helped construct some things, but nothing this important, or at least nothing that had been so important to her own goals for the future. She wanted to do it right, so that the next ring they built would be considerably better. Such was progress, after all. That meant a lot of discussion on small matters like the ones she had just mentioned. And, already, she knew to value Matthew's input, to pose questions to him. Honestly, he was probably much smarter than her --he had studied in Zeltiva, after all-- so it was best to consider his opinion carefully.

by **Matthew** on August 23rd, 2013, 2:19 pm

A sidelong glance was shot at the Nuit, cold blue eyes considering for a moment. He rarely discussed this sort of thing. Putting words to it made it that much more real, and made him realize how wrong it was. It was like something was inside of his head. He had considered that it might be an effect of overgiving, but that couldn't be it. He could remember the gnawing in his mind since he could walk. It had always been there, like some sort of sadistic friend that had held his hand throughout life. Sometimes the buzzing stopped, sometimes it stopped for months on end. But eventually it always came back, and sometimes it was worse than others. He could remember a night in Syliras where had spent hours rearranging his room, trying to make everything make sense. It had infuriated him. His fingertips had bled and tears had sprang to his eyes, because he had realized what a prisoner he was. Why in the world did his mind demand that he find some logical order for his room? There wasn't even a logic to be applied to sorting an apartment. It was a hopeless monotony, and he had been aware of it. Then why had he kept rearranging, over and over and over and over?

He faintly realized he was still staring at her, and his jaw and clenched. He forcefully relaxed his face, glancing back towards the path, voice quiet. "I will keep that in mind. Thank you." It was a neutral thanks. He appreciated her attempt, and hadn't been offended. He didn't know if he would actually ever follow through on it. Admitting his internal struggle fully broke the facade, which he knew wasn't a smart move.

Her beaming face caught him off guard, and he furrowed his brow, not quite understanding what she was so happy about. He wasn't aware of how she felt about crowds yet, though the signs were all around him. He was just as oblivious to how they stared at her as he was to how they stared at him. Social norms were something that were a mystery to him. He could come to a firm understanding of them after a bit of study, but he couldn't pick up on them instinctively. And they seemed to differ so much when different races were thrown into the mix. Everyone acted differently around everyone else it seemed. It was a complex world. He sometimes wondered if he was that complex to other people, or if they found his harlot self to be rather simple.

Now she was crossing her arms and throwing a sullen look at the air. He was briefly curious as to what was going on in her head, but the conversation with the Knight distracted him. Isolde was happy to help, and he quickly took off to do what he could on the docked ship. A quick explaination was all the workers needed to trust the free help, and he was soon lugging going around to various areas of the ship to find things to unload. The cargo had already been removed, and they were now just looking for damaged goods that could be replaced or recycled for the next voyage. There were plenty of random little metal plates and silverwares that were still in good condition, and a few mugs that were just fine as well. A lot of the larger pieces of metal were already gone, and Matthew was left with the task of scouting out any spare nails, clasps, hooks, and all the little things that may have broken off at some point. He was actually the perfect man for the job, with his eye for detail and methodical nature. He soon found handfuls of little rusted and useless metal trinkets, and trotted them out to dump in Isolde's pile. He tried to keep them seperate, giving her a small shake of his head to signal it was nothing useful.

Finally, his methodical style of cleaning came in handy. On his last sweep of the ship, he found a bowl that was in nice condition. The only issue was that there was a hole right in the bottom. For the ship, it was useless until patched. For them, the hole could go right on top of the metal ring, therefor patching it and fusing it all at once. He took it out to the pile, and held it up for Isolde to see. She had her own stuff as well, and he was delighted to see that her bowl matched his. Setting them beside each other, he inspected what she had gathered as she helped explain. He nodded, gesturing to the bowl he had found. "That should work alongside yours. It has a hole in the bottom that may need patched, but I think it should do fine. As for the rings... I would personally say one. I would rather have it be as uniform as possible. Though, I doubt we will be lugging it around that much, so we could go with the two." He chewed his lip for a moment, then continued on. "We can start with one, and if it doesn't seem to work out, we can always have another melded on for support. Let's start with one, for now." He kept his voice at a careful volume as well, arms crossed as he glanced over what they were gathering. The question about the fount and filter was another good one. "I do think different shapes would be a good idea when it comes to holding the keystones. If anything, perhaps the metalsmith could actually carve a slit into the metal? Or, even better, what about two little metal boxes melded to the side? They could be rectangles, so all we have to do is slide the stones into them? I am sure we could work it out with the smith."

And then the d-wire. "I... we can get it from the Bazaar, though I am not so sure of the quality. I suppose it wasn't made, just scavenged from somewhere. It looks like our only choice would be to either buy it, or see if we can find a way to scavenge it." The second option was pretty much the worst. It wasn't like they had any sort of skills to survive in the wild with. They needed the wire though. The book had said it helped with conductivity, which they would no doubt need to help with the Djed flow. They were both beginners, and would need all the help they could get. Motioning for her to hold on a moment, he moved over to the Knight. A silent discussion quickly occurred, and Matthew soon came back. "He doesn't mind us just taking three or four little pieces, and the ring is fine as well." Keeping his end of the bargain he had made with the Knight, Matthew grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and strained. His tightly banded muscles suddenly became quite obvious through his fitted clothes, his face showing the strain as well. He managed to creep it just a bit off the ground, and slowly wheeled it forward. He glanced at Isolde, hissing words between clenched teeth. "Please lead the way."

by **Isolde Seibold** on August 28th, 2013, 2:16 am

Matthew spoke, spewing astute and sensible contributions. All the while he was comparing the bowls, bringing Isolde's attention to them, and he came to the conclusion that they were a match at about the same time she did. The same soft thrill of victory lit through the Nuit, a trembling tenuous sense that was soon forgotten. Then she was taking the metal bowls from him, stacking them carefully together before settling them in a very particular place within her knapsack: too high to be smashed, scratched, dented, bent, chipped or otherwise harmed from the keystones lining the very bottom and yet too low to manage to scrape against or even potentially threaten, in any way, her set of paints in their little, sealed pottery jars, which nestled together at the top.

Bowls in place, she slung on her knapsack, adjusting to its weight, turning her face towards the Suvan so she could wince out her complaint without Matthew noticing. Then she was squatting --using her legs to lift, not her back-- to heft up the two rings, fumbling with them, causing them to clang metallically together, a note that made her teeth stand on edge. "Sorry~" she muttered out to anyone bothering to listen, and then, with a grunt, she was lifting the rings further still, tucking them over her head so that they slanted awkwardly across her chest. Their combined weight settled to her shoulder-- not the sensitive one, she hadn't been stupid enough to do that. Still, they were a heavy pressure; then she shifted, getting comfortable, sliding them into a better position, carefully controlling how they moved.

Just about the same time Matthew was readying himself to heft the wheelbarrow the Nuit finally managed the rings into just the right place, knees quivering, unused to hoisting anything more than a couple of the heavier tomes at Undeniable Interests. Her muscles certainly weren't thanking her, but she told herself not to complain --she was hardly the one dealing with the heavy load. The Nuit took a few questing steps forward, pleased when she didn't just topple over. Actually, compared to some of the other pieces she'd carried today these weren't so heavy. She could handle this. In fact... "If you need me to carry your backpack for you just say the word."

Isolde might've been a weakling, a light weight... but she was also very serious. She would do her best to carry more, if she had to. This body wasn't strong, but she herself was determined in a dogged, trudging way, and --in life-- she had been sometimes been downright obstinate. She would carry more if it meant that Matthew didn't have to strain as hard.

As soon as he hissed out his invocation she was doing just as he had asked, guiding him through the Docks, making certain that people saw them coming. One good thing about all the glances they received, walking corpse and handsome man... people were willing, for once, to get out of the way. Especially when they saw that the handsome man was straining forward with a wheelbarrow, boring through the crowd, reminding Isolde of the look one had when they were plowing an especially rocky patch of field. Whether from deference to Matthew's exertion or simply because they didn't want to end up in the middle of some wheelbarrow catastrophe, people stepped to the side to get the hell out of the way, leaving more than enough room for the two to pass, unhindered.

"If you need a stop, just say so--" the Nuit called back over her shoulder, wobbling her way through the crowd with the rings in tow. Every once and a while she found herself actually raising her voice to shout calmly ahead, an effort to clear the way if someone wasn't moving fast enough. And actually... it was working.

Huh.

The fact that these people were moving for her --okay, so they were moving for Matthew, more like, but still-- awoke some vague memory from the Nuit's actual life. It reminded her, almost, of how she'd used to be treated; how she'd grown accustomed to getting her way, when all was said and done. Not that she had been particularly bossy or imposing, or at least not that she had always been bossy or imposing. More like, people had always given her what she wanted, regardless of if she'd asked. It had been a natural thing, part of the sense of community of the Outpost, and it hadn't helped that she had been the only girl in a family of eight children. Nobody had precisely handed her things on a silver platter, no... but somehow, someway she had always gotten what she'd wanted. At least, until the end.

Gods, despite the hardships of the Outpost and the rough patches in the middle, life had still been little more than a soft breeze, full of Summer sun and barely-remembered Winters.
And then it had all blown quickly away.

"There isn't far to go. Just to-- Winthrop Alley, the Ironworks." Supplying mediocre pieces of rusted metal like the stuff that they were transporting to one of the businesses of the owner of the biggest iron-producing mines in all of Sylira, and perhaps all of Mizahar, might have seemed like folly at first glance. A fool's errand. What would Vizerian possibly want with these castaways, not even fit for another Season's service on a ship? But actually, giving the extra iron to him to figure out what to do with was most likely the best course of action. If there were pieces he would want, then he would take them, recycle them, reshape them good as new. The others he would be able to run to the other, smaller metalwork businesses around, ones like Sultros Blades; he might, even, be able to get something of a price out of them.

Bringing all this heavy metal to the Ironworks had another advantage too; proximity to their starting point. Winthrop was snuggled next to the Docks; Sultros Blades, the only other place Isolde would think that might take this metal --besides, maybe, the Bazaar or some small place she had likely overlooked-- was across the entire city, near Undeniable Interests. Which meant it was also nearing the front gates; Nettle District, if she thought correctly. No way they were lugging all of this that far unless they absolutely had to.

Once they had reached their destination, they were allowed to catch their breath. Isolde leaned awkwardly against the nearest wall (the rings still draped over her like an odd fashion statement), trying to keep entirely out of the way of the bustling activity of the Ironworks. She ran a purposeful forearm across her forehead as if she had worked up a sweat on the way over when in fact, of course, she had not. The two were stuck in place for the time being, waiting for someone to come over, having been told to wait where they were. The Nuit turned to Matthew and asked, "Any idea where we could get a pair of metal boxes to be used as keystone slots?" She was actually stumped on this one; no idea if she'd actually ever seen anything like that. Most boxes she could think of were wood, or where of an impractical size for their project. Perhaps the Bazaar would have something of the sort. Or... back at the ships...? Maybe even one of the blacksmiths, for some reason or another. Regardless, now it was Isolde's turn to feel like she wasn't contributing enough; asking Matthew his opinion was one thing, expecting him to come up with all the good ideas --which he seemed to have done so far-- was another.

Closed One Ring to Bind Them...?