Weary Traveler (Open)

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

Weary Traveler (Open)

Postby Niall Hammerfist on December 16th, 2013, 2:50 am

Niall nodded thoughtfully when the Charoda expressed her admiration of the surface. She was like so many folk he kept meeting in Zeltiva. Full of wonderment. He hadn’t been there long. So he found himself singing that same song every day he woke to see the marvels of another sunrise. When he came back to reality his eyes widened as he watched his guest polishing off her flagon of Kelp Beer. Before she could see his mouth agape he quickly transformed his open mouth to a grin. He held his smile as she marvelled over the oddly flavoured brew he had provided her.

Niall chuckled at her energetic questioning, his grin growing to the point of touching his eyes. “Well, yes, I am a blacksmith. Though, one has a hard time practicing their trade without a Forge.” His smile faded slightly as he pulled Phyolea’s empty flagon and poured her off half of what was in his own. “As for beautiful things, only time will tell. I have a good friend here in Zeltiva who is interested in a few baubles I may try to create.” He took a sip from his flagon to wet his mouth, before he continued onward. “I make weaponry, shackles for ships, just about anything I can hammer into shape.” His smile became a grin again when he noticed her fascination with his arm.

With a smug look of satisfaction on his face he laid his hand out for her to see. “You can touch it if you like. It won’t turn you to stone or anything.” He said as he pulled the sleeve of his tunic up to his elbow. He flexed its metallic matrix, its sheen dark like obsidian.

After a moment of silence he spoke up again. “I can understand what you mean about beauty in foreign places. I went swimming in the ocean for the first time just the other day. Never before had I felt Laviku so clearly as when I felt the waves pushing and pulling me. It felt almost as if I were being cradled, and rocked soothingly.” He chuckled nervously, and took a swig of his beer.

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Niall Hammerfist
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Weary Traveler (Open)

Postby Phyolea on December 18th, 2013, 1:11 am

Phyolea squealed with delight in being able to satiate her curiosity about the Isur's arm. She squeezed its bicep. It was firm and unyielding, yet it was warm with life. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. It seemed as if it was made of precious gemstone, yet it functioned as a regular arm. Phyolea was no closer to understanding this mystery than when she first began, but she was excited nonetheless.

Phyolea beamed at Niall. Her mood was considerably greater, especially as he spoke of the sea. "You should visit my home someday! It is filled with marvelous architecture and everyone is nice and my family will feed you and you can ride our seahorse and you can come with us to get some of the gilded kelp which is the best ever and there is someone with the best sweet reeds ever! He is stingy though. Sometimes I have to sneak them. And we have so much music! And..." Phyolea's smile faded rapidly. A memory came to her mind. She became silent as she remembered the Massive Djed Storm of 512... the reason why she came to Zeltiva. Phyolea shook her head as she pushed aside her memories and clung to the happy ones.

Phyolea drank from the flagon. It seemed to help her think of better memories, when things were peaceful and happy. Her smile returned. "Phyolea, what are you doing? It's your turn. Get back on stage!" the innkeeper shouted from across the room. Phyolea looked around, but could not spot her. The stage, however, was empty.

Phyolea looked at Niall apologetically. "I'm sorry... I must repay your kindness after I am finished singing!" Phyolea scrambled back to the stage and prepared herself. Where had the time gone? At least now she was in a much better mood to perform. She beamed with genuine joy as she began to sing.

When you feel like you can’t make it and the world crushes your dream
Be the captain of your fate and know that life is one big stream
When the tides of fate engulf you and you feel that you will drown
Hold your head up as a royal and accept Laviku’s crown

Rise, waters, rise,
You must never sleep
The sea–king flies
To lift you from the deep
Sweep, winds, sweep
For you shall not prevail
For Laviku will keep
His children from travail

Phyolea continued to sing more verses, becoming more and more uplifted as she continued.
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