Don't Choke the Tuyere with Clinker (Torc)

[Sairque]

Having never hammered anything in her entire life, the aim wasn’t bad, she had excellent hand-eye coordination, but the strikes bounced off clumsily. It wasn’t so much that he told her to ease up, but that she had to to figure out how to keep her arm from vibrating to death at each hit. First she tried squeezing harder on the handle, but after three strikes, that just made everything worse. not because we force it so. Well, squeezing didn’t help, sooo…Sai loosened her grip experimentally. It felt wrong, but the end result was better. After every few strikes she had to loosen her grip again, reflexively tightening up. She could feel the smooth motions, not of his body, but of his mind. His mind had to allocate little attention to the mechanics of flattening out the bar, while it was all she could manage to think about for the most part.

His recitation startled her at first, but the rhythm of the verses fell in nicely with the pounding of their hammers. It was hard not to dive into the emotional pool that grew and grew within him as he continued. Soon she listened less with her ears and more with their connection. It was habit, easy as his manipulations of the heavy objects around them. There were some places within Catabasis she wasn’t allowed, but much of the time she had free reign to explore. The bond with Aidara was different, harder to navigate. The one with Torc was somewhere in between. He lost himself in the past, something clear and tinged with a long and uncomfortable lesson, then something else that filled his entire being. Sai reflexively pulled away, unable to comprehend or make sense of the feelings it invoked in him. Love, of course, but the memory summoned power and blind adulation. It was fresh, whatever it was, and he hadn’t the distance to put lenses of analysis between himself and it. She wondered what it was he thought of, put himself to the mercy of, but their work came to an end and the connection dampened and died.

He looked at her, a smile revealed her teeth and she nodded. “I felt you, too, Torc. Thank you for letting me help.” Without thought, as Torc wandered off, she reached out and snagged a hand towel from the apron of an apprentice. He turned to rebuke her, but she lifted an eyebrow and he continued on. Setting the hammer aside, she wiped her hands , right arm feeling lighter than her left. As she wiped her face, something touched her hair, and she heard his voice again. Yellow eyes lifted from behind the cloth and she caught his look. A shy smile teased her lips, and her gaze dropped for but a second before returning, having needed the time to absorb everything in his eyes, the response was instinctive, a reciprocation. “You do nice work yourself, there muscles.” A significant glance to the press as he set it down on the anvil. It looked like it weighed just about as much as she did. She drew in close, scrutinizing the machine and Torc’s manipulations of it. She winced only for a second as he picked the glowing metal up with his hand.

The second and third time he did that weren’t nearly as surprising and she reached out to take the bracelet and study the delicate flower work he’d created with the paste.

“Wow, yes. She’ll love this,” she responded honestly. Addy cherished anything Sai gave her, but some of the gifts got cherished from deep inside drawers. This one wouldn’t get that treatment though. And she would find it all the more lovely because it with the exotic flavor of an outsider on it. He had created it. Sure, she’d pounded it a few times, but it was his work that produced the lovely end result.

Speaking of flavor…

“Are you hungry? Would you like to present her with this tonight at dinner?” She had a few things to tend to, the original reason she’d come to the shop to begin with, a set of knives, for instance. All the questions and interest could wait until then, anyway. She’d be better prepared to converse after getting some distance from the emotional lake he’d created for her to wade through.

[Torc Ironwood]

OOC: Sorry for it being short and sweet still don't have my computer.

Torc laughed in a deep rich tone,"I am always hungry, Endal. Crafting metal, takes fuel from the soul and body.", Torc placed the bracelet back down on the table. He smiled at the Sai and nodded, "You do me a great honor. The trade of work for knowledge was fair, you do not need a fool with no tongue to sit and eat with you… but if you promise to shelter me while we eat from all the angry Endal, then how could I say no!" Torc smiled, he felt his skin grow taut as his muscle contracted. "It will also give me time to put nice shine on bracelet."

Torc cracked his knuckles, feeling the popping of each knuckle loosening the tension in his fingers. "AH, forgot, knives. You are here for knives, if you like work." Torc pointed to the Zeltivian heavy daggers raising up to temperature. "I will take measurements, and make you a set. Just tell," Torc pointed the Smith Master, "That I do work for you. Also… name is Torc Ironwood." For Torc it felt strange to try and say his name in Nari. Their was no real translation for Torc, and Ironwood was easy enough expect for trying to bridge the two words in a sing song language. "Where should I meet you tonight Endal?" Torc said with a soft smile.

[Sairque]

Sai chuckled at the request regarding protection from the other Endal. “I can do that, in fact, after today I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with them.” Her fingers caressed the feather pin in her hair. “They won’t want to test that arm of yours out for brawling anymore; the only trouble you’ll have is peeling them off so you can get a break from the forge.” Sai pulled her apron off and set it aside, but picked up the light hammer she’d used, bouncing the head on the scarred palm of her right hand. “All right, you can make them for me. I’d like that. I’m looking for something strong that fits my hands,” she told him, smile fading as she got to business. Dropping the hammer to her side, she held her right palm up. Ninety percent of the weapons out there were made for hands much bigger than hers. “I was thinking two with blades the length of my hands and two the length of my forearms. Roughly, of course,” she amended, knowing nothing of what went into creating a blade. “If you can do that. I’d like one of each to be purely utilitarian weapons and then the other two to be functional, but dressed up a little more. Two sets of those, so eight blades total. And then how good are you at making hunting knives for dressing kills or cooking?” More and more ideas came to mind as she spoke, and she smiled impishly. “Told you you’d have to fight us off from your work. I was planning on just picking up some random blades, but I like the idea of you making them.” As he countered or accepted the order, she allowed him to take measurements. And then he told her his name and she froze. Luckily he was focused on his measuring device. Torc. Torc Ironwood. His first name had no translation so it stuck out, and it only took her a second more to understand his last name. What she’d come to learn of him battled with the drama and trouble his companion had laid at her doorstep. He was a gentle, caring soul that worked for his keep. Or maybe he was just cunning and good at acting. Unable to banish the displeased frown when he looked up, finished with measurements, she nodded and stepped away. “Sairque Catabasis. Meet me in the common room of the kitchens. We’ll be eating,” she swallowed the disgust and frustration as she spoke, “in a private kitchen, but it will be easier to find you out there. I have to go.” Now she only looked mildly harried, as though she’d remembered some unpleasant task betwixt now and dinner. “But I’ll see you at dusk.”

[Torc Ironwood]

Torc watched the Endal pick up the hammer and strike her palm as she thought over his request to do work. Torc was happy to just do work, but you never knew who was going to end up using it. True pride in your work was about customizing it to the customer, he could fashion the blades and give a general insert for it, but the handle would have to come from someone else. Torc pulled out a gray slate and some chalk, "Better at making Axes for wood." Torc shrugged. "But forged working blades before. Be several days for all the work to become complete. Dressing knifes and cooking blades are different. Need butcher blade to chop? Or butter knife for spreading jam? Usually, three common blades for field dressing." Torc took the slate and began to draw the three blades on it with chalk. "As for eight blades, I am really only experienced in common use blades. I can't really forge metal fighting metal blades. I can create a blade that is strong enough to open flesh, but not strong enough to deflect another metal blade." Torc shrugged. "The ones I am working on are the most advance I can make. Strong enough to act like a pry bar, but only good in fighting someone without metal clothes."

Torc hated to pass up the opportunity of making the Sairque some knifes, but he wasn't going to make her some blades and have the snap in a fight either. Though he loved getting to know his customer and fashioning them items. He also didn't want to just turn out petch and then have his customers come back to complain about his craftsmanship. Still Torc took out a string and began taking measurement putting knot in the string. He turned back to the board and began by putting his thumb on one end of the string and using the knot with chalk to mark off sections of the blades. It took him a little bit, making all the lines and general stretches by using the string, but in the end he showed the Endal her field knives.

After Sairque gave her a nodded or shake, Torc looked at her eyes and wondered what had he said. She seemed almost like he had hit her, but Torc decided that perhaps it was his imagination and he had taken up too much of her time. After all Endal's were suppose to be out there hunting and taking care of all the other castes. Still it would be nice to sit down with Sairque and her sister for a meal. It was nice to make friends in a new city and to feel like he had accomplished something, and all it had taken was a little bit of hard work and some scrap metal.

[Sairque]

“Make what you can,” she assented, understanding his lack of experience but curious about what he would produce. “It will get used one way or another.” With one last wave, the Endal turned on a heel and headed through the gusty throng of workers and equipment toward the warrens. __ Sai motioned the last of the apprentice chefs out of the private dining area and followed on their heels. Behind her on the table waited a fair spread with delicious scents wafting off and tempting the woman to forget she had a guest and consume it all herself. They had the choice of two meats, dinner rolls, several green vegetables, and a dish of various whole fruits. It was just enough to feed two or three, so no one could get greedy with any one dish. As she weaved through the hungry crowd going to and fro from the serving area, Sai cast a searching glance around for her bulky acquaintance. After about a bell or so, she’d decided against poisoning his food. Or just outright shanking him. The afternoon’s deliberation had revealed an utter discordance between her impression of him and how he’d been portrayed. The killing would just have to wait; this evening would just have to be a pleasant dinner.

[Torc Ironwood]

Torc returned to his work and continued feeling that he had made a friend, and in a new home, that was always a nice thing to make. ~ Torc entered the crowded communal kitchens. He had spent the time before dinner getting cleaned up in the baths. It was a new experience… public bathing, strangely he felt very self conscious of being naked surrounded by other naked people. Naked people with red hair, for some reason Torc felt like a freak undressing and having black to almost blue hair. Thankfully, the Isurian side of him had kept most of his body hair to minimum, because looking at some of the male Inarta backs, he almost felt like they had been wearing a red fur shirt. So after switching out his dirty clothes for a new pair of clothes at the baths he know wore the traditional Inarta clothing. He felt so strange not wearing shirt, and when some of the dek found a vest it was obviously made for a man that was neither Isurian or a blacksmith. In fact as Torc tried the vest on, he felt like he was trying on a yasi's vest. So against his better judgment Torc went shirtless from the baths wearing nothing but a bryda and sandals. It felt strange exposing his arm to pain view, at least in forge he could concentrate on work, but now walking down the hallways seeing people stare at him, he felt like he was deformed. There are two parts to the Communal Kitchens; the first part is the great common room with long stone tables and food line for general meals. The second part of the Communal Kitchens are the Kitchens themselves, there is the line kitchen made and maintained for the massive serving of people, while smaller kitchens off to the side allow people to prepare their own meals. The Storerooms are off the main kitchen and actually have a back entrance to allow for food deliveries. However, Head Chef Davoid keeps a constant watch over the storerooms and they are under her lock and key. The great common room is what most people are familiar with, it holds long stone tables that thirty men could sleep head to toe on and still have room. Stone benches are placed with spaces in them to allow people to sit down. For those that are so inclined to hold long talks while eating, they often bring there own leather skins to lay on the stone benches to offer some padding. Ringing the ten long tables are many smaller circular ones, with the same stone benches. The tables were made for small groups of people, who enjoy talking during their meals, and are often filled by artisans. Columns supporting the ceiling of the room are spaced evenly about the tables. The columns have great slabs of slate hung on them, in which pictures and written words are drawn on them. The slates contain food requests and the amount of food vouchers for those that bring back the desired items. Though only Endals look to the slabs, there have been a couple of Chiet that have risked the dangers of the outside and brought back food. The food line is open twice a day to serve Dek. Chef Davoid keeps a large pot cooking constantly, calling it Chef’s Soup which is served to the Dek along with a helping of beard twice a day. For the Chiet and Yasi, they can choose between soup and beard, or the daily meal which is prepared by the kitchen staff. The Avora and Endal are allowed to choose from any of the meals served, and to have a piece of roasted meat as well. The meals are served throughout the day, but one will be denied service if they don’t have a food allotment. From the food line, people can feel the great heat of the kitchen along with scents of roasting meat and bread. The grand line kitchen is set against a magma pocket and the heat soaks through the walls of the ovens and metal plates that act as grills, thankful the Chef Davoid is a experience reimancier and has added reinforcement to the stone and air vent in the ceiling, keeping the heat to only a dull roar. The kitchen is a place of action, Chefs are constantly kneading dough, chopping mushrooms or vegetables, trimming a piece of meat. Then there are those that are grilling on the flat top metal, or using large metal tools to pull out bread from ovens, or stirring the forever soup cauldron. Chef Davoid keeps a watchful eye on all, making sure that not once speck of food goes to waste. Bones and vegetable ends go to stock pots while, prime fruit and meat go into the daily meal. If a chef is so unlucky enough to burn a piece of meat, Chef Davoid personally gives them a look of disgust that some men have broken into tears over it. However, the meat usually finds itself into the soup. While cooking is going on the grand washroom next to it is keeping up with all the dishes. Dek crews work very hard in the lye laced environment, washing dishes and eventually cleaning the kitchen afterwards. For their rewards they are granted an additional small mid day meal of soup. However, some Dek don’t believe that offsets the nosebleeds and cracked skin on their hands from working more than ten days in the washroom. Still the washroom is always staffed by willing Dek. The storerooms are perhaps the best guarded areas of Wind Reach. Large steel locks and heavy stone doors keep the storerooms closed for almost the entire day. The only time they are open is to allow for the daily gathering of ingredients and the daily storage of foodstuffs. The first store room is a dry room, a soft mild dry heat comes from the air while, grains and spices add to the perfume. The dry room is where all rice harvested from Thunderbay and salt comes to be stored. The room is massive and holds a small grain mill so that the Chefs can make rice flour when needed. The second storeroom is a cold room, cold water from the top of the mountain is piped down into this room. Reimancers go into the room twice a week to produce grand ice blocks that sit in various places around the room. Meat, fruit, and vegetables are stored here. The temperature is kept near freezing, and as the chefs enter the area there breath can be seen in the low lighting of the room. For food deliveries a small room has been set off to the side with a drain. Three very large looking Chiet stand guard over the temporary store room, while one keeps track of food entering. Lastly the private kitchens were made for those few people looking to impress others. The private kitchens contain an oven and metal flat top, while allowing a few pots and pans for general use. They are often used to impress prospective mate, since the people who use them are forced to use their food vouchers to trade in for ingredients. A small stone table is set in the room to allow for people to sit down and eat. While a few glass lamps are lit in the room, to provide dim lighting for a romantic mood and make sure the other person doesn’t see any burnt spots on the food. As Torc walked into the kitchen, he looked around the great room searching for Sairque, trying his best to search for a relative stranger in a sea of red hair. Torc began to make his way through the hall, walking past tables he heard whispers and felt the gazes of men and women. His hands tensed with each step, and for a moment he could feel his body ripple muscles across it with each step. He almost wanted someone to stop him or for someone to point and laugh. It was just the strangeness, being one of the few people in the entire mountain without red hair.

[Sairque]

Unaware of his physical tension, a small white hand checkered with even paler scars reached up to brush deliberately over that remarkable arm of Torc’s. As she’d approached, the differences between his species and her own stood out with intriguing clarity. His differences regarding emotions and pity were acceptable because he was so clearly not one of them. She wondered if Inarta ever had the same thoughts as the foreigner. Perhaps he should give classes on philosophy. Yellow eyes dancing with mischief, the Endal waited for the Isur to catch sight of her before melting behind a crowd of glassworks just passing by with their meals. Flashes of her white bryda and green vinati brightened the wall of drag work leathers worn by the artisans, leaving a trail for the man to follow. As he only caught up with her in a quieter, less traveled spot in the room it was perfectly plausible that she had neglected a proper greeting on the basis of noise. Baubles of colored glass adorned the myriad of thin, neat blood red braids cascading over her shoulders and back. “I hope you finished your work without event,” the charming woman greeted, once more taking his hand to lead him into the private dining room. “My sister regrets her inability to join us, but made me promise to be on my best behavior and entertain you properly.” Not that she knew the difference of improper hostessing and proper. Proper to Aidara was probably dragging them to bed. It seemed to the Endal that she should feed him and not brawl with him should he say anything untoward.