Completed Fresh off the boat (Gossamer helping)

[Mittle]

32 Fall 522 AV

Mitt stepped off the gangplank loaded down with a large back pack and an anvil tucked under his left arm. He paused for a long chime to take in the lush beauty of Syka and its people. At first the temperature went unheeded at so much to see in such a wide open space.

"So much sky!" he murmured, his gray eyes taking in the seemingly endless shoreline to where blue water and blue sky blended together seamlessly. There was something incredibly soothing, something.... right about this place that he couldn't quite yet identify.

With a hitch to the left, he rested Izzy on his hip. The hot sand under his feet stretched pure white and clean as far as his gaze could reach. There was something incredibly untouched, unspoiled about this long stretch of beach sand.

"Yep it's pretty here, now stop blocking the gangway, ok?" said a voice behind him. It was friendly but assertive so Mitt smiled behind him and stepped to the side to walk further toward some settlements. He paused in his stride to look up at the sun and back down at the ground to see his shadow to gauge the time. A mere finger's width of shadow and a growling stomach made it known that it was just past lunch time.

The sun breathed hot on his head and shoulders in a literal warm welcome as he arrived near the small but definite settlement. Entirely nude or half naked peoples roamed the beach, worked on houses, gathered fruit, fished, talked and ate. The tall young man smiled at the sights as he set down his pack and looked around like a tourist.

Seabirds cried overhead, circling the boats in search of an easy meal and human shouts occasionally joined them in victory. A few people were setting out a drag net for fish and their laughter raised on the cooling salt scented sea breeze.

The mighty ocean carried its unique scent and sound to his ears and it comforted him at the very core of his being. The lapping waves sounded like a blacksmith tap tap tapping away, ceaselessly working to make things stronger. That was it!

A big smile lit up Matt's features as he found the source of the mini mystery.
"Aha!" he exhaled.

The tall young man crouched over his backpack to set down Izzy and removed the waterskin. His thoughts strayed to the letter his father had sent on the first day of summer. Mitt took a long swig to assuage his thirst and his gray eyes clouded over at remembering the missive for what had to be the hundredth time.

'Randal Zor, my son and I request two smithing positions on the island of Syka. My son's a good boy, but he's young. What he lacks in experience, I'll make up for it. What I might lack in vigor, he'll make up for it. We humbly request space on Syka to further our blacksmithing trade.'

His eyes shifted to more blue than gray at his late father's memory but he pushed it from his mind as swiftly as he could. Mitt's large hands put the stopper back on the waterskin and stowed it away.

He stood slowly, trying to break out of his habitual slouch and hoped he'd even recognize Randal when he saw him. The founder would be looking for the two of them, but that would have to be dealt with head on.

Planting his feet, he wiped the sweat from his face with a forearm and scanned the length of the beach for someone who looked like a leader.

WC 608

[Gossamer]

The Veronica was a beautiful ship and she belonged to Syka. Her Captain, James Chaliva, maintained her well and set up her moorage at Syka to fit the ship beautifully. He slipped her into her home port effortlessly and the whole of Syka turned out to start helping him unload. The first thing Mit would realize was that Syka wasn’t big enough to have longshoremen or dock workers.

Instead, it had a social population that helped one another.

Their ship coming home from a supply run from Riverfall or elsewhere up and down the Suvan was a celebration. It didn’t matter that they weren’t paid for the labor, it was time and effort gladly donated. The Veronica supplied Syka and kept her going as the settlement grew, making sure she thrived. Syka wasn’t without food and resources, but there were many things that the jungle didn’t supply that Captain James Chaliva did. He brought wine from Riverfall, blown glass from Wind Reach, and metals from mines down south and across the sea. He traded the food the settlement had in abundance along with things like animal skins, exotic creatures, and a whole host of other things in exchange for things the settlement needed.

Syka’s first sawmill came in crates and was unloaded off the Veronica a couple of years ago. Before that? They hadn’t the ability to mill lumber and build. A communal kiln and forge went up and now they had basic things like ceramic plates and hinges and nails that they couldn’t provide the denizens before that happened. The Veronica was their tie to the rest of the world and the promise of their future.

And, in Syka’s case, everything was an opportunity for a party. The ship docking for the first time this season meant that a little feast would be thrown in the commons after everyone was finished getting the ship unloaded, her cargo sorted, and her restocking needs to be met. Luckily James had pulled in and docked in the late morning. That gave them the rest of the day and early afternoon to unload. And in fact, people were coming out of the jungle, walking up the beach, emerging from all sorts of places, and walking out onto the dock. James started directing the unloading, and the group worked like a well-oiled machine, everyone smiling, and laughing, with the crew greeting the settlement folk with happy cheerful gossip. The news was exchanged, greetings and reunions performed.

Someone paused before Milt and offered him a smile. It was a tall man, somewhere in his late thirties, with dark hair and blue eyes. He offered Milt a greeting with a head tilt and gestured at the anvil laying at Milt’s feet. “Need a hand with your things? I don’t recognize you, so you must be new. I’m Randal Zor, one of the leaders here in Syka. We’re called Founders. We talk to all the new people, get them settled, and see to their needs. Can I help you with yours?” He asked thoughtfully, glancing down at the anvil again. It looked heavy and he wasn’t sure of the technicalities of handing another man's…. anvil. If it was anything like handling a weapon, he shouldn’t have.

“Wait… you aren’t the blacksmith and son who wrote saying they wanted to come, are you? Stryke?” He asked curiously, tilting his head and restudying the man as if just the appearance of the man might reveal more of his identity.


.

[Mittle]

A solid looking man approached him with an open smile and a head tilt that looked to be a long standing habit. He seemed to be a bit older and wore a mantle of calm authority minus the hubris. The man didn't look shifty or dishonest in the least. In fact none of the people milling around the ship looked shady at all. There didn't seem to be any precise dock workers or any real organization. These people all looked... happy and relaxed. It was the polar opposite of Sunberth and Mitt let his guard down just a little more with an answering smile.

The brown haired man looked down at Izzy with a proud smile and gave a brief shake of his head. His family's anvil was thick waisted with several large chains hanging off the bottom for when it could be properly mounted-hopefully in the near future.

"Nah, Izzy's my anvil to carry proudly, although I still have a large tent to unpack when I can get some clearance to do that." he answered with an implied question. Syka definitely wasn't Sunberth! When he took in the other statement Mitt offered his right hand to shake and replied,

"Nice to meet you Randal sir, yes I'm Mittle Stryke. You can call me Mitt."

So this was the leader, errr, Founder.

The young man picked up the anvil, looking for something to do with his hands and propped it up on his left hip. A few burn scars peppered his hands and forearms in a clear illustration of his trade and he looked down for a chime to gather his thoughts.

The blacksmith's eyes shifted to a vivid blue as the corners of his mouth turned down. Quietly, he looked Randal in the eyes and responded,

"Yes I'm the blacksmith son half actually. My father didn't make it through the voyage and he's with Izurdin now." Mitt attempted to keep his tone calm and even, but unconsciously he leaned back on his heels and his wide shoulders drooped.

The guy had tilted his head again, and Mitt hoped he wouldn't be refused entry without his father there. He had no other back up plan if this didn't work. They'd spent nearly every last Miza to get there and most definitely burned all their ties in Sunberth. Mitt struggled not to worry about this very important moment but if Randal denied him entrance, he would have to find a very urgent plan B for where to go from here. 284 Mizas wouldn't take him anywhere as far as he knew. It was a risk he'd have to take. It was far better to do something with the now and worry about other things later.

"I don't have much with me at all. Just my anvil, pack and tent. But I can also vouch that there's a lot of cargo on the ship that needs moving if you all need help with it." Mitt proffered with alacrity, but not quite sure of their shipping and handling policies.

WC 506, total 1,114
.

[Gossamer]

Randal returned Mitt’s greeting, offering Izzy a nod as well. “Nice to meet you.” He said, then glanced down at Izzy. “Pretty lady you have there.” He added, grinning. Smiths evidently named their anvils. Who knew? And far be it for him to come between a man and his anvil. The Founders smile faltered at Mitt’s words, the corners of his mouth turning down and his eyes filling with concern.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I read your father’s letter quite thoroughly and was very excited to have you both join us. We’ve always felt that people are drawn to Syka for a reason, and every last one of them that has arrived have offered something very unique to the place. I have no doubts your father would be invaluable. And I’m glad to know you still made the trip, finishing the journey for him. We can have a service for him if you’d like.” Randal offered, knowing such a thing would be a nice gesture. “We might not have known him, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take time for a memorial.” He added, shifting his weight.

There was one thing Randal wasn’t, and that was born yesterday. He saw the flicker of fear in Mitt’s eyes and the way his gaze darted about. The man reached out, rested an arm on Mitt’s shoulder briefly, and shook his head. “Let others, take care of the cargo… we have much to discuss.” He added, quickly reaching out to take Mitt’s pack and the bundled-up tent so Mitt was left free to carry Izzy. “Let’s get you offloaded, stash your things briefly, and I’ll take you on a short tour.” He added, leading the way of The Veronica by the very fact he had all of Mitt’s worldly possessions in his arms in hopes that the man would trail after the material goods.

Randal lead them down the gangplank, weaving in and out of the other people working to unload the ship, and across the dock on a well-worn path that lead to a Common’s area. There was a lofted portion, a kitchen where women were already starting a meal, and a large covered gathering area where people were placing packages and crates, boxes, bags, and even tethering animals.

The youngest Founder selected an out-of-the-way place in the Community Events Center, stashed the tent and bag under a table, and patted the tabletop itself. “You can leave Izzy here. Your things won’t be bothered. We don’t have a problem with theft in Syka. A quick tour will go much faster if you aren’t burdened.” He added, then waved at Stu.

Stu was an older man that was carrying a clipboard and seemed to be checking off some sort of inventory list. “Stu, this is Mitt. We’re leaving his things here while we roam around and get him the lay of the land.” He added, grinning. Stu nodded, gave Mitt a smile, and gestured south. “Have him drop by the Tidepool for a drink when you can. On the house. It’s nice to meet new faces.” He grinned. “One of the new Smiths I take it?” He said, nodding at the anvil Mitt had in his possession. “Not every day you see someone fresh off The Veronica carrying an Anvil. Gods, he won’t be unwelcome.” He added, then seemed to glance around as if looking for someone else, either Mitt’s father or someone completely unrelated.

Randal made a sudden cut-off gesture, which caused Stu to raise an eyebrow, but he nodded and then gestured toward the smithy. “I’ll show you the smithy last. We’ll circle around.” And with that, Randal took Mitt on a small circular pathway around the Commons. He showed him the Tidepool Bar first since it was the furthest south on the Commons, gestured beyond it to Blooms and Bangles, then gave Mitt a quick tour of the beach between pointing out the swings that gave Swing Beach its name.

“Folks can camp on the beach here or any open space in the Commons. Tidepool has drinks and snacks. North of the dock, past the Mercantile and Mathias’ place, is the Protea Inn. There are rooms to rent, and the hostess cooks breakfast, lunch, and dinner if you want it. Otherwise, you can forage for food, hunt, and buy limited food supplies at the Mercantile too.” Randal said, then swung past the Water Storage, and the Kiln, and pointed out the pathway that lead to the storm shelter and dovecote. They paused at the Monolith and finally came to stop in front of the forge.

“I don’t know how to tell you something without actually just showing you.” Randal said thoughtfully. He walked up to the forge, which was open on two ends and had a lovely view of the ocean. The coals were dark, tools scattered everywhere, and bottles…. Wine bottles were everywhere.

Some were broken, some whole and a blond man was perched on a battered but comfortable-looking chair out front of the forge snoring. “This… is Artik. He’s our resident blacksmith.” Randal said distastefully. “He was doing okay for a while… but he’s slid backward. Now, all he does is drink. He was our main source of simple things like nails, screws hinges, and that sort of item. We need them by the pound in the Settlement with all the new construction. It's incredibly expensive to import metal of any kind but ore.” He said thoughtfully.

Artik opened his eyes, snorted, and muttered…. “Come back tomorrow… we’re closed.” The man promptly fell back asleep. When they drew closer and could smell him, the stench of an unwashed body and beer collided.

Randal ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I’ll help you clean up this mess when you want to start. Artik will be here… or not… depending on his mood. He mostly isn’t around though, which is why we were so excited to see the letter. It was godsent.” Randal said, glancing around. “We had this outfitted really nicely for the community when it was built. All the tools had their places, everything was stocked. Now… now it’s a nightmare. Is…. is this something you can work with? Go on in… take a look around.” He urged, knowing Artik wasn’t likely to stir anymore today.

After they got done looking around the forge, Randal would answer any of Mitt’s questions and then politely ask him If there was anything he wanted to see specifically.

.

[Mittle]

Mitt smiled broadly at the mention of Izzy and nodded his head as he quipped,
"You know what they say- the thicker the waist, the sweeter the song."

The young man watched Randal's face and hands as he explained more about Syka. There was a quiet but firm intensity to his words that added to the Founder's earnest expression. It wasn't the trite overused phrase of sorry for your loss with a pitying look. A memorial? These strangers would do that for a man they'd never even met or knew in the slightest?

His words had proposed open compassion minus the empty pity and Mitt was glad for the honest offer from Randal. Mitt's throat closed up for a chime and he swallowed past the hard lump. He coughed slightly and finally managed a reply after the second attempt.

"I would appreciate that very much sir. He is, um, was a good man that," Mitt cleared his throat again, firmly resolved not to bawl like a child.

"A good man that was a great father and husband. He deserves at least a memorial service." He held Randal's gaze for a long moment and broke contact after a chime.

Randal had put a hand on his shoulder when talking to him, just as his father had done! Just like in his prayer to Izurdin on the ship! Mitt hadn't specifically asked the God for anything. It was just a mindless bawling session really and yet there was something... connected. He wasn't quite sure exactly how but it was like the God's own subtle blessing and brand of patience to carry on with what needed doing.

Mitt was a realist that wasn't fond of shouting, mirrors and flashy gods and goddesses. Izurdin made himself known without having to scream or show off and this small but significant moment gave him more comfort than he could express.

His worries about all the milling strangers around his untended belongings were unsettling but Randal quickly laid his fears to rest with prompt action.

In no time at all the Founder had picked up Matt's pack and heavy tent and was on his way, just like that! He was in! Mittle Stryke was now accepted into Syka! They hadn't turned him down or sent him back!

"See you around Veronica." said Mitt, briefly patting a work roughened hand on the hull of the ship. "Thanks for getting me here."

Mitt lengthened his stride to follow the man through to the Commons and stared around him, swivelling his head to take it all in at once. That's a lot of animals! He probably couldn't name even half of them but it certainly didn't stop him from looking at each of the animals. Myriad stacks of packages and an motley assortment of cargo were moved, stacked and piled busily. The smell and sight of food had his immediate attention and he avidly watched the people cooking.

"Mom would've loved cooking out in the open like this..." He murmured wistfully, his blue eyes flitting here and there to each new person or objects as they passed through. Mitt half turned to each new object, person or scent, his attention flitting quickly here and there.

When they arrived at the Center, he stopped but frowned in reluctance and hesitated to drop the anvil. While Randal's comment reassured him about thieves, Izzy was his only physical connection to his family, his past and everyone he knew. The young man took a deep breath with a long exhale and firmly set down the heavy anvil on the table. If they were willing to accept him on Syka, and more importantly, trust him, then he'd have to give back that faith in kind.

Stu looked like the complete epitome of organization and the offer of a free drink at the local bar was a nice gesture. Mitt smiled back and nodded to both the kind gesture of a drink and that he was a Smith.

"I'm not a grand master expert at Smithing--yet. But I'm ready and willing to forge my way ahead." He quipped with a bad pun. Caught up in his own thoughts, Mitt completely missed the exchange between the two men before him.

"Saving the best for last is fine with me." he replied calmly.

He hoped they weren't expecting him to do advanced work right away. While confident enough in his abilities to properly work a forge and even teach a Striker, the young man knew that some people got confused about what blacksmiths did. He'd been asked to make swords and armor and the best he could offer them was a blank look.

MItt had never worked without his father at his side before and this would take a lot of courage. He fervently wished that the current Smith and he would mesh well because you just never knew. Smithing was a very long and involved process that really defined your personality. If you lost determination in the slightest, your work could suffer badly. In that chime, he squared his shoulders and continued to follow and listen to Randal.
Foraging?! Uh no. He did however make a strong mental note memorizing the locations of both the water storage and storm shelter as they were very important.

When Randal paused, Mitt highly anticipated a bright clean Forge with a good foundry. This would be the ultimate defining moment he'd been waiting for since he first set foot on The Veronica back in Summer.

Shock warred with disgust as both the sight and the smell hit him in the face like a tsunami. Mitt's jaw literally hung open, his mouth making an O of surprise. Both his eyebrows were raised to the limit and he took an involuntary step back.

'Izurdin help me!" he whispered ardently.

How could Artik let it get like this? His eyes turned a stormy blue gray as he took in the coal supply, foundry, water barrels, tables, punches, clipper, vises, and assorted tools left in disarray.

"Was Artik working here alone all the time? Did he lose his woman? The foundation looks untouched but..." Mitt asked Randal while his gaze raked the place with a stern expression.

"We're neck deep in filth and half these tools will need to be filed and cleaned. There's at least three inches of slag on everything." The young smith spoke with authority as he carefully walked around the heavily littered area and evaluated each item with a critical eye. With a careful boot, he nudged away some of the bottles and debris to carefully check the pipes, valves and bellow for damage.

"There's nothing irreparable here to worry about. While there's a lot of filth and neglect, it looks like the important things are all in working order." He rolled up his sleeves, just looking at the place.

"I'm willing to give the place a good scrubbing and then I can set to work." he stated firmly. "With a little, well a lot of effort I'll get things set to rights and you'll have your nails, screws and hinges by the bucketful."
WC 1,183 Total 2,297

[Gossamer]

Randal hadn’t known they’d said that, but he smiled and nodded anyhow. “Not being well informed at the Smith trade, I’ll take your word for it.” He said in response to the man’s quip about Izzy and thick women and sweet songs. “We can schedule a memorial on the next tenday. That would be the fortieth of the Season. Folks around these parts get together every ten days to check up on each other, hold important meetings, have a feast, and enjoy music, dancing, things like that… a social event for Syka. We call them… originally enough… ‘Tendays’. Randal explained, then got them both started on the tour.

“Help yourself to the food when you get hungry. Just be aware you need to clean up after yourself. Its free… but a helping hand in the kitchen or at cleanup wouldn’t be unwarranted.” Randal explained. He added tidbits here and there about the settlement and its traditions as they walked, eager to make the newcomer feel welcome and like he could navigate the place by himself. He didn’t want to have to introduce Mitt to Artik, but that was the best way for Mitt to see how things were for the settlement and why he was so eagerly welcomed.

Once Mitt had seen for himself, and had asked Randal his questions, the Founder did his best to answer what he could. “Yes, he was alone mostly. Some of the children tried to apprentice here, but they found the conditions unbearable. We have an orphanage in the Settlement where James brings back some of the strays from other cities to try to get a new generation of tradesmen going. So far, Standing Tall, our builders, are taking the lion’s share of the children in. They like the man that runs the place and he gives them light but important work to keep them interested in learning the trade. Were there any children on the boat with you this time? Ones that were alone? I was thinking James would bring back a couple more now that a couple had apprenticed off.” He mused, then refocused on Mitt.

“Artik has dated off and on… a Benshira weaver was one of his steadies. But she’s gone and once she left he started drinking even harder.” He said, looking thoughtful. “He showed up a drunk. If we hadn’t needed nails and hinges so badly, we’d have sent him packing. As it is, we barely get anything out of him for the settlement but hardship.” Randal added, shaking his head.

“I know nothing about tools, but I can sure help pick up trash and set things straight. If you give me a bit of instruction, I can help with the tool cleaning as well.” Randal added, nodding at Mitt’s conviction. He liked the man already. “Syka isn’t any place fancy. We aren’t looking for masterwork or fancy high level blacksmithing… we aren’t even looking for a weaponsmith either. What we are looking for is those who aren’t afraid of hard work. And with that in mind, let me lay one more carrot on the table, so to speak.” Randal added.

“If you prove that you can run this place, clean it up, make us some nails, screws and simple things that the settlement needs desperately… a few shovel heads, maybe repair axes when they break or chisels when the local carver snaps off a tip….we’ll be forever grateful and pay you a fair smith’s wage. And the settlement as a whole offers loans to those that prove useful. If you want your own business… just ask. We can also loan you funds for a home… just about anything you need to convince you to stay. This is a good place to live, Mitt… a great place to raise a family. We have a number of unattached women and more each season as word gets out about Syka. The weather is nice. Food is plentiful… and there’s almost no crime. We do have violence… the jungle isn’t an easy place to live. But we’ll help you learn how to survive in it.” He added, nodding to Mitt.

“Now… if you don’t want to rent a bungalow to live in… or stay at the Protea Inn… which is almost as inexpensive and has a fantastic cook as a hostess… you can camp right on the beach. I’ll even give you a hand setting up your tent if you’d like. And the raised commons area? There’s storage under there, and you’ll find mattresses and pillows you can borrow if you are sleeping on the ground.” He added, pausing then.

“Is there anywhere else I can show you? Juli also has decent maps for sale of the Settlement and the surrounding Maw. We add too them each season… which she’ll do for free if you take her in an old one.” Randal said, looking thoughtful.

Then he waited for Mitt’s reactions…. to so many things. There might even be questions, of which he’d have answers ready for.



.

[Mittle]

The young smith nodded affirmation to the Tenday plans. Not wanting to miss anything, he watched and listened to the Founder explaining so much as they carried on.

"No problem. I spent half my childhood doing dishes after school so I'd be happy to pitch in with clean up after lunch." he volunteered easily.

His ears perked up at the word apprentice and he knew it would make already tough work even harder without an apprentice or three to work the smithy. A striker was far more important than people knew. He'd been a striker at fourteen. Learning which tools needed to be where and when, nudging the stoker, fetching coal, cleaning tools, sweeping slag, literally being the striker for the extra heavy work that couldn't be done with only one person, tallying materials--it was a lot for just a single smith to do on his own. But Mitt was willing to work hard and if running a smithy with only Artik to 'help' was what needed doing, then he'd damn well do it.

"Yes sir, I definitely remember some crazy gingers that were the only two unattached kids on board. A pair of hell raising redheads that were more mischief than a barrel full of triple handed monkeys!" Mitt grinned at the memory. Those two were more than a handful for any one person to deal with!

The more Randal spoke, it was rammed home quickly that this was most definitely not Sunberth! Randal had offered to help him clean up the smithy! It was grimy work and with the broken glass it was doubly unpleasant of a chore to fully clean it. Mitt nodded eagerly, answering a yes almost before the Founder had finished volunteering to help.

"I'd very much appreciate some help with the clean up sir."

At the wage comment, his whole face was at first confused and then pleasantly surprised.

"Wait, you don't pay on daily piecework quotas? An actual set regular wage?"

When Mitt thought of the grueling hours he and his father had worked to make the daily quotas just to get paid a pittance, and now there's this place giving a fair set wage?! If only his father could've made it to such a place. Clean open skies, kind people, no crime, all the food they could eat and a fair day's wage! Mitt wasn't one to chase wealth, nor would he ever be. The only things he asked for out of life was to have an honest day's labor, a full stomach and a place to sleep.

His attention refocused instantly when unattached women were mentioned and he nodded eagerly.

"Well.. it's a lot to think about and take in. It might be best if I just set up my tent for a few days until I can get a better feel for the place. Then I'll probably stay at the Protea Inn maybe. I don't want to rush in before I've gotten my bearings."

The young smith could see why this guy was a Founder--he covered all his bases.

"Yes, actually I think it would be a good idea to get a map from Juli. I'm going to need to get to know my new home."

WC 536 WC total 2,833