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Post by Luneby on Sept 18, 2019 7:27:04 GMT -6
A Chance to Give
Jibriel & Danaë
ThatDenver & Lebazardesmondes
Set in Osulas, 1697, shortly after Jibriel was appointed as Councillor.
Danaë and her mother Vesta are waiting for Jibriel to visit them in their home, so he can request a special task out of a young Danaë. |
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Post by Luneby on Sept 18, 2019 7:28:38 GMT -6
 D A N A Ë"Of fire and gold."
The smell of brunt wood floated inside their house, as fire shone from the depth of the forge, hidden behind a curtain that would let the warm light shine through. Danaë waited, heart knocking against her chest, an eye following the gentle rise and fall of her newborn daughter’s chest as she slept curled up in her nest. Vesta bustled around their home, displaying some of the crafts she considered to be her daughter’s best, shiny blades, old prosthetics and embedded jewels, on a colourful cloth. “ Fix your hair.” She ordered her daughter in a hiss, shooting her a side glance as Danaë’s ears flattened against her neck. Glittering teke grabbed a comb reluctantly, trying to make sense out of the flaming mess that were her curls as she waited ever so eagerly. Today, a great opportunity was brought her way. Danaë had struggled those past few months – between losing her father and giving birth unexpectedly after travelling for weeks, she felt out of touch with her craft and would never have expected anyone to take an interest in her work, other than for strict medical inquiries. But word of her capability had reached the ears of a newly nominated Councillor – certainly through her mother, as much as she denied it. She had no idea what would be asked of her yet, and if Jibriel would even want her to work for him once he saw what she was capable of. All she could do was wait for him to pay them a visit. Most of the inquiries Danaë met usually came through her mother – she would work with her patients, under her supervision. But this time, Vesta had no expertise – she would have to deal with this alone. It felt so liberating, exciting and deeply frightening on some aspects – but she was determined to do her very best to impress the Councillor. A long shiver ran through her body as she saw the growing shadow of a large stallion projecting onto the colourful cloth that served as threshold to their home. Her heart bounced as Vesta pulled it open, inviting the large pegasus inside. “Wind beneath your wings, Jibriel. The Council suits you.” She teased, greeting the stallion who was once her comrade. “ This is my daughter, Danaë”, she says with a gesture towards the golden mare, who stiffened upon being called. Large, colourful eyes looked up to the stallion’s face in awe, before bowing nervously before him. “ Wind beneath your wings” she signed, attempting to keep her calm, bells at her ankles ringing as she moved.
***
WC: 428| Post # 1
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Post by ThatDenver on Sept 24, 2019 12:53:51 GMT -6
JIBRIEL
It still felt a bit unreal, having a title like “Councilor” on his shoulders. Serorans might not have been ones for the prestige of ranks or bowing before others, but it was still an honor, and a great responsibility – two things he had never expected out of his new home. There were still days when he felt like a complete outsider, like he was just playing everyone for a fool just being around the herd, much less taking part in leading it.
Yet here he was, and he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
Today, he was on a bit of a detour from his usual walk, but for a good reason. Serorans were skilled in many things, but blacksmithing was not their forte – they were too averse of the fire god, as many were. But Jibriel remembered what it had been to enjoy the fruits of fire. Before his entire mercenary life crumbled, he’d had a nice set of armor, of Onean and Aodhian craft, and he missed it.
Now that he had this position, he also had the ability to occasionally indulge himself, and he had decided that what he wanted was some armor.
And lucky for him, he had caught wind of someone who just might be able to help him on that particular front.
He found the right home and knocked a hoof against the doorframe. The familiar figure of Vesta soon came to open the fabric acting as a door, and Jibriel smiled at her: “Wind beneath your wings, Vesta. Thank you – I hope that it will grow on me.”
His eyes then turned to the golden youth in the room, and he nodded. The bowing made him feel more than a bit flustered, but luckily not too badly so – he could still understand the gist of the signing.
“Wind beneath your wings, Danaë; please do not bow”, he signed back, a bit slower than someone who spoke fluently. His movement were very measured, careful and exact.
”From what I hear you are so skilled that I should be doing the bowing”, Jibriel continued, and smiled at Vesta, letting her know that they would be fine without her if she had something else to do.
Word count: 370
Post #1
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Post by Luneby on Oct 8, 2019 9:48:49 GMT -6
D A N A Ë"Of fire and gold."
Vesta politely bowed her head, giving a concerned – but encouraging – glance towards her daughter before retreating to her room, leaving Jibriel and Danaë alone. The mare’s face flushed under the stallion’s praise, as a trembling smile found its way to her lips. She was surprised and moved by the effort Jibriel put into his signing – he could have just talked to her with his voice but decided to communicate her way instead. Such a gesture from someone she had just met meant the world to her – it was also deeply comforting to know that she would be understood by him. “You flatter me, Sir. I cannot claim I deserve your praises, but I will do my best to honour your request.” She signs slowly, bells ringing lightly, almost in a hush. Her signing was slow and gentle – both in order to be understood, but also because she did not want to wake Lucie up. “ I will let you judge of my talent for yourself. What can I do for you?” she asks, while gesturing towards the wall behind her. There were hanged several shields of varying size, reflecting the warm light coming from the fireplace. All of them were chiselled with delicate details, some drawn more skilfully than others – some of these pieces dated back from a few years ago, their unpolished surfaces displayed the marks of learning. Some old swords rested quietly on the walls as well – old weapons she made for young Skirmishers, their blunt blades as remains of years of service. On the table, displayed on a colourful cloth shone jewellery the mare had created for her loved ones, jewellery Vesta often wore outside, made out of gemstones often brought to her by friends, or from some adventure. Nervous, Danaë awaited the Councillor’s verdict.
***
WC: 297| Post # 2
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Post by ThatDenver on Nov 7, 2019 17:38:43 GMT -6
JIBRIEL
Jibriel watched carefully as the young mare signed, and then nodded with a smile. His eyes turned appreciatively to the work displayed on the walls. Some were clearly practice pieces – a bit rough at places, with the nervousness of the worker on clear display from the spots that had been corrected too much, or small mistakes in the metalwork.
Then there were the newer pieces, the more masterful works, where confidence seemed to grow with each chiseled decoration and detailing finished. They were polished in a way that the first works could not be, evidence of the growth of their creation. Metalworking took strength and patience as well as skill, and none of these things developed without time and practice.
“Your work is beautiful”, Jibriel signed simply, with clear movements: “I think I have come to the right place.”
He took out a small piece of parchment he had hidden in the folds of his outfit. Opening it onto the nearest table, it showed a fairly rudimentary sketch of a helmet with small tusks at the front. It was more of a faceplate rather than a full helmet – a simple and efficient design made to be used, although it certainly had a slight factor of intimidation to it.
“I’ve been thinking about getting this made for a while now”, he signed: “I used to be a warrior. It feels like long ago now, but I would like something like this. It reminds me of the mistakes I’ve made, and what I’ve done to be better.”
He let the smith get a better look at the sketch for a while, and then asked: “What do you think?”
Word count: 276
Post #2
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