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Post by JourneyHorse on Jun 25, 2017 16:07:20 GMT -6
Shadows come a calling || Doev & Mairon
Mairon  | [ post #1 || word count: 438 ] |
The ringing of metal echoed down the rock walls. The repetitive sound had been going on since early morning and any one living in the area might have complained, if the occupant of the forge had been just any other member of Breim. But he wasn’t; so no one complained about the noise even when it went well into the night, as it often did. Passersby would pause just long enough to peek inside and get a glimpse of the smith bent over his work. And should he notice their presence they would continue on their way followed by hushed whispers like the muttering of bats’ wings.
Mairon brought the hammer down and a shower of sparks skittered over the surface of the anvil. He set his tool down and with a flick of his teke he whisked a piece of metal into the air. It glowed yellow with heat and the kirin’s eyes reflected the fierce light as they scanned the piece for any impurities. Satisfied, the metal was set in a bucket of water where it hissed and steamed. The smith strode away from his forge for the first time in several hours and leaned comfortably against the door frame leading out of his forge. The street beyond was lined with a couple shops which seemed extra dark compared to the bright flames of the forge. The metal smith took a deep breath allowing the cool cave air to caress his coat. Another resident of Sterling passed by and the kirin caught the quick furtive glance in his direction. The kirin smiled, a smile that was all challenge and no humor. The horse moved on at a noticeably swifter gait. Mairon chuckled to himself and turned back to his workstation. The fire in his forge would freeze over before he let one of these cave dwellers tarnish his pride in what he was.
With a thought the piece of metal he had been working on remerged from the water. It would need some polishing but the tapered edges of the blade were unmistakably elegant. Mairon held it up to the firelight, “Almost a shame you will be used for nothing but ceremony.” He said wistfully. With the blade all but finished the smith could begin his work on the hilt which was to be ornately decorated. The kirin stretched allowing his muscles to relax and rest before the work resumed. He took the opportunity to wipe away a spot of soot on his otherwise flawless coat and slick back his forelock. There was no reason not to be absolutely stunning even if no one was expected.
I been through the darkest of caves and suffering
One hundred steps off the end of the road
Painted with passion, my favorite color
Hope I'm alive when the story gets old |
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Post by Doot.a.doi.toi.toi on Jun 30, 2017 3:05:25 GMT -6
Doev
“ It is said that once a domestic beast tastes blood it will taste it again,” began a soft voice with the subtle note of perusal from behind the kirin, as though in response. “ The same can be said of the swordsman with his lone, iron tooth.” Doev reclined against the stony arch that served as the entry to the forge, the molten glow setting his coat alight in metallic hues of polished copper and cutting his features with the stark shadows provided by a hard light. He, likewise, scrutinized the blade with a certain sense of reverie from behind a cigarette, gauzy smoke coiling upward into his loose curls. Bemused, his singular eye flashed in a manner comparable to a mint coin when its gaze shifted somewhat to hold the blacksmith whole, and Doev concluded, “ a crying shame either way, be it the ceremonial ghost of purpose or the passing of a virgin blade.” He had seen more than the blade in that steep moment before he had announced his presence, before he had been noticed. Then with a terse flick of his teke he pitched his cigarette to the street and stepped inside, bowing his head for clearance through an entry designed for a population often shorter. “ I am Doev of the King’s Guide,” he said without the reverence one might expect of such a title. His teke reached back to his withers to pull his fur-trimmed cloak over his head and off to relieve him of the immediate heat from the forge, a certain soldierly poise of stance contrasting the relaxed saunter that carried him to a courteous distance from the kirin. Further paradoxes became obvious as he neared, for despite his apparent disposition, his severe stare ever hunted, ceaseless in its steady culling of his environment, however subtle in its focal point. “ Gossip in the court claims you’ve met with one of us before.” Delicate broad strokes through a nomadic eye then passed to the kirin, and Doev looked up from the floor once the threadbare fabric barrier had lifted, his rolling eye moving smoothly past those crimson scales without a hitch; he knew without thinking about it that the particular shine to his scales was most likely the result of polishing, and indeed, they gleamed like inlaid rubies upon his brow and along the spine—quite unlike those of the kirin he’d met prior. Pride, Doev thought; he had seen it first when those slitted eyes danced over the young blade, and he had seen it once more through his idle preening despite lacking in company. The kirin knew he looked damned good, and he would have to agree with him, Doev thought, pausing to note the aesthetically pleasing contrast of the shadowed lids and milk-white lashes that framed his crisp hazel eyes. He folded his cloak in half and laid it across the pack saddle straddling his back. “ Your name was never mentioned.” There were layered undertones to the notation: one inquiring, one apologetic, and again that eye traveled, climbing to the zenith tine of his singular antler.
Word Count: 513 | Post #1 |
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Post by JourneyHorse on Jul 4, 2017 13:06:13 GMT -6
Mairon | [ post #2 || word count: 403 ] |
The kirn fought down the urge to whip around and face the owner of the voice. The voice, soft and subtle; if the damp stones of the deepest caves could talk, that was the voice they would have. “No swordsman here, just a smith with his hammer.” Mairon replied in a velvety tone to match the newcomers. Then with slow deliberation as if he really couldn’t be bothered to discover who had entered his forge, the kirin set the naked blade down and turned to face the stranger.
He was tall with a coat color that was hard to determine amid the shadows and flickering firelight, it seemed to shimmer like polished copper. An ear flicked forward as the stranger identified himself as a King’s Guard. Mairon noted the discarded cigarette, the simple dark cloak, and the way in which this stallion carried himself. How different he was from the other member of his rank that the kirin had met. No lavish robes or eye catching gems, this King’s Guide dressed as any other of the cave dwellers might. But the kirin wasn’t tempted to lower this stallion quite to the level of the others. There was something in his gaze which scoured the room like a hungry wolf and picked it apart piece by piece, never satisfied, ever moving. It roved from the forge to Mairon himself and the kirin felt a small spark of shame as it rested on his single ruby antler. Ah, but one antler is better than none, he reminded himself with a smug thought. A tilt of the head and the firelight flashed brilliant red across the horn.
His hazel eyes countered the other’s wandering scrutiny with an unwavering gaze that fixed upon Doev, daring him to meet it for longer than a few seconds. “I am Mairon.” Pride, superiority and loss all wrapped up in those three words. “One of your order did seek me out. I trust you come bearing just as many tiresome questions as he did?” A smile touched the kirin’s lips but not his eyes. He was like a matchless sword whose purpose was not yet known, many like this stallion had come to find out if he was merely a ceremonial blade or placed here for other purposes. That wouldn’t have bothered the kirin if it weren't for the fact that he did not himself know the answer to such a riddle.
I been through the darkest of caves and suffering
One hundred steps off the end of the road
Painted with passion, my favorite color
Hope I'm alive when the story gets old |
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Post by Doot.a.doi.toi.toi on Aug 15, 2017 18:49:21 GMT -6
Doev
“ Mn, tiresome questions are a part of the job description, sorry to say,” Doev confessed through a slight of teeth as he smiled. His gaze with that single lionel eye remained steady. " But I prefer conversation." Doev thought he had sensed something else in the kirin; something fleeting that had flickered alike to a ripple across an otherwise cooled countenance. It felt as though he had insulted him somehow, he thought, where was the transgression? His mind began retracing his steps throughout their brief interaction on instinct, and the stallion leavened the pause, gesturing to the anvil Mairon had been bent over while he worked with a quick glance. “ Continue your work in the meantime should you cotton to it—I’ll not take offense.” It could have been as mundane as a feeling of prejudice, his mind continued, as the mention of his name having been seemingly forgotten might have spurred some remembrance that his existence seemed trivial to those of Briem. Or perhaps it was the broken antler; he recalled the sting of shame as a child when another would stare a moment too long into the shadows of the ugly, empty socket where an eye once sat. The forked tongue of his curiosity tasting a potential opportunity on the air, Doev sacrificed courtesy for the prospect of testing this theory, and he again looked pointedly to that ruby antler. It was a precarious move in the game of diplomacy, and he was quick to move towards recovery. His eye rolled to the young blade the kirin had been admiring, and as though on rein, his body turned and he strolled across to the weapon. Albeit that the blade was unpolished, Doev could see the absence of that telltale ‘wood grain’ pattern to the metal he was more accustomed to seeing; he paused, knitting his brow down at the sword as though puzzled. “ You don’t fold the metal of your swords,” the Guide stated. “ In Isoba it’s tradition to fold a blade several times during forging. Removes impurities, toughens the sword.” “ I’ve heard tales of spectacular blades from Old Valore,” he continued, his even and soft-spoken voice strolling along lazily as though he were half lost in thought. “ But such technology has been lost, and I don’t suppose you would recall it.” There came another pause before Doev looked up to meet his eyes again, his terse smile seeming apologetic. “ Might I have a look at one of your completed swords?”
Word Count: 412 | Post #2 |
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