View unanswered posts | View active topics * FAQ    * Search
* Login 




Forum locked This topic is locked, you cannot edit posts or make further replies.  [ 13 posts ] 
NinjaClarinet
 
PostPosted: Sat, Jul 25 2015, 18:16 PM 



Player

Joined: 12 Jul 2010

((this topic will be for work or RP in the workshop))

For visitors coming to Wharftown, the forge stands out harshly against the otherwise picturesque backdrop of the humble seaside down. An industrial warehouse straddling the main road through down, the noise and smoke emanating from its tall window-line is an almost comical contrast to the serene, open-roofed beauty of Selune's temple on the other side of the road. The workshop seems to be a center of activity for the small town, apprentices and laborers bustling in an out of it's wide doorway, often heavily laden with goods and materials. The place hardly ever seems to sleep or hold still, arcane torches flaring on the corners of the build come nightfall, allowing the mad wizard and his employees inside to work at any hour.

Those venturing inside are immediately greeted by the sensations of heat and noise, and the thick smells of hot metal, magefire and ozone. A large gearheart dominates the center of the complex, endlessly driving a complex transmission of gears, chains and sprockets that spider over the roof like a mechanized web. As your gaze follows the machinery, you see workers on iron catwalks overhead, workers busy loading great foundries hanging from thick iron chains with raw materials. Molten metals flow like blood through insulated pipes to feed the casting forges and the ground floor, precises mixtures and alloys accomplished with ease by the careful adjustment of magically fortified mixing valves. Clay and sandstone molds are busily loaded in and out of the forges by sweating apprentices, with the occasional ripple of an arcane ward glimpsed on their person, shielding them form the worst of the heat coming off the glowing pipes in waves.


Image


Behind the counter at the far wall you find the familiar face of Zeek, conducting business as usual, an eye of calm amid a storm of industrial chaos, though his bellowing voice can cut through the din like thunder at any misstep from the workers. Beside the man you find stairs leading to the basement. Any visitors venturing downstairs would find that the madness only continues. The gearheart in the room above drives a second set of transmissions suspended from the ceiling, which in turn power individual workstations. Grinders, power-assisted hammers, drills and presses whir endlessly in the underground workshop, filling the air with the hum of machinery. A balcony over the central pit of the workshop is lined end to end with chalkboards and bookshelves, where academics feverishly make new designs, ranging from weapons and armor to fantastic siege engines, sailing vessels and golems, and the workstations below have their heads bent tirelessly over their tinkering.

Image


Small clockwork servitors scurry endlessly in the workshop, eager to do the bidding of whomever needs a hand. Each seems a whimsical invention of improvisation, riveted together by the cast-off parts of larger projects. Their small hands are delicate and precise, if not guided by a particularly canny intellect. It is in the basement that the wizard himself is most likely found, self-absorbed and stern, his face endlessly buried in a book or chalkboard, when he isn't working some feat of magic on a finished item or golem at a small ritual circle set in the corner of the workshop for just such a task.


Last edited by NinjaClarinet on Mon, Aug 03 2015, 23:32 PM, edited 2 times in total.

 
      
NinjaClarinet
 
PostPosted: Sat, Jul 25 2015, 18:18 PM 



Player

Joined: 12 Jul 2010

A note, though a few days faded by now, has a home on the door of the shop.

Valerius and Zeek are proud to announce the grand opening of:

THE CLOCKWORKS

Image

If you are looking for expedient arms, armor, or any other metalworking, we are ready to meet your needs. Our facility is set up to accommodate the full breadth of what can be accomplished in metal, from fine jewelry to heavy military or industrial equipment. Magical or mundane, one item or a thousand, we'll find a plan that suits -you-. For basic goods, tools, bulk orders, maritime or mill equipment, and standard arms and armor, please speak to Zeek inside the forge to arrange a purchase. For custom enchanted jewelry, arms, armor or other relics, military solutions, or personalized constructs, please contact Valerius Everguard in writing for a consultation.


 
      
PassionateShadow
 
PostPosted: Mon, Aug 03 2015, 12:46 PM 

User avatar

Player

Joined: 06 Jun 2014

Image

In the wake of the evening a small scrawny looking elfish being arrives at the work shop bringing with him a strange almost freezing breeze that whips about him in an ecstatic nature. His pack holds several other things strapped to it and his chest is covered in straps with various tools and the like all easily with in reach. He seeks to find out what materials or items may be needed or wanted for as the strange tony creature seemed prepared to get near anything Gathered. If he should procure a list of item or materials he would pack it away before being put to use with in the work force offering his knowledge and experience where it can best be applied. He's diligent and listens to instructions carefully so.

_________________
❤ Amia is Fun Again! ❤
#GreenisNotACreativeColour

Image
"It's easy to feel like a hero. It's a little harder to be one."


 
      
NinjaClarinet
 
PostPosted: Tue, Aug 04 2015, 0:42 AM 



Player

Joined: 12 Jul 2010

Valerius would have been found at the sprawling chalkboards of the development room on the day the boy stops by. The older wizard seemed to have been refining a design, with the aid of another apprentice that helps work the foundries. When the boy approaches, Vale gives the assistant a nod, who scurries off to attend to a task. He brings the smaller man to the board and begins gesturing, and explaining. He speaks quickly, assertively, and absolutely refuses to repeat himself under any circumstance. While he is never unfriendly, the child receives the definite impression of a trial by fire. Keep up or move on.

Image


"Wharftown has probably a dozen different projects needing attending to. Over here is the diagrams for the expanded city. You'll see the walls pushed out several hundred meters into every direction with the revised plan. Bandit and orcs territory, but we'll reclaim it. This sheet here has the designs itself for the wall. Honeycomb structure, steel-reinforced granite. Mounting points for ballista every few meters. Gimbal mounts, quick to aim. The design for the ballista is on the other board. They take mithral and spring steel. Cammed arms, for more power from a small package. Arms can fold for transport. Problem is, to push out the walls we're gonna need more troops to defend the construction from the orcs and bandits when we push into their territory. It's easier to build golems than it is to train decent militia-men, and no one cares when a golem dies, so we're going to have to speed up production of those. In the corner of the Pit I've got on of my clockwork soldiers disassembled and annotated for the apprentices.

They are collapsible, they fold themselves into a cube. Integrated bag of holding to stow away the extra mass. Easy to transport. They don't take expensive metal. Decent quality steel, some silver wire and a chunk of obsidian for the core and it'll function. Better metal makes tougher golems, though. Design'll work with anything. Fiendishly hard to build, though. If you're gonna start on golem, start on the exoskeleton. The exterior plates. That just takes sweat and muscle to pound into shape. If you can get those plates to within the tolerances on the board, you can start moving into the clockwork and articulation. Or try your hand at making one of the ballista, I don't care.

Ah, here. These are the schematics for the warships we're making for Kohlingen. You'll notice the same gimbal mounts for the same ballista design. It's a modular set-up, they can be affixed to walls, ships, or temporary fortifications with only a few minutes. You'll notice plating here, here, and here, along the decking and inside, along the spine of the ship. That's to provide places for their magi to etch the runes they use to enchant their ships. These mechanisms here, by the masts, and the bulkheads? Those are flex-joists, using a mithral-steel alloy. They work as shock dampers. Lets mages throw wind at the sails without worrying about breaking them, lets the bulkheads soak enemy fire a little better. They aren't paying us remotely close enough to lay enchantments for them, they can do it themselves. These ships here, on this board are the corvettes we're going to build for Wharftown's own fleet, and to sell to Cordor if they can cough up enough coin.

No engraving plates here, but you'll notice a lined containment cell here for a spell-core, and conduits built into the frame of the vessel to facilitate linking artifice to that core. The actual spellcraft for all that is a secret, but you aint a mage so I suspect you don't give a shit. Same flex-joists. These racks and bay doors are for transporting and deploying our clockwork soldiers while they are folded up into cubes. See the gearheart in the aft compartment, under the spell-core? The linkages to the rudder, waterscrews and the control deck at the helm were a bitch to sort. That'd be a a decent challenge as any if you're bored. We save the good stuff for ourselves, Kohlingen would have to pull off a massive amount of ass-kissing if they wanted my best designs.

Last board's got the designs I haven't finished yet. These are machines meant to augment the clockwork soldiers. After we expand into bloodmoon territory we're gonna need a decent amount of labor to carve that cliffside into farmable terraces. Got the start of an excavation golem there. Shovels for hands, or something like that. If they can slap together trenches and palisades in a fight, all the better. I also want to put together a siege-breaker construct. Something slow and heavy that'll take down walls, soak up punishment, a carry the small clockwork soldiers through the breach. Last sketch there is a recovery construct. I want this thing to be able to carry wounded soldiers and broken battle golems off the field, and stuff 'em full of healing or repair magic. Somehow. Whole point of using clockwork is to keep people from dying. Got ideas? Write 'em down but don't touch my work.

As for material? We need everything. The walls take stone. The ships take timber. The clockworks and siege engines take every metal and gemstone known to artifice. Wharftown will pay fair market value for anything you bring in. I also need a competent mage for a partner, I can't enchant everything myself. If you know one that follows directions and isn't an obnoxious asshole, send him my way. There's no shortage of things to practice on. Prove valuable and you'll get a permanent job."


After rambling for what seemed like an eternity, the mage turned back to his work, apparently dismissing the boy. He would seem to remember something, glancing back just once.

"Right. Safety orientation. Safety here is this: You find or buy a big pile of diamonds. You bring them to Dame Alanna, and remind her that you exist, and you have a name. Make sure she's sober so she'll remember it. If you fall into a crucible or get caught in the machinery and turned to paste, she'll use the diamonds to bring you back. Otherwise you'll find a healing potion dispenser on each floor. If you've lost -both- your hands, just ask another apprentice to feed you one. They know the drill."


 
      
PassionateShadow
 
PostPosted: Tue, Aug 04 2015, 4:07 AM 

User avatar

Player

Joined: 06 Jun 2014

Jocelyn took out a length of compressed coal and a small note pad flipping it open and jotting things down as Valerius spoke. He didn't interrupt him as he spoke instead choosing to study the elder wizard carefully every last detail he took in from how his hair was quaffed, how much chalk dust may or may not have graced his clothes, to even how he spoke down to every last syllable that left his lips.

Thankfully whilst Valerius spoke Jocelyn was able to contain himself and keep the strange air about him at an easy low. Several materials were jotted down and by the time Valerius had gotten to the safety measures Jocelyn was already plotting out small schematics and plans with in his note pad. Near every project that was detailed to him seemed to catch his interest in one manner or another. He make a special note at the mention of Alanna and tore the page out stuffing it in to his shirt pocket before he continue his script. He pauses hearing about the safety instructions and couldn't help but let a wry smirk grace his lips. He jotted something else down rather quickly and suddenly so. He turned to leave an turned back on his heel immediately fishing out a box and setting a small wooden crate not much bigger then both his hands together that with held a candle. The wood part of the create was formed from fresh cedar but it wasn't shellacked just freshly cut. A this, rough twine was wrapped around the content of the crate. A set of candles with a soft grey color to them, similar to shale. The candles carried a rather dingy, pungent scent of wet canine mixed and melded with dirt, twigs, and a fine twist of mossy plant like material. Uppon the twine was left a small tag label, naming them as 'Wet Wolf Wonders' .

Image
"I almost forgot. These are for you."

Jocelynn said simply before scurrying off rather quickly to attend to scoping the area out and taking his notes as he looked each and every section of the building over taking in his barrings and grasping a firm understanding of the building and what each area served as a purpose. He took especially close note of the dispensers. Once the smaller had his understanding of the building and all it's little areas and subsections he moved to the clockwork soldier that was disassembled taking in it's design and understanding it for it's worth before offering his aid in assembling. He seemed relatively set with his tool belt and never seemed to take it off. He often times would be seen reaching for a tool with out having to look or second guess just where each and every single one was.

Jocelyn was a dexterous little thing, whom worked rather well, and rather quickly if not, /obsessively/ it wasn't till many hours later a singed and smudge covered elf-like creature emerged from The Clock Works taking his list and heading out in search of materials.

_________________
❤ Amia is Fun Again! ❤
#GreenisNotACreativeColour

Image
"It's easy to feel like a hero. It's a little harder to be one."


 
      
Supreme_Pizza
 
PostPosted: Tue, Aug 25 2015, 4:29 AM 

User avatar

Player

Joined: 30 Jul 2015

// From the Memoirs of Reriam Zedelgel
This is the first time arriving in Wharftown by ship. Rumors of bandits are still the talk of the town but my journey was without event. I have to say this is by far the best way to travel. I doubt I'll be riding in the back of those filthy carts with the boxes again any time soon.

I stop by to say hi to Zeke. We are on a first name basis now. I promise to drop him off a gator hide or two next time.
Note to self:
Kill some swamp gators and get Zeke some hides.

I slip down to the basement to talk to the engineering instructor there. He hasn't seen Willie in ages. I have yet to meet this mythical Willie. I am starting to think that the rumors in Bendir Dale of an engineer named Willie are just that... rumors.

I study the bird and one of the clockwork helpers in the basement. There are plenty of parts to play with here. It's a toy shop. I study the bird closely. I think I may be able to replicate one. Hopefully without the oil leak. It appears to be a faulty gasket design.


 
      
SamTheGiantSlayer
 
PostPosted: Tue, Mar 08 2016, 19:43 PM 

User avatar

Player

Joined: 31 Mar 2014

It seems that as of late, another body has began to preoccupy the little den beneath Zeke's shop. At first it began as a work of deliverance; hot plates of food and warm drinks served along the tables cloaked in disarray. With time, it morphed into that of tidiness and idle tasks to alleviate smaller burdens. Cluttered desks began see some form of linear organization, though never quite as cleanly as one might find appeasing to the eye. Stations were kept in working order, safe and unpolluted for the beginning of every shift. The young lady that haunted this place in the few moons past seemed to linger more and more around the Clockwork defenders and their cores. Studying, speculating.

With a bit more time, she even began to lend her hand in some of the less menial of tasks. After one particular day of daunting work---at least for a novice---she bounds up the steps and back into Zeke's store, besmudged from head to toe in mottles of grease and oil. With a brief pause to throw a cleaner tunic on, she hurries out of the door with a notebook in hand.

Some hours later she indeed does return. Cleaner, but no less weary. The same little journal is squeezed in the crook of her arm whilst she balances a plate and mug in both hands. One steaming serving of hearty roast and a glass, filled to the brim with some mead or another. She plods down the steps, descending into the factory once again, pausing at the desk nearest to the bookshelves. She slides the meal down and leaves it there for its intended owner before plucking her journal out from its nest. It is thrust open and pages leaf by, one in particular torn out from the bind. She tacks it up above the desk along the wall, for perhaps the very same person to read.


Ever been to Lantan?

-A

_________________
Image

Thats the way it crumbles ... cookie-wise!


 
      
NinjaClarinet
 
PostPosted: Fri, Mar 11 2016, 18:37 PM 



Player

Joined: 12 Jul 2010

It was the middle of the night when Vale stumbled to the door of his factory's workshop. His footing was unsteady, and his eyes red and bleary from the unseemly amount of whiskey he had vanquished during the day. His clothes and hair were mussed by an aborted attempt at sleep; habit and familiarity were the chaos mage's anchor in a hurricane of magic and emotion. His bed these days lacked the warmth of his companion, and he found being alone difficult, with sleep coming rarely. He fumbled with a ring of heavy iron keys, eventually unlocking the reinforced door that guarded the basement workshop after-hours. He had shuffled in on heavy feet, waving a hand and grunting out the command word that sparked radiance in the globes of magelight waiting dutifully near the ceiling.

He rubbed his watery eyes against the flare of light, and looked about the workshop in a sleepless daze. He had no intent, no purpose being there, only the vague desire for something to distract himself with. His eyes roamed over half-finished constructs, standing still in rows, no magic to animate their gears and wires. Breathing life into a new soldier would take more focus than he had, that wouldn't do. His gaze lingered on the bookshelves in the corner, containing the spellbooks, diagrams and tomes of knowledge he had painstakingly collected over years of adventuring. He knew of a young woman that had asked his aid in banishing a malevolent fiend, and he had promised to seek the knowledge that would be required, but the ache in his temples and behind his eyes made the thought of study entirely unappealing.

Amid of the clutter of his workbench, under a pile of scrap parchment, two ingots of matte adamantine caught his attention. The metal had been intended for a weapon, but the ingots has been collecting dust for months, forgotten and pushed aside by more pressing projects. Vale went and dug them free from the clutter, rubbing his neck thoughtfully. Forging a blade was a bigger project than he had been looking for, but the sword was long overdue for its intended owner. He grabbed his hammer and tongs from the bench, and took the ingots upstairs. Within moments, the clockworks rumbled to life as the forges were ignited, and the gears began to turn.

---


Hours later, the artificer was sweating, and his cursing filled the empty factory, audible even over the clanging and churning of the bellows and mechanical presses. The wizard hating working with adamantine. It was a hateful, spiteful, impossible metal that resisted the smith every step of the way. Within the first few hours, he had already broken several bronze drive sprockets for the mechanical presses just trying to get the metal soft, and he was running low on arcane fire and coal to fuel the intense heat the forges required to work the black metal. Several times the chaos mage had to stop and repair the massive iron golem that drove the factory's machinery, the strain of processing adamantine was causing it to burst retaining pins and joint pegs every so often. Adamantine was chosen for its symbolic relevance to the Drow that would be wielding the blade, however, and so the smith persisted, despite a rapidly growing temptation to throw the devilish metal into the scrap heap and start over with good old-fashioned high-carbon steel.

Eventually, and many broken smithy hammers later, the dully glowing metal relented, and was refined into a beautiful, elegant saber that was black as night. The process of enchanting the weapon was started early, while the weapon was still hot from the forge. A vial of the Drow's blood was retrieved from a locked safe and poured into the water of the quenching trough, while ritualistic words of Binding and Sympathy were intoned in hissing draconic as the weapon was cooling. It took another hour at the grindstone to put an edge on the weapon, and the whetstone was worn smooth and useless by the end. By the time the smithing was completed, the sun had begun to rise, and already the workers and apprentices were filing into the factory to begin their day. They seemed unsurprised to find that the artificer had been working over night, and seemed to know better than to interrupt or even acknowledge his presence, and Valerius took the weapon downstairs to get out of their way.

Resting the weapon on a stand near his alchemy station, the mage took some time to concoct an acid he would then use to begin etching the sides of the blade. Impossibly fine grooves and runes were coaxed from the metal, conduits that would later hold the magic and spells that would be woven into the saber. Wisps of smoke rose from the surface of the workbench every time a bit of acid spilled, leaving behind little pockmarks, and the mage's rough hands likewise had a few new burn scars sprinkled over them by the time the etching was done. The last task Vale attended to was to prepare a bath of pulverized diamond and purified water. Spells of Illusion and Seeming were intoned over the bath, magic woven into the fluid until the sparkling water shone like moonlight, and the unfinished weapon was lowered into the bath to soak. The exhausted, sooty, and chemical-burned wizard had slouched up the stairs, past the smiths and tinkers that dutifully ignored him, and made his way home. He finally collapsed in bed, still dressed, and too blissfully tired to notice he was alone.


 
      
NinjaClarinet
 
PostPosted: Fri, Mar 11 2016, 21:04 PM 



Player

Joined: 12 Jul 2010

It would be a few days before Vale had recovered enough to return to the blade he had started. The illusions had taken hold beautifully, the magic impregnating infinitesimally small flakes of diamond into the grooves along the sides of the weapon. When willed to do so, the flakes would glow like stars against the black metal, and threads of milky light would connect them at random to form constellations. When touched by Shadow, the image of the night sky would blur and shift, and the points of light and lines would shift and crawl over the adamantine to become a spider's webs, making the weapon a perfect accessory to infiltrations deep within Lolthite territory. The artificer turned the unfinished weapon over in his hands and smiled, remembering Lady Clairmont's praise for his creativity when he had demonstrated the effect to her, and Iim'mur'ss' spontaneous and joyful hug when she had been invited to inspect the incomplete blade.

Even his sister, notoriously sparing with her praise, admitted that the weapon was elegant, and their encouragement had done a great deal to banish his loneliness and inspire him to finish the artifact. Committed to the artistic value of the weapon, the mage had even gone so far as to teleport himself to Arabel the day before, to spent an exorbitant amount of gold at the market to secure choice pieces of ivory and moonstone. The ivory was painstakingly sculpted and carved onto the weapon's bare tang to create the furniture of the hilt, the polished white material resting beautifully against the dark metal. The moonstone took longer yet, locked carefully into the artificer's gem-cutting apparatus and carefully cut and faceted to exacting dimensions. Diagrams and tomes started to clutter the workbench at this point, as the wizard carefully checked and double-checked the measurements for the angles and size of each facet, and cross referenced back to the notes left behind by his previously successful works.

It was hours before the finished gem was set as the weapon's pommel-stone, though a cup of coffee and a plate of toast was all it took to restore the mage's focus. The nearly finished saber and a stack of tomes were carried to a stone slab resting in the workshop's corner. The slab had a chalkboard-like texture, placed deliberately in the workshop as a surface on which to draw arcane circles, and Valerius levitated the weapon out over it with a confident incantation. He took a moment to tack up a few circular diagrams on the walls around the slab, and then set himself to painstakingly copying them onto the slab, using a black unguent of charcoal paste and crushed obsidian to draw the detailed lines and runes that would be required for the final enchantments.


Image


After double and triple checking his work, Valerius stepped back, and with a gesture and a word of power, sealed the spell circle. A low hum began to build in the workshop as the local Weave was contained within the ring, folding back on itself repeatedly and growing in concentrated power. The artificer finally began the invocations to finish the sword, reading aloud in reverberating, almost sinister draconic from a tome. The circle woke to life immediately, but there were no bright colors or light to accompany its power. Rather, the runes and lines seem to -consume- light, glowing with an uncanny anti-radiance that defied logic. The chanting continued, and soon the ritual circle was straining against the power it contained, the charcoal unguent smoking and smoldering as the materials came up against their arcane limits. Greater Magic Weapon, Keen Edge, and Shades were woven into the circle in practiced succession, and the room grew grew cold and dark as the ritual neared completion.

With a final Word of Power, a sweeping gesture, and a mighty effort of will, the ritual was completed, and the spell circle seemed to burst dramatically from a final swell of power. The charcoal lines used to draw the circle burst into sickly green flame and burned away in an instant, filling the room with choking smoke. Valerius held his breath in anticipation, and the smoke swirled lazily around the weapon. One heartbeat passed, then another, and suddenly the cloud of smoke collapsed inward, encasing the floating weapon in a shell of brittle carbon. The lump bobbed in the air for a breath longer, and then fell to the now barren stone slab, the shell shattering and scattering flakes of carbon and coal everywhere. The wizard approached and gingerly picked up the weapon out of the debris. It was cool to the touch, and he inspected it carefully.

A mote of darkness swirled within the moonstone, a miniscule rift to the Plane of Shadow successfully encased in the weapon's pommel. He could sense a slow trickle of planar energy leaching into the metal of the weapon, lending it a cold power. He slashed the heavy weapon through the air once, experimentally, and found that his enchantments held true, invisible magic guiding the blade and lending strength to its movements. Dark smoke trailed in the wake of the swung blade, and he knew the weapon would respond even better to an actual master of the shadows. The mage couldn't help but grin despite the exhaustion that was rapidly spreading through his bones, the weight of the powerful weapon resting enticing in his hand. It was a fine weapon, perhaps nearly equal to Dragonsong and Truthkeeper, and he knew that for all the trouble of its crafting, it would serve his friend well, and it being seen in action would only add to his reputation as a master craftsman.

The day had long worn into evening by then, and his last hours before exhausted sleep were spent ensuring the weapon was polished, cleaned, and oiled to perfection, before being wrapped into sinful black velvet for delivery.


 
      
SamTheGiantSlayer
 
PostPosted: Sat, Mar 12 2016, 11:21 AM 

User avatar

Player

Joined: 31 Mar 2014

A broad-shouldered, sinewy fellow descends the steps and into the usual den of work. His height towered over almost every pupil and apprentice in the shop, the shape of his body a mere silhouette beneath a baggy tunic. Along with the usual myriad of workers, he moved in rotation along the different machines and stations. He kept his back to everyone else. Especially the sweaty, sleepless mage who was just feet away. He was cowled and garbed in dark robes and a mask, perhaps to protect himself from the fumes of labor, or perhaps for a different reason. It was likely that no one had even noticed his unfamiliar presence among the crowd of novices, for he was just good enough at blending in to ignore. And just how many fresh faces showed up for eager work these days?

He would watch as the mage departed with his stumbling gait, gaze lingering for several moments. And then he returned again to his tasks; losing himself in the minutiae.

_________________
Image

Thats the way it crumbles ... cookie-wise!


 
      
PassionateShadow
 
PostPosted: Sat, Mar 12 2016, 16:48 PM 

User avatar

Player

Joined: 06 Jun 2014

A small scrawny looking elfish being would take note of the new folks with in the work shops.
He's an avid apprentice and helps out where ever possible. In his free time he sits at the docks working on small brid like constructs.

_________________
❤ Amia is Fun Again! ❤
#GreenisNotACreativeColour

Image
"It's easy to feel like a hero. It's a little harder to be one."


 
      
SamTheGiantSlayer
 
PostPosted: Sun, Mar 20 2016, 20:59 PM 

User avatar

Player

Joined: 31 Mar 2014

After over a week of her missing presence, the foundry had once more overgrown with weeds of disarray. The redheaded imp returned one quiet night whilst the lights were dimmed and the apprentices had long returned home. Plucking out a familiar flask of booze, she took a swig and began the process of weaving through the cluttered stations, desks, shelves, bookcases, tables, studies and aligned them with a logical sort of tidiness. One that was easily sorted through despite it not being where they may have last left it, following a linear system of alphabetical, numerical, spacial, or order based upon matter of importance.

Before morning came and the novices had returned for yet another day of labor, she constructed a small board on which she pinned several scraps of idle scrawlings. Huddled by her own little station of work, she scribbled onto the ledgers. The notes contained lists for her own personal reminder, dotted and underlined and bolded thrice over as if to call her attention. She hung a pocket watch over the edge of her little bulletin board and left the face exposed so that she had the comfort of temporal semblance whilst she worked.

She quaffed down several more drinks before the dawn had crept its way over the fishing village. A hearty breakfast was prepared and settled upon the biggest desk in the workplace. Instead of a glass of whiskey, she set down a cup of chilled fruit juice. Then she swept off back to her station whilst the rookies filed in for the first shift, flask in hand. She stared down upon her own notes for a long moment before sorting through the array of files upon her desk.

_________________
Image

Thats the way it crumbles ... cookie-wise!


 
      
SamTheGiantSlayer
 
PostPosted: Tue, Apr 05 2016, 23:58 PM 

User avatar

Player

Joined: 31 Mar 2014

In the late hours of the evening, as work dies down and the apprentices begin to shuffle out, a diminutive clockwork helper or two shuffles up with a clunky gait towards the biggest station in the foundry. The first helper holds a bottle-shaped parcel in the crook of his wiry arms, all nicely wrapped and topped with a bow. The second; in his little metal palms lies a huge iced cake, decorated around its perimeter with sparkling orange candles. Scrawled in artful script using more edible sludge reads the message:



~ HAPPY NAMESDAY LOVELY ~

_________________
Image

Thats the way it crumbles ... cookie-wise!


 
      
Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
Forum locked This topic is locked, you cannot edit posts or make further replies.  [ 13 posts ] 


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 7 guests


You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum

Search for:
Jump to:  
Powered by phpBB © 2000, 2002, 2005, 2007 phpBB Group