Like-Minded Correspondence

Fri Dec 27, 2019 3:40 am

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"Fate is one of those finicky things that will never go the way you hoped, but will always take you to where you need to be."

ASH 11TH, YEAR 119, AGE OF STEEL

Dolur watched Linden work with one of the midwives to help a woman bring a child into this world. With mortar and pestle in hand, he crushed an herb mixture that was weighed on a small medical scale. What did the young apprentice say was in it again? One part Feverfew, three parts of Arrow Vine where the milk was dried into a powder, and one part Garl Root which is then got stirred in some Red Rasberry Leaf tea. The midwife keeping the young woman calm and telling her that the pains were natural.

"It hurts so much! I hate my partner! That man did that to me!" Screams the soon-to-be mother as she arches in pain.

"That is the pain talking, but please continue. Best to get everything off your chest as it will preoccupy your mind," replies Linden as he takes out a vial now and sets it down on the table. "Have you picked out names?"

"Demon!"

"Well... That's not a real name, but I'm sure there could be variations?" He says now while walking to the small table where the tea was cooling for consumption with his little mixture. Picking up the cup, he could tell that it might still be a tad bit warm so he blew on it while going to the bedside. "Now this may be a tad warm, but this will help ease some of the pain and I am working on something stronger." The midwife Laurel takes the warm cup and brings it to the other's lips as they drink and cringe. "Sorry, medicine rarely tastes good and you will have to drink all of it."

Angrily the young woman takes the cup and drinks the medicinal contents down in four gulps despite the burning. She began to cough as their back was patted. "What is your pain level?"

"Like I want to skin the man's face while he is trying to smoke his pipe!"

"Um, I was asking about your pain level, not what you wished to do to your partner at this current time."

"I feel like I have something the size of a watermelon trying to burst forth from me you over-talkative-"

The young woman let out a cry of pain as Linden grabbed the vial from the table and gently shook the liquid inside. The outside of the vial marked with various lines that told him how much he was using and how man portions were inside. The medicine will take a few more minutes to kick in and he couldn't give her anymore since she was pregnant. Taking out a hardened leather case, Linden unclasped the buckle that held a hypodermic syringe and three hollow hypodermic needles. Making sure to grab the base of the smallest needle, Linden carefully attaches it to the syringe as the world around him faded to the background.

Experienced eyes watch carefully to not touch any part of the needle that could potentially touch the young woman's skin as he asked Laurel to wash her hands with his cleanser and unscrew the lid. Once the vial was opened is when Linden placed the sterile tip in and drew up the proper amount based on his vials markings.

Turning he noticed the woman to be relaxed as the pain was being dulled which hopefully means she would be more willing to talk. "With Laurel's help, we are going to move you to your side and I'm going to give you something that will help with the pain for after what we are going to do okay?"

"Uh-huh," was her response as Linden looked at the syringe and went back to the vial that was still open and pressed down on the syringe to release half of the medication that he made.

"Why did you do that?" Asks Dolur to test his apprentice in front of him.

"The amount of powder I gave her is what I would give anyone her size and age, but since it has a stronger effect on her the dosage I have in the syringe needs to be cut in half."

"Why give her that if she is calm and not in pain?"

"Because the effect will wear off in ten minutes, but in her case, it will probably be double that and if you could time it that would be great," he answers and grabs a clean, damp cloth that soaking in his cleanser.

"Way ahead of you, Linden. I am your Mentor after all."

Smiling at them he begins to get Laurel to help move the young woman to her side as Linden came up to clean the area he was going to insert the needle into. Waiting for it to dry against the skin a little he takes a deep breath. Slowly and steadily he presses the sharp tip into the area near her spine. Doing it at least twice to both sides as the woman whimpers and lets out a sob.

"You are doing great, I promise you this will make things easier for you," Linden reassures and pulls out the needle slowly and takes the cloth that he used to press against the bleeding punctures. "You are doing great and soon you will have a beautiful child coming into this world." As they rolled the woman back to her back as Laurel and Linden went to work to prepare everything to bring the little one into the world.

"Well, I must say Lad that she was only in labor for four hours and your concoction worked for half that."

"I can only do so much until I learn more about how people process things differently since we both know one method doesn't work on everyone. If it did, then our job would be much easier."

"Ah, I wasn't criticizing. Just stating, there is a difference you know and I must say you have gotten better these past four years looking at a woman down there and delivering children," Dolur gives Linden a jab on the side.

"Were you always this vulgar?"

"You came to me because I am one of the best in Atinaw, so you remember that. If memory serves, you came to me on hands and knees too."

"Okay, okay, enough of that. It was just a long day and I'm just glad that the baby is very healthy. I know Laurel was happy for me to leave, but she knows how I work the best," Linden sighs and knew he needed a shower and a change of clothes once they get to Dolur's home/clinic.

"Ah! Before I forget, there is a favor I need of you and not really favor either since you will do it," Dolur states as they walk up to his building.

"Oh? What would that be?"

"I need you to write a letter to a friend of mine in Lorien if you will. I need parts for my latest device and if he could make me a few items that were artificed than even better!"

Linden unlocked the door and allowed Dolur to enter first as Linden let out a yawn before following in. "I can, but why not ask someone around our region or someplace closer?"

"Because Wagner and I know each other and it gives me an excuse to make that bastard work on something fine and delicate! We are good friends that need to torment each other you know," he grins and walks over to take the soiled back from Linden. "Now go wash up and I will take care of these. Even I learned a thing or two from you and can clean and sterilize them just fine. Now go."

"Thanks, Dolur, you are the best no matter what the others around town say."

"You are- Wait... What do they say? Not that I care since I know I am a grumpy ass dwarf," Dolur waited for his apprentice to respond but was given laughter instead and clicked his tongue. "Cheeky brat! You are catching on!"

Freshly cleaned and in new clothes, Linden sat down and went to work on the letter that Dolur wanted to send to his friend Wagner. Wondering why he needed to write it anyways until he saw the notes that Dolur took for him during this case. It was semi-legible, but thankfully Linden understood "Dolur language" and by the ink well were a list of items and designs that he knew he needed to redo. This was going to take a while.

"Right," he whispers and pushes the scribbled notes aside to write down in the ledger later with the others. First things first, redrawing the items that Dolur wants to be made as some had some stains from jams, mead, and oil.

Taking out a clean sheet of thick parchment, Linden began to measure everything and the best thing about Dolur is that almost everything he drew was true to size. This one was a piece for his "hands" that he had around the shop and usually needed to be replaced. It appears one of his handpieces for his own practice needed a replacement and they also required runic magic to be applied. It was a part of the handpiece that when a scalpel blade was attached, saying the activation word allowed heat to heat up the blade that allowed for near-instant cauterization. It was genius really and one of the big reasons why he wished to practice under Dolur.

Once they were finished with the proper measurements and the break down of every piece, Linden began to work on the note. It didn't occur to him he hasn't eaten for the past nine hours between the birth to now. Dolur knew better than to tear Linden away when he was obviously invested and focused, so he had stew and water at the table near the door that would be waiting for him once finished.

► Show Spoiler

Fri Dec 27, 2019 5:43 am

Ash 41, 119

Since he'd been accepted into Master Wagner's workshop, Foma's fingers had been perpetually stained black with a combination of charcoal and ink. When he slept, his dreams were filled with that same darkness, the scents of the ocean, the spicy smoke of charred wood... he'd never written so many symbols in his entire life. All of the letters he'd ever written in what he'd then believed to be endless repetition all for handwriting that wouldn't immediately peg him as one of Lorien's filthy nameless didn't even come close in comparison.

The Circle of Minding, Wagner's Imbuing, Holzknecht's Imbuing, shrouds for movement and control and strength and dexterity, lure after lure and all the different variations taken into consideration based upon a shards elemental attribute... there were symbols for power and symbols for connectivity. There was grammatical structure, linguistic derivatives, symbols that were identical to each other save only for how they were written and the willpower behind it.

He'd strained muscles in his hands he'd never even known existed. He'd learned that, after countless moments of touching his lips with stained fingers, ink didn't actually taste all that bad and charcoal was a bit too ashy to enjoy. He'd been lectured time and time again that while there were always going to be references, rote memorization was key to proper application of the intrinsic meaning behind an artificer's work: which meant everything he did had to be remembered not only in his body, in his muscles and skin and bone, but in his mind as well, more than definitions of words but rather their essence, their soul ingrained into his own.

He was the symbols and the symbols were he.

And yet, admit this endless deluge of ink and ash and meaning and intention, there were letters. Not "letters" but letters, correspondences sent from those both near and far. Most were requests for jobs to be done and others inquires if there were jobs available. Some were more socially inclined, invitations and notifications. Few were notes of thanks and praise. And the least of the letters?

Those addressed to one Foma Kozlov.

Letters were what he spent his precious few breaks on, reading words that didn't need to have meaning beyond exactly what they meant. Miss Holzknecht said that the best rest came not from doing nothing rather from doing something similar but different. Reading and writing used ink and parchment, the same as what pictography required, but it was far, far simpler. It was merely a transcription of conscious thought, not an expression of a subconscious tightly controlled to align with what consciousness demanded.

So letters were a time of calm, where his weary mind could easily make sense of what he saw and quickly formulate replies, a false sense of efficiency and competency. He loved, of course, the raw rigor of relentless training, but he also enjoyed those small reminders he wasn't entirely wide eyed and nubile in all aspects of his life.

Merely artifice.

That day the courier had dropped off a fat and heavy stack of envelopes for Foma to sort through. Wax seals, especially those bearing Lorien signets, were always the first to be opened, read, and summarized into the most time efficient outlines as possible along with any notes or blueprints needed for the other apprentices to produce the desired works. Some of these were even passed on to Master Wagner himself at Foma's own discretion, a responsibility he'd quite literally gaped his mouth at in surprise initially before Miss Holzknecht had informed him how very much Master Wagner loathed receiving mail and that it was in his best interests to simply handle everything himself if possible.

Sometimes it wasn't, but he'd taken the golden haired girl's advice to heart and, thus far, had only been forced to directly deliver a grand total of three thus far.

Fortunately that day, not a single one of the nobility's requests, praises, or invitations made the cut. Everything was handled. Replies were written in duplicate; one was filed while the other was neatly folded into a fresh, crisp envelope and set upon the stack of out-going parcels and notes that was emptied early each morning.

The less urgent messages were mostly a collection of various requests. Those that contained advanced payments were always given higher priority over those that did not, and for those strange or unusual demands, Foma cross-referenced with the workshop's production manual, filing those into either possible or improbable folders. Anyone who felt especially daring was welcome to the improbable, but everything else was assigned.

One such request he would have normally filed under "possible" had it not been for the content of the letter itself. The designs were neatly and clearly drawn, quite doable from what he understood, but the mention of a "lifetime price" gave him pause. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it in a letter, but it was the first time he'd seen in letter referencing one Dolur Silvertomes.

"Miss Holzknecht?" He'd crossed to room to the young girl's desk, long since having learned the lesson that though they were far enough to call to one another from across the way, that was a privilege she herself and only herself was allowed to execute. Vice versa and he was on his hands and knees scrubbing the workshop floor long after everyone else had gone home. It had only taken a collective seven nights for him to break the habit.

"Mister Kozlov?" She didn't look from her work, but there was was no ink nor tools for engraving in her hands, which was evidence enough that while she appeared busy, it wasn't anything she couldn't split her focus for.

"Mister Dolur Silvertomes."

"Silvertomes?" Small hands set aside the shard she'd been holding and her wide green eyes met his own. "Uncle Dolur sent in a request? How in the world did you manage to decipher it?"

"Decipher...? Does Mister Silvertomes write in code...?

"What? No. He-" Miss Holzknecht rolled her eyes, slapped her hands down onto the table in front of her, and hopped off of her stool. "Show me the letter."

As a pair, they returned to clerk's desk in the corner of the room that had temporarily, or so Miss Holzknecht said, become Foma's secondary place of residence. She quickly snatched the paper out of his hands as he offered it and scanned its contents. Her smooth brow furrowed for a moment before she extended her hand again, still scanning the contents of the letter in her other.

"There are drawings, I presume?"

"Yes, miss." All three of the secondary pictures were handed over.

"Mm. Well they're certainly true to Uncle's designs..." she murmured, looking them over with a deepening frown. "Though I do find it exceptionally unlike him to take on an-" She seemed to catch herself, a slight shrug, then handed all of the papers back to him. "Well, anyway. All of that is in order. Be sure to add Mister Silvertomes to your list of exemptions and don't bother me over him again, is that understood?"

"Yes, miss."

"Lovely. Wonderful. That's the last of your allotted questions for the day, Mister Kozlov."

As Miss Holzknecht sauntered off back to her own work, Foma filed the request under "Wagner", dipped the nib into his half-empty well of ink, and penned out the reply.

Mister Dolur Silvertomes,

Your request has been received and is now being processed. Please be aware that while the six counts of "Helping Hands" can and will be more or less true to both the design and function you have provided, our workshop does not partner with runeforges. Therefore, while we can most certainly fabricate the scalpels' handles as per your designs, they will be unable to perform the function as demanded.

All eleven items will be completed as soon as possible and sent back to the address you have provided en masse as a single delivery. While the time frame you have provided will be taken into account, this workshop cannot be held responsible for any delays during shipment. Due to this, a reliable timeline cannot be provided, but the end of Searing does provide for quite a long stretch of time, during which you should be receiving your order assuming there are no major complications.

He paused for a moment, considering the more personal touches that had been included. While first and foremost he was expected to be professional in his handling of correspondence, that didn't mean he couldn't at least be cordial enough to address a letter in its entirety.

P.S. I can assure you time has only served to make Master Wagner all the more formidable. If Mister Silvertomes genuinely wishes to challenge the master, I would suggest something far more complex. The master has been quite interested in insects lately, if that might provide Mister Silvertomes with some idea of what he would like next, if at all.

Fifth Apprentice to Master Lamprecht Wagner,
Foma Kozlov

Folded, sealed, and summarily forgotten, Foma set the letter on the outgoing stack and continued about his day. Thirty or so more envelopes later, and he was back under Miss Holzknecht's watchful eyes while he wrote out symbol after endless symbol.

Thu Jan 09, 2020 1:19 am

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"Fate is one of those finicky things that will never go the way you hoped, but will always take you to where you need to be."

ASH 68TH, YEAR 119, AGE OF STEEL

The arrival of the letter from Master Lamprecht Wagner, well his apprentice Foma Kozlov, was met with a burst of hearty laughter. Dolur slapped the letter with the back of his thick fingers with a large puff of smoke came from his pipe. Setting the letter down and tilts back on his chair.

"I'm waiting for the day for that poor thing to finally break and you will be landing on your ass," says Linden as he walks over and takes the letters. "They said they don't have access to a runeforges so what are we going to do now? You always said you use him and what is the point if he doesn't have everything we need?"

Taking a deep inhale of his pipe, Dolur looked over to Linden and blew a large ring towards them that made a perfect circle as it dissipated once it hit their body. "Don't get your knickers all twisted and hung now Lad," he smiles and leans back a little more and rocks back and forth. "When I get them, I will be going to Alfos for a bit to a friend there. A true doctor or healer has a network of people that they work with. Together, anything can be accomplished. Take you, for example, let's face it. You are a decent surgeon, but you are in a niche. You are fascinated by the procedures, but the surgeries themselves sicken you even though you don't show it. Amputation is your weakness and because you can't stand the screaming and the painful cries, you make medicine to help them. To deaden the pain or to just flat knock them out so things can get done."

"Don't change the subject, Dolur. Artificing and engineering have nothing to do with me so don't start," warns Linden. It was a few times he would use such a tone with Dolur and his Master just looked at him with a smirk.

"Right then. How about you tell him that challenge is accepted and that if he is challenged by the designs that I, well you, send him. That he will give me a free shipment and a credit to my next order. If not, then I will send that bastard a fine bottle of wine and mead."

"Dolur, just because you are dwarves doesn't mean drink means everything to your kind," Linden replies with a look of disbelief.

"Fine, fine. Add the fine bottles and I will have 1.5 times the amount. I won't go double since the bastard doesn't have a runeforge or a partnership with one."

"Well, if he gets paid more I'm sure he could?"

"BAH! He has his apprentices! Hmmm, now that I remember, why don't you name yourself as my apprentice in the letter? Make that fat bastard shit himself?"

"How much did you have to drink with your pipe?"

"Not nearly enough and I think he will get a kick out of it. Now, run along. I can handle clinical today and show me how sharp that mind of yours is. Draw me up something that will challenge a Master of his craft and his apprentices. Can you handle that, Lad?"

"I believe I can manage that," he nods and sets the letters down. "Also Dolur, just because I don't like chopping the limbs off of people doesn't make me a bad surgeon or doctor. I am proud of what I do. I just don't like the idea of people suffering while we are trying to help them."

"Lesson 1, Linden. As I told you before, everyone suffers no matter what we do. They suffer. We suffer. We all suffer in this trade."

ASH 88TH, YEAR 119, AGE OF STEEL

► Show Spoiler

Unbeknownst to Linden, sample drawings of potential medical device designs were mixed into the mix as he folded and sealed the letter. Hoping that the letter will make it at a decent pace despite the weather.

Missing drawing 1

Missing drawing 2

Missing drawing 3