29 Frost, 21
It had taken time to find a tanner who could produce the quality of leather needed for what Torin had in mind. Even then he'd had to order it specially to be both thin enough and strong enough to hold all the magic he intended to pour into it.
The idea had been in his head, working its way through his knowledge and out into his consciousness since the night he'd arrived to find Aurin stitching the hole a blade had made in his middle. It hadn't been a grievous wound, had stitched easy and healed well, but near a year later the smith could still trace the slim line of the scar it had left when he woke beside the redhead in the early morning light.
Bracers of Shielding were fairly common, as far as one could think of runeforged items as common, and the base of the idea had come from there. The changes weren't extreme, but to Torin, they were needed. The reliance he had grown to attach around Aurin did not leave room for losing him to a blade in the dark, a bolt in the back, or even an unlucky moment.
Once the leather was obtained he had worked with exceptional care, even for the normally fastidious smith. Hyper-concentrating to the exclusion of all else for days while he dyed, cut, shaped, and decorated the pair, ensuring they were identical. The dyes were almost as expensive as the leather, for it would not do to have them bleed or fade over time. The structural magic would help with that, but one could not be too careful.
They were made in two layers, the lower was a deep brown, like fresh-turned earth. The upper, slightly smaller in all dimensions, was the dark green of the deep forest and bore what scrollwork Torin could contrive of with a fierce-looking fox rampant as the center of each.
Once the main pieces were done the straps needed to be cut, the holes for them stamped out, and the buckles (also made by him) set. There was stitch work as well, but cleverly done to hardly show once everything was in place. When he was fully satisfied that the pieces were as perfect as he could make them he moved to the forge.
For the structural improvements, he could use shards, but for the shielding magic, he had been obliged to hire a mage with the rune of Kinetics. The mage needed to be of reasonable skill, and while they need not be there every day of the forty-five needed to finish, Torin wanted to be able to call on them at a moment's notice in case anything went wrong, so he paid extra.
Torin hadn't worked with mages more than a handful of times and never for something as extensive as this project. So it was with nervousness that he awaited the arrival of the mage the first day. The tall women came highly recommended by the circle of mages, and, though somewhat severe in appearance proved worth every copper of her wages. She had experience working with runesmiths, which was of great value, considering how little Torin had himself, and she was able to show him some little tricks and tips, specifically associated with her own rune of power, that he would never have guessed at.
They did not develop what he would consider a friendship, but a mutual respect grew between them over the first few days of intense work to get the aether needed and adjusted to the bracers. Over the weeks that followed it was comfortable for him when he needed to call on her for additional aether to enhance the layers of protection as he wove them into the supple leather.
As he worked his mind began to compare the careful folding of layers of steel to make the finest blades with the way the kinetic aether folded over itself, again and again. In another way it was like making a candle, letting each layer set before dipping it back in for the next until the magic lay thick over the leather. It felt good, right, that it should be so, as though in making the bracers he was wrapping the man he loved in each later of protection, doing all he knew how to ensure that nothing could pierce the magic or armor. It was a protection for the fox-like man, but in a similar way, it was a protection for Torin.
He would be safe if Aurin was safe. It was an idea that had grown, organically, since the day they had met. A steadfast belief that, so long as Aurin was free and alive in the world, Torin would be too.
The weeks turned and Ash faded into Frost while the bracers stayed, glowing faintly at all times as their creation neared its conclusion. The smith's life changed in small ways and larger ones. Finn came by more often, helping him with his work in the mundane forge, never complaining when he stepped away to the aether kiln or runeforged workbench to make adjustments or just check that all was still well. Finn didn't ask about what went on on the magical side of the workshop. Most other people did, and while he would not have minded explaining to the minstrel, it was relieving sometimes to have someone who would talk happily of blacksmithing.
Timon seemed to be growing, or, if he wasn't yet, as his thirteenth birthday passed he achieved the near-constant state of hunger that often proceeded a growth spurt in boys his age. Torin was more than happy to feed the thin adolescent all he wanted, and, in truth, between the additionally energy a body spent keeping warm in the last season of the year and the much more consistent heavy work Kala provided, Torin was just as ravenous most days. Aurin had teased the pair of them about it often, thanking the gods he wasn't responsible for feeding them or pretending to fear having his hand bitten when he reached for a share of their meals.
When they had first moved in Timon had, for the first few projects that Torin worked on, asked to be allowed to watch him work. There had been no harm in it, the boy had learned under their previous master not to distract someone while they were working. But, as he couldn't see anything that was going on without getting in the way, the younger blond had quickly grown bored and now spent little or no time in the forge unless he needed to fetch Torin for a customer. The smith knew that there was a level of disappointment in the boy; that there had been hope his failure as a runesmith had been due to the harshness of their old master, but if the renewal of the acceptance upset Timon, it didn't show.
A little more than a week before the bracers would be finished, Destyn moved in. Having the Fae nearby was a comfort, even if it was also, at times, an adjustment. Torin's old friend still did not seem comfortable living inside, but it was too cold for the summer-child to spend much time outside. The smith did what he could, letting Destyn bask in the light of the Illumite lamps as often as they could be spared, letting him plant little pots with whatever struck his fancy and place them about the house. When the Fae began to slip into his bed some nights, Torin was far from objecting, usually only waking enough to adjust to the cold body huddling into his own for warmth before slipping back into slumber.
On the day the bracers were to be finished the mage, Marista was her name, arrived early. Her part in the creation was done, unless something went wrong right at the end, but she had expressed interest in seeing the completion and examining the finished product. It seemed that, once she was no longer needed, the runesmiths she had worked with before had not thought to offer to allow her to do so with her previous work. Torin had invited her as soon as she'd mentioned this. He might not need her professionally again for some time, but who could be sure of such things, and what harm was there in forming professionally acquaintances?
So it was that he was not alone as he sunk into the trance-like state the ending of a runeforged project often brought to him. It took a great deal of concentration to observe each layer and aether line in a piece, even a simple one, and understand if it was as it should be, precisely in place. There was the music of it, as soon as Torin stood before his aether glass, singing up at him in a symphony both more complex and more harmonious than any he had crafted before. He knew, in that moment, that all was well, that the bracers were complete.
He checked every line and mote anyway, discussed them with Marista, let her examine them to her curiosity's content, but he knew. The song of protection was complete.
It had taken time to find a tanner who could produce the quality of leather needed for what Torin had in mind. Even then he'd had to order it specially to be both thin enough and strong enough to hold all the magic he intended to pour into it.
The idea had been in his head, working its way through his knowledge and out into his consciousness since the night he'd arrived to find Aurin stitching the hole a blade had made in his middle. It hadn't been a grievous wound, had stitched easy and healed well, but near a year later the smith could still trace the slim line of the scar it had left when he woke beside the redhead in the early morning light.
Bracers of Shielding were fairly common, as far as one could think of runeforged items as common, and the base of the idea had come from there. The changes weren't extreme, but to Torin, they were needed. The reliance he had grown to attach around Aurin did not leave room for losing him to a blade in the dark, a bolt in the back, or even an unlucky moment.
Once the leather was obtained he had worked with exceptional care, even for the normally fastidious smith. Hyper-concentrating to the exclusion of all else for days while he dyed, cut, shaped, and decorated the pair, ensuring they were identical. The dyes were almost as expensive as the leather, for it would not do to have them bleed or fade over time. The structural magic would help with that, but one could not be too careful.
They were made in two layers, the lower was a deep brown, like fresh-turned earth. The upper, slightly smaller in all dimensions, was the dark green of the deep forest and bore what scrollwork Torin could contrive of with a fierce-looking fox rampant as the center of each.
Once the main pieces were done the straps needed to be cut, the holes for them stamped out, and the buckles (also made by him) set. There was stitch work as well, but cleverly done to hardly show once everything was in place. When he was fully satisfied that the pieces were as perfect as he could make them he moved to the forge.
For the structural improvements, he could use shards, but for the shielding magic, he had been obliged to hire a mage with the rune of Kinetics. The mage needed to be of reasonable skill, and while they need not be there every day of the forty-five needed to finish, Torin wanted to be able to call on them at a moment's notice in case anything went wrong, so he paid extra.
Torin hadn't worked with mages more than a handful of times and never for something as extensive as this project. So it was with nervousness that he awaited the arrival of the mage the first day. The tall women came highly recommended by the circle of mages, and, though somewhat severe in appearance proved worth every copper of her wages. She had experience working with runesmiths, which was of great value, considering how little Torin had himself, and she was able to show him some little tricks and tips, specifically associated with her own rune of power, that he would never have guessed at.
They did not develop what he would consider a friendship, but a mutual respect grew between them over the first few days of intense work to get the aether needed and adjusted to the bracers. Over the weeks that followed it was comfortable for him when he needed to call on her for additional aether to enhance the layers of protection as he wove them into the supple leather.
As he worked his mind began to compare the careful folding of layers of steel to make the finest blades with the way the kinetic aether folded over itself, again and again. In another way it was like making a candle, letting each layer set before dipping it back in for the next until the magic lay thick over the leather. It felt good, right, that it should be so, as though in making the bracers he was wrapping the man he loved in each later of protection, doing all he knew how to ensure that nothing could pierce the magic or armor. It was a protection for the fox-like man, but in a similar way, it was a protection for Torin.
He would be safe if Aurin was safe. It was an idea that had grown, organically, since the day they had met. A steadfast belief that, so long as Aurin was free and alive in the world, Torin would be too.
The weeks turned and Ash faded into Frost while the bracers stayed, glowing faintly at all times as their creation neared its conclusion. The smith's life changed in small ways and larger ones. Finn came by more often, helping him with his work in the mundane forge, never complaining when he stepped away to the aether kiln or runeforged workbench to make adjustments or just check that all was still well. Finn didn't ask about what went on on the magical side of the workshop. Most other people did, and while he would not have minded explaining to the minstrel, it was relieving sometimes to have someone who would talk happily of blacksmithing.
Timon seemed to be growing, or, if he wasn't yet, as his thirteenth birthday passed he achieved the near-constant state of hunger that often proceeded a growth spurt in boys his age. Torin was more than happy to feed the thin adolescent all he wanted, and, in truth, between the additionally energy a body spent keeping warm in the last season of the year and the much more consistent heavy work Kala provided, Torin was just as ravenous most days. Aurin had teased the pair of them about it often, thanking the gods he wasn't responsible for feeding them or pretending to fear having his hand bitten when he reached for a share of their meals.
When they had first moved in Timon had, for the first few projects that Torin worked on, asked to be allowed to watch him work. There had been no harm in it, the boy had learned under their previous master not to distract someone while they were working. But, as he couldn't see anything that was going on without getting in the way, the younger blond had quickly grown bored and now spent little or no time in the forge unless he needed to fetch Torin for a customer. The smith knew that there was a level of disappointment in the boy; that there had been hope his failure as a runesmith had been due to the harshness of their old master, but if the renewal of the acceptance upset Timon, it didn't show.
A little more than a week before the bracers would be finished, Destyn moved in. Having the Fae nearby was a comfort, even if it was also, at times, an adjustment. Torin's old friend still did not seem comfortable living inside, but it was too cold for the summer-child to spend much time outside. The smith did what he could, letting Destyn bask in the light of the Illumite lamps as often as they could be spared, letting him plant little pots with whatever struck his fancy and place them about the house. When the Fae began to slip into his bed some nights, Torin was far from objecting, usually only waking enough to adjust to the cold body huddling into his own for warmth before slipping back into slumber.
On the day the bracers were to be finished the mage, Marista was her name, arrived early. Her part in the creation was done, unless something went wrong right at the end, but she had expressed interest in seeing the completion and examining the finished product. It seemed that, once she was no longer needed, the runesmiths she had worked with before had not thought to offer to allow her to do so with her previous work. Torin had invited her as soon as she'd mentioned this. He might not need her professionally again for some time, but who could be sure of such things, and what harm was there in forming professionally acquaintances?
So it was that he was not alone as he sunk into the trance-like state the ending of a runeforged project often brought to him. It took a great deal of concentration to observe each layer and aether line in a piece, even a simple one, and understand if it was as it should be, precisely in place. There was the music of it, as soon as Torin stood before his aether glass, singing up at him in a symphony both more complex and more harmonious than any he had crafted before. He knew, in that moment, that all was well, that the bracers were complete.
He checked every line and mote anyway, discussed them with Marista, let her examine them to her curiosity's content, but he knew. The song of protection was complete.
