2nd, Searing, 122
Glade had raced by; after the new year's party and the slow drag of Frost the planting season had flown on wings past the shop and house that had become, in the three seasons since he'd come to claim them, to be called 'home' by the tall youth who owned them. As far north as the 'Jewel of the Northlands' was, even as Searing bloomed over it, it wasn't really hot. Perhaps some people thought of the weather that way, but for a man raised in a forge, the breeze felt soft and cool still. There would be days, even a couple weeks perhaps, when it would be hot. The wheat and other grain would need that time to ripen, and woe to the land on a year without them. It had happened a few times, unseasonal rainstorms lasting long enough to destroy what had been all but ready to harvest, or unexpected cold fronts coming down off the mountains.
Those years had been bad, but a blacksmith always had work, a runesmith many times as much. Glade was usually not an especially busy season for the profession, most who needed magic items for farming or the campaigns for conquest, riches, or glory knew to order them in Frost. The fruit of the runeforge took time, just as that of the fields did, sometimes more. This year had been different though, war was brewing, a god had fallen to mortal kind and the city was rife with ill portents and uncertainty. The reputation Torin had been carefully cultivating since he'd opened his shop the previous Ash had apparently been spreading roots throughout the city, aided, he was sure, in word-of-mouth spread by Kala and Aurin.
The frightened masses had sought protection and some level of certainty in whatever way they might. For the wealthy of the city, that had always meant magic. Every runesmith, alchemist, scrivener and necromancer in the city had been suddenly gifted more work than they could take. There was even word of artificers being called upon to create mechanical warders to protect their purchasers. Torin himself hadn't seen evidence of any of this last, nor heard from any credible source, but he had been working every day without stop, and often late into the night. Little time had been able to be spared for his friends, though he had set aside time to at least check on each.
Even more unfortunate had been the delay in setting up the alchemical lab he had planned with Sivan. The sudden demand on resources, particularly magical ones had meant he wasn't able to procure the needed tools to finish a proper set up, and, besides that, Sivan had been called on by his previous employer to help fill orders. Working at the much better equipped shop had been the better choice in the circumstances. Torin had not been happy about going from the certainty of seeing his friend daily to barely seeing him a handful of times the whole season but adjusting to circumstances was how you survived.
By the time the season was winding down those who could afford sudden commissions for magical items and elixirs had either gotten what they'd wanted, or decided that perhaps war was not quite so eminent as it had seemed in those first days of terror after the prince had fallen. There was still a higher than normal call for Torin's work, but he at least felt like he had some space to breathe now.
Kala had pulled some strings to get him the equipment he needed for the alchemical lab, which had arrived in several carefully packed crates the day before. Torin had taken them up to the small room built above his forge himself. The room built above the runeforge was still empty, quietly waiting for when the two young worldmages had time to explore artificing properly. He did not know the proper way to set up the alchemical equipment, or even if there was a specific way it should be set. It might be specific to the alchemist in question, so, he left everything in its protective packaging until his alchemist arrived.
Sivan wasn't his in any sense other than that he was the alchemist Torin knew best, the only one he was on a friendly footing with. They were friends. Beyond that was murky territory. They had shared touch and slept curled close together more than once, but not much more. The events of the prince's wedding had caused many unexpected ripples both wide reaching and personal for every person who knew of them and many who did not. In the case of the tall youth smith, it had caused his pockets to be lined with gold and his heart to be on meager rations.
He had sent a note via Timon to Sivan to let him know that the supplies had, finally, arrived and asking that he come by at his nearest convenient time to ensure that everything had arrived as expected. Torin himself wouldn't know if anything was amiss and getting things reshipped or replaced would take more time. The morning and early afternoon were, blessedly, empty of any work that could not wait, and Torin hoped he might get to spend them in the elf's company.
Glade had raced by; after the new year's party and the slow drag of Frost the planting season had flown on wings past the shop and house that had become, in the three seasons since he'd come to claim them, to be called 'home' by the tall youth who owned them. As far north as the 'Jewel of the Northlands' was, even as Searing bloomed over it, it wasn't really hot. Perhaps some people thought of the weather that way, but for a man raised in a forge, the breeze felt soft and cool still. There would be days, even a couple weeks perhaps, when it would be hot. The wheat and other grain would need that time to ripen, and woe to the land on a year without them. It had happened a few times, unseasonal rainstorms lasting long enough to destroy what had been all but ready to harvest, or unexpected cold fronts coming down off the mountains.
Those years had been bad, but a blacksmith always had work, a runesmith many times as much. Glade was usually not an especially busy season for the profession, most who needed magic items for farming or the campaigns for conquest, riches, or glory knew to order them in Frost. The fruit of the runeforge took time, just as that of the fields did, sometimes more. This year had been different though, war was brewing, a god had fallen to mortal kind and the city was rife with ill portents and uncertainty. The reputation Torin had been carefully cultivating since he'd opened his shop the previous Ash had apparently been spreading roots throughout the city, aided, he was sure, in word-of-mouth spread by Kala and Aurin.
The frightened masses had sought protection and some level of certainty in whatever way they might. For the wealthy of the city, that had always meant magic. Every runesmith, alchemist, scrivener and necromancer in the city had been suddenly gifted more work than they could take. There was even word of artificers being called upon to create mechanical warders to protect their purchasers. Torin himself hadn't seen evidence of any of this last, nor heard from any credible source, but he had been working every day without stop, and often late into the night. Little time had been able to be spared for his friends, though he had set aside time to at least check on each.
Even more unfortunate had been the delay in setting up the alchemical lab he had planned with Sivan. The sudden demand on resources, particularly magical ones had meant he wasn't able to procure the needed tools to finish a proper set up, and, besides that, Sivan had been called on by his previous employer to help fill orders. Working at the much better equipped shop had been the better choice in the circumstances. Torin had not been happy about going from the certainty of seeing his friend daily to barely seeing him a handful of times the whole season but adjusting to circumstances was how you survived.
By the time the season was winding down those who could afford sudden commissions for magical items and elixirs had either gotten what they'd wanted, or decided that perhaps war was not quite so eminent as it had seemed in those first days of terror after the prince had fallen. There was still a higher than normal call for Torin's work, but he at least felt like he had some space to breathe now.
Kala had pulled some strings to get him the equipment he needed for the alchemical lab, which had arrived in several carefully packed crates the day before. Torin had taken them up to the small room built above his forge himself. The room built above the runeforge was still empty, quietly waiting for when the two young worldmages had time to explore artificing properly. He did not know the proper way to set up the alchemical equipment, or even if there was a specific way it should be set. It might be specific to the alchemist in question, so, he left everything in its protective packaging until his alchemist arrived.
Sivan wasn't his in any sense other than that he was the alchemist Torin knew best, the only one he was on a friendly footing with. They were friends. Beyond that was murky territory. They had shared touch and slept curled close together more than once, but not much more. The events of the prince's wedding had caused many unexpected ripples both wide reaching and personal for every person who knew of them and many who did not. In the case of the tall youth smith, it had caused his pockets to be lined with gold and his heart to be on meager rations.
He had sent a note via Timon to Sivan to let him know that the supplies had, finally, arrived and asking that he come by at his nearest convenient time to ensure that everything had arrived as expected. Torin himself wouldn't know if anything was amiss and getting things reshipped or replaced would take more time. The morning and early afternoon were, blessedly, empty of any work that could not wait, and Torin hoped he might get to spend them in the elf's company.