TIMESTAMP: Ash 2nd, 122
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
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The Under-Forge, Sanctine District
Opening to a quiet stir of whispers, the Under-Forge had seen a scarce few clientele since the doors opened. Mainly, wandering elves and vastians in search of creative inspiration, to feel for Aardwalden’s prices, and competitors that covertly scoped the establishment to gauge his worth no doubt beneath his nose.
The workshop was off limits to the public, but those Aardwalden took on to train could see more than the quaint shop at the fore, which anyone could peruse. On display up front were replicas of prior projects, swords and raiments of old dwarven filigree made of mundane metals. Even staves of such, showing the art of his metalworking without need for the risking of his artifacts.
Within the shop was a desk at the far end, the granite stone floor polished to a reflective shine. The entirety of the place was dark with the rock, and where gold glimmered in gleamed in contrast.
Merethyl and Vik, Aardwalden’s apprentices, quietly debated an aesthetic opinion between themselves. Together, the three of them had delivered a simple structural enhancement of a loved one’s locket, something that only took a pair of days. They were still in talks with other clients, who often had grand visions and desires which took more than a single meeting to express, often necessitating travel to their home.
So far, not a soul had asked for a weapon. Such requests as “Can you make this brazier burn forever with a green flame? Will you make for me a lightshow as I play my music?” often balked at the pricing they were faced with and scurried away. The more patient customers seemed to know what went into Runeforging.
The project Aardwalden now had involved composing a mural from Illumyte, given depth by elaborate golden filigree behind the light. He was no painter, but he was given a canvas for which to work from, and the unique challenge of converting painted paper to visualized light, planning his layers of filigree. The first few days of the project would no doubt require constructing the base grate of solid gold, for which he had already purchased from a reputable seller here in the Sanctine District.
“Aard,” said Merethyl. “Tell me, is this Mirror correct? We cannot agree.”
Aardwalden turned from his workstation, and peered down upon her scrawled paper at the halfmoon drawn there. “The make isn’t mine own, but it should serve its function. Yours, I presume?”
“Vik’s,” said Merethyl.
Vik appeared from behind her, his antennae twitching as he wrote upon some parchment there upon his hand in a clipboard, then presented it. ”I believe this shape better fits my hand.”
Aardwalden shrugged. “Experiment. There is no best way. Be safe and use minor Dragonshards, however!”
Vik and Merethyl seemed content with the answer, then turned to quietly bicker as they studied Scrivening more, already off on their own experiment at a nearby workstation.
Aardwalden saw in his vision a figure lurking in the shop, and moved to greet them. “Welcome to the Under-Forge!” he decried, popping his head out. Aard had on a rather standard merchant’s vest and a white tunic beneath, glossy shoes tapping on the floor with the weight of his heavy, short body.
Shutting the door behind him, he stood in full austerity by his desk. “We have a catalogue of our products there on the table. Fine dwarven craftsmanship, and Runeforged wares; art, arms, and armor! Feel free to peruse, and I am around if you have any questions.” The standing tablet had each of the products and their worrisome prices, but never a say on the time or if they were immediately available.
Aardwalden had a seat behind the desk, and shut his eyes in thought. There was so much to do, and so little time.
The Under-Forge, Sanctine District
Opening to a quiet stir of whispers, the Under-Forge had seen a scarce few clientele since the doors opened. Mainly, wandering elves and vastians in search of creative inspiration, to feel for Aardwalden’s prices, and competitors that covertly scoped the establishment to gauge his worth no doubt beneath his nose.
The workshop was off limits to the public, but those Aardwalden took on to train could see more than the quaint shop at the fore, which anyone could peruse. On display up front were replicas of prior projects, swords and raiments of old dwarven filigree made of mundane metals. Even staves of such, showing the art of his metalworking without need for the risking of his artifacts.
Within the shop was a desk at the far end, the granite stone floor polished to a reflective shine. The entirety of the place was dark with the rock, and where gold glimmered in gleamed in contrast.
Merethyl and Vik, Aardwalden’s apprentices, quietly debated an aesthetic opinion between themselves. Together, the three of them had delivered a simple structural enhancement of a loved one’s locket, something that only took a pair of days. They were still in talks with other clients, who often had grand visions and desires which took more than a single meeting to express, often necessitating travel to their home.
So far, not a soul had asked for a weapon. Such requests as “Can you make this brazier burn forever with a green flame? Will you make for me a lightshow as I play my music?” often balked at the pricing they were faced with and scurried away. The more patient customers seemed to know what went into Runeforging.
The project Aardwalden now had involved composing a mural from Illumyte, given depth by elaborate golden filigree behind the light. He was no painter, but he was given a canvas for which to work from, and the unique challenge of converting painted paper to visualized light, planning his layers of filigree. The first few days of the project would no doubt require constructing the base grate of solid gold, for which he had already purchased from a reputable seller here in the Sanctine District.
“Aard,” said Merethyl. “Tell me, is this Mirror correct? We cannot agree.”
Aardwalden turned from his workstation, and peered down upon her scrawled paper at the halfmoon drawn there. “The make isn’t mine own, but it should serve its function. Yours, I presume?”
“Vik’s,” said Merethyl.
Vik appeared from behind her, his antennae twitching as he wrote upon some parchment there upon his hand in a clipboard, then presented it. ”I believe this shape better fits my hand.”
Aardwalden shrugged. “Experiment. There is no best way. Be safe and use minor Dragonshards, however!”
Vik and Merethyl seemed content with the answer, then turned to quietly bicker as they studied Scrivening more, already off on their own experiment at a nearby workstation.
Aardwalden saw in his vision a figure lurking in the shop, and moved to greet them. “Welcome to the Under-Forge!” he decried, popping his head out. Aard had on a rather standard merchant’s vest and a white tunic beneath, glossy shoes tapping on the floor with the weight of his heavy, short body.
Shutting the door behind him, he stood in full austerity by his desk. “We have a catalogue of our products there on the table. Fine dwarven craftsmanship, and Runeforged wares; art, arms, and armor! Feel free to peruse, and I am around if you have any questions.” The standing tablet had each of the products and their worrisome prices, but never a say on the time or if they were immediately available.
Aardwalden had a seat behind the desk, and shut his eyes in thought. There was so much to do, and so little time.
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