Taking Notice [Pharaoh]

[Torin Kilvin]

32 Ash, 122

The season was progressing, the winds were taking on their customary chill and the forests surrounding the city of Kalzasi were full into their changes. From any major height it looked as though the capitol was surrounded by a sea of crimson, orange and gold. After the, relative, heat of the summer had made Torin's forge a veritable oven, the cool sweeping in was a relief. Not everyone enjoyed how cold it got so early in the year, but in the smith's profession it was a blessing.

Having found himself with an afternoon without specific work that needed doing (the runeforge was always working, but the morning had been all the time required to check on the armor that was being worked on for his patron house and his own personal projects) so, had decided to walk through the markets that surrounded his place of work. This time of year there was a bounty of freshly harvested crops for sale and just wandering he always came across something to bring home for Timon to cook. Additionally, it was just past lunch time and he was almost as hungry once the weather turned as he was from a day swinging a hammer.

There were bakeries and vendor's carts, all of which sold a variety of quick meals if he wanted to ate as he wandered, not to mention any number of inns and taverns, to stop in if he wanted to sit for a meal. He knew most of the ones within a dozen blocks by then, having eaten out almost exclusively until Timon had decided that he wanted to learn the culinary arts. Not there was almost always something worth eating at home, but it was still nice to step out and support the local establishments now and then. It wasn't as if he needed to save money, after all. Truth be told he had, literally, more gold then he knew what he do with. Aurin had made investment suggestions, and he was letting the redhead handle most of his finances, but good investments would lead to additional wealth, which he would then not know what to do with.

He was content in his home and work and wanted nothing more. Timon seemed quite content staying and working for his apprentice's pay until he was of age, even if his skills as a merchant and salesman now outstripped Torin's by a fair amount. If the lad wanted more when he was legally allowed to make his own choices there would be plenty to set him up in any profession he could desire. Torin had no family, no one else who needed his support, so, mostly he just tried not to feel guilty when he indulged in expensive experiments in the world magics he practiced.

Weaving his way between stalls he bought a paper package of roasted chestnuts from one stall, a apple and spice filled pastry at another, munching as he waved or greeted people he knew. No one could really be called a friend but the locals knew him and he knew them in the way of such things. The motherly type women had fretted when he'd started losing weight early in he year, and while he'd gained it back now, they sometimes still tried to suggest he hire this one's unmarried sister, or that one's grown up daughter to keep house and cook for him. He always thanked them, but politely declined. The current woman he kept on to do house keeping did a fine job, and beyond that, he sometimes got the feeling they were suggesting more than what they said.

When the pastry and nuts were gone, and his hands were again empty, he saw at a stall displaying fresh apples and other fruits from the outlying farms. The selection reminded him of his home so he stopped to browse, thinking it would be nice to fill a few barrels in the basement to keep over Frost, now that the basement was cleaned and ready to serve a purpose again.

[Pharaoh]

The markets of Kalzasi did bustle that fateful day, the thirty-second of Ash in the Year 122 of the Age of Steel. With the once daunting threat of war with Zaichaer long since quashed, whether by fickle fate of the ingenuity of their Iron Queen Regent, the fear of lean times and sacrifice were also great diminished. Many who'd been hoarding away their resources or, at the very least, cutting back on frivolity, were now free once more to indulge in excesses.

One particularly frugal individual was one Merrieth Cormoranth. Born to a merchant class family in Haqs, but blessed (or blighted) with a rambling soul, an adventurer's heart and a statuesque and chiseled physique, she'd become a mercenary some ten years earlier. Tall and broad-shouldered for a human woman, she favoured armour over frocks and today, in a boiled leather jerkin, she trod the streets of her current home in search of some small indulgence to satisfy her weary soul. Not the sort to be taken in by much in the way of hedonism, the sort she sought was in the form of fresh fruit. Sweet and succulent without compromising the physique she toiled so hard to maintain in a battle-ready state. It was there that she took note of another sweet, succulent indulgence that might actually give her more in the way of exercise than calories.

"Good morrow, sir..." She tipped her head, the pageboy cut spilling raven locks over her face. "How do you find the morrow?" She lifted her face with a dashing, crooked smile painting her lips.

Meanwhile, a less frugal individual was stalking the stalls of this particular market. She too sought indulgences to enjoy, though not of the comestible sort. Tariel Yvaidryn was a stunning Hytori femme fatale from a family that had long counted themselves both Kalzasern and elite. During her marriage, a trip to the city proper in and of itself felt like an indulgence, as she and her husband maintained a lofty estate in the country. But after his recent passing, she'd found herself more and more drawn to the city. A recent commission had drawn her to the forge of one Torin Kilvin who'd garnered her interest with his bulging muscles and farm boy demeanour.

Unlike Merrieth who'd stumbled upon Torin today, Tariel had been eyeing him with intent- awaiting the perfect moment to gracefully slip beside him and coquettishly reach for the same piece of fruit at the same moment. It had all been planned out. But this statuesque interloper was forcing her to improvise just when her moment aught to have been at hand.

With Merrieth having just uttered her awkward, boorish greeting, Tariel stepped to Torin's other side with a flip of her light, flowing hair.

"Why, Mister Kilvin! Fancy meeting you here..." She swept her hair from her décolletage to reveal she was wearing the self-same amulet she'd commissioned him to design and construct some months earlier. She seemed perfectly inclined to usurp Merrieth's moment, ignoring one tall human altogether, whilst her full focus was upon the masculine counterpart.

[Torin Kilvin]

When the tall, mercenary looking woman greeted him the young smith gave her a shy smile and returned a greeting,

"Hello, it's a nice day, isn't it?" He glanced around to imply the weather and the partly outdoor, partly indoor market place around them. The armor she wore and the general way she carried herself made him wonder if perhaps someone had pointed him out to her as an armorer. He was one, though he hadn't done commissions for armor that hadn't included runeforging since he'd left his apprenticeship to strike out on his own. This was through no conscious choice on his part, more than the commissions he did get seemed to value his skill in the aetherial arts more than his mundane ones, which was fine by him. Runesmithing paid better and he enjoyed it more, if not by enough that he would have complained if he did start getting blacksmithing orders that were worth his time. That was the problem though, runesmithing paid so much more than simple metal work that it was hardly ever worth his time on its own. He crafted most of the pieces he later put in the rune forge himself, which at least kept him in practice as normal smith.

He scooted over a little when he realized how close the dark-haired woman was standing, realizing that she might have greeted him as a way to call his attention to the fact that he was standing in the way of the fruit stand. Perhaps he should step away altogether to let the polite mercenary make her purchase. Turning to his other side with the intention to do so he blinked, surprised to find that side also, suddenly, taken up by a female shopper. Her face, and then voice were familiar, though it took him a moment to recognize the her. A customer from a few months back, when everyone with money in the city had been trying to purchase protection items to safeguard them in the wake of the prince's abduction and consequent war.

"Uhm," He cleared his throat and then offered her a smile that he could hope was appropriate for a craftsman to a noble lady, "Hello."

It took a long moment for him to remember her name. Timon had mostly dealt with her, though she had been friendly and had listened when Torin had been called in from his forge to make a final judgement on costs and to give her a date which she could expect her order.

"Lady Yvaidryn." He added, far to late for it not to be awkward. "I hope your amulet has served you well. Not that I hope you've been in danger!"

He closed his eyes, trying not to feel like a fool. Other than Kala Leukos his experience with the nobility in general, and noble women in particular was so little as to leave him wholly wrong footed when trying to speak to one about anything other than his work.

[Pharaoh]

"Quite..." The sellsword agreed, "Just the sort of weather I fancy. Dry and cool, without being frigid. I am Merrieth of Haqs." She inclined her head in a polite approximation of a bow that didn't dip far enough to bespeak outright deference.

She furrowed her brow in confusion, as the handsome stranger stepped away. Did that speak to some sort of apprehension? Disinterest? She'd never been particularly adept at flirting and might have abandoned the entire endeavour, had it not been for the arrival of clear competition in the form of a petite elven woman in fine dress that seemed to suggest gentility. Merrieth narrowed her eyes. She may not have been skilled at flirtation, but she recognised a slight when it was leveled against her and the way the woman's eyes fixed upon the young man's to her own explicit exclusion, made the mercenary seethe.

Lady Yvaidryn giggled, covering her lurid lips with a dainty, gloved hand as she did. She was downright girlish of feature, which belied years held in relative stasis by elven longevity.

"No, I've brooked no trouble since last we parted. That said, I'll have you know I take the paucity of danger for a tribute to your craft!" She lauded, letting slender fingers delicately dance against the amulet in question causing the chain to jingle faintly.

Merrieth cleared her throat, and stepped forth between them.

"Lady Avoidryn was it?" The sellsword blurted.

"Yvaidryn." The aristocrat corrected. "I'm not surprised you struggle with the intricacies of its pronunciation. If my ear is not mistaken, that drawl of yours derives from Haqs. Your compatriots often struggle with names of High Mythrasi origin..."

"Ah, and while we're analysing diction..." Merrieth snarled, "Are those notes of condescension I detect upon your tongue?"

Yvaidryn's faint smile fell like a bag of rocks, and she glanced to Torin as she slowly inhaled.

"Torin, dear... perhaps I could treat you to lunch to thank you for your beautiful work? I know a few intimate places, away from the..." Arching a brow to Merrieth, "Hoi poloi of the marketplace."

[Torin Kilvin]

When the mercenary introduced herself, seeing as Torin hadn't been able to make his way further than a step from her, he turned back and said,

"Torin, uhm, Kilvin. I run a smithing shop two streets over, so I guess I'm from here."

His head swung back around to the noble woman as she laughed and brought attention to the fact that she was, in fact, wearing the piece he'd made. She seemed to be saying that she hadn't run into any danger that might require the use of the amulet but also that not running into danger was because of it. He blinked, wishing Timon, or Aurin, or even Sivan was there with him. His elven friend might not be much better in social situations than Torin was but he might have understood if Yvaidryn was reacting in some way distinctly elvish that the smith wasn't catching.

Then the two women were talking to each other, which was, momentarily relieving. Women talking to each other almost always meant he was excused and could go about his day. Except, in this case, their conversation did not seem the friendly sort. The invitation, while seeming as though it would at least end the awkward conversation would also mean spending at least an hour in the company of someone with whom he had no understanding of how to be. With gratitude that the Merrieth had stepped between him and Yvaidryn he took a step into the now empty space that the mercenary had occupied and, making a little bow in the direction of both said,

"I really must get back to work, can't be late on my orders." Before walking away in great haste.

When he had made it back to the shop door and slipped through to the yard he leaned against the wall closed his eyes and came to two realizations. The first was that he had not actually gotten any lunch and would now have to content himself with bread and butter from the kitchen. The second was that he was in rather sore need of an education on how to interact with women. He went through the list of people who might help him with this and came up with only Aurin. Kala would have had many useful insights, he was sure, but he was also sure he'd be far to embarrassed to ask.

After he availed himself of what was available in the larder he got back to work, thanking whatever gods might be listening that the incident was over with the blissful ignorance of one who has no idea what the future holds.

[Pharaoh]

Merrieth's face and shoulders fell as Torin made his excuses and scuffled off, but Yvaidryn retained her faint, stoically aristocratic smile painted upon her lips until he was out of both sight and earshot. Then she turned sharply to the mercenary with daggers in her eyes.

"You scared him off, you lumbering lummox."

"I scared him off? You scared him off you toff twat!"

They stared each other down for a pregnant moment, before the petite elf pivoted to leave the taller human to stew. The good news was that at least Torin had given her enough information to seek him out. Surely that had been intentional.

"A smithing shop two streets over." He'd even absently nodded in a particular direction. She might have tracked him down without such intel, but the fact that he'd offered it seemed to smack of an invitation. It was coy, but she liked that. And, after a respectable day or two, she would take him up on it.

It was nine o'clock the next morning on the dot when Merrieth Cormoranth appeared in the doorway of the shoppe she'd scouted out the prior afternoon. She'd found it within twenty minutes of Torin's flight from the market, and loitered outside until she was able to confirm it was correct venue by catching sight of the smith through the window. She'd been tempted to barge in right then, but she knew one had to 'play the game' a bit with fetching men.

She stood in the doorway and cleared her throat once before her boots clunked onto the floor. With her hands clasped behind her back, she stalked along the wall pretending to browse the items on offer with more interest than she actually bore them. Tall enough that her head crested the shelves between her and the counter, she very much hoped to be approached rather than putting herself out there of her own volition.

[Torin Kilvin]

Torin was typically up at dawn, unless someone had kept him up particularly late the evening before, but he also tried to avoid that should there be work that needed doing the next morning. This day was no different from any other at the outset; he rose, broke his fast with Timon, both young blondes yawning over bowls or porridge before heading out, one to the man the shop, the other to check on the orders stewing in aether.

Being as it was so late in the year there was less time between the rising of the sun and the opening of business, so Timon unlocked the doors as soon as he arrived and then began his routine of dusting and polishing the wooden shelves and counter top. The items on display were all blacksmith work, be that practical or ornamental, to display Torin's ability in the craft. Adding magic to a piece was, sometimes, something that could be shown but without any security to speak of, displaying things that were worth what many poorer folk took in as wages for a whole year went beyond foolish to stand squarely in the realm of dangerous. Once the chores were done, which only took a minute due to the lad doing them every day, he pulled a large book out from under the counter and begin to pour over the ledger to see if any orders or payments were due that day. It did not appear that there were any pre-set appointments, and it was a slow time of the year for either smithed work or runed, so the adolescent pulled another book, somewhat smaller, out and began reading through it studiously. He was surprised when the cheerful bell above the door chimed and someone walked in. She had the look of someone who spent their lives fighting, so her interest was likely specific, but instead to approaching the counter she began wandering. After a moment the boy shrugged and closed his book; if she wanted to browse she was free to do so but he was supposed to at least ask.

At almost fourteen Timon still looked no more than twelve, but there was a confidence to him that made people sometimes question his slight appearance. Over a year of fencing practice had lent a grace to him that was almost universally lacking in boys going through the spurts of growth that were common for his age. As he rounded the side of the shelf that had mostly hidden the customer from view he gave her a smile both lopsided and charming enough that it erased from most minds any questions about the oddity of his person.

"Hullo, welcome to Kilvin's Forge, may I help you with anything?"

The ringing of hammer on steel could be heard just beginning out in the yard behind the shop.

[Pharaoh]

While she was an apt fighter and well attuned to her body after a fashion, Merrieth's particular discipline was a heavy one. Which is to say it was light on finesse, and so she wasn't always the most graceful of creatures. A fact which revealed itself when she inadvertently nudged a display which set a loud clangour from the walls and nearly toppled a shield from its mounting place. She was, at least, quick enough with her reflexes to catch the item before it reached the floor or unmoored anything else that may have been less sturdy. She was readjusting it to straighten it out, when a voice startled her from behind.

She glanced over her pauldron with a winning, if embarrassed, smile and furroughed her brow at the absence of her intended quarry. She didn't see anyone at all for a moment, before her gaze shifted down to find a youngish boy.

"Oh." She pursed her lips in unabashed disappointment. "I was just looking for your b-..." She caught herself, "Your best polearms." She parried, clasping her hands behind her back and scanning the immediate surroundings.

"And, oh!" She lifted her head, ears perking at the sound of metal clanking outside. "Is that the sound of the shopmaster at work? I should love to see the facilities that produce such fine, um... such exquisite wares!"

She smiled, pleased with her little play at deception. She may not have been the most practised rogue, but she felt pleased with her extempore and her acting. Despite of her confidence, she was not the most convincing and, while it may not have been explicitly clear what she was up to, it was clear that something was off about this supposed customer.

[Torin Kilvin]

Timon was not used to seeing mercenary types in the shop, despite it producing mainly arms and armor. The majority of the implements of war that Torin made were sent to Starfall, most of the customers who came into the shop were looking for either small arms (daggers, bracers etc) or else not looking for armaments at all. A master blacksmith could make anything a normal soldier wanted, and could afford, where as a Torin, (though he sometimes lamented the fact) made too much as a runesmith to spend time on working metal without it.

These considerations did not show on the young clerk's face, he did not even step it to straighten the items the woman had set accidentally askew. His expression remained perfectly friendly and professional, even when she asked for a tour of the forge, which had never been requested before. Pointing to a rack that held the only two pole arms in the shop, a bladed one and one with a hammer's head on the end, he asked her to excuse him while he went and told the master runesmith of her request.

Slipping easily out of the back he went to Torin, who was shirtless, aproned and just beginning to shine with a thin layer of sweat. Explaining took only a moment though Timon had to shout because the smith wasn't going to just stop hammering to listen, of course. When Torin did understand he frowned in puzzlement, expressing what his apprentice had felt but not shown, and finally stopped beating the breastplate he had on the anvil.

He took his gloves off, at least, before following Timon back into the shop. While it made sense that he would be in his work gear during the work day, the younger boy could not help but cringe at the memories of him coming to table to noble women and lords alike shirtless and dirty. When Torin saw the women he knew he'd seen her before but he was part way through greeting her as a customer, welcoming and asking what he could do for her, before the memory of the day in the market returned to him.

"Mistress Merrieth, isn't it?" His smile was milk water and mercantile but still pretty, "How kind of you to come see my wares." His pride in his little set up was obvious, that he had more gold than many noble houses brought in in a year squirreled away in his basement was not.

[Pharaoh]

"Mm. Thank you." Merrieth replied, behaving as though she was browsing the only two items on display that fell into the ream of what she claimed to be seeking. She was quite relieved, at first, when Timon quit the floor of the shop. After all, there was only so convincing her sustained interest in two items could really be. Merrieth was a far cry from an actor. But her relief was short lived, as she soon realised her quarry would soon be in arm's reach. Would she be able to sustain her rouse in his presence? Surely the coincidence seemed too great for her to run into him twice in fewer than twenty-four hours...

She steeled herself, plotted out what she was going to say and worked on her freshly devised script (she'd even troubled herself to assign lines to Torin, before realising she'd likely screw up if he said something different). By and by, he was walking into the room and her eyes almost glazed over at the sight. Staring slack-jawed as the the sweat-slickened stud stepped up to her, the whole script went up the chimney to mingle with the smoke off the forge.

"You... remember me! Yes, I..." Flush-faced, she shifted her eyes sharply from Torin to the polearms. "I was in the market for a new weapon... preferably something of the two-handed variety, and I'd, um... Heard good things about this shop, so, ha!" She heard that laugh as it came out, and it was painful to her how unnecessarily loud it was. "Here I am." She overcompensated by whispering the last so low as to be barely audible.

"Sooo... Have you done much work on a pole?" She clasped her hand around the shaft of the war hammer, looking as if she might fall over trying to lean on it, before catching herself and just pretending to inspect the sanding of the wood, "A polearm, I mean."