Turning around from where he'd lit the forge with a look that was almost equally proud he said,
"I'll always need you." So matter of fact, so sure without self deprecation intended that it sounded like a promise.
The laugh at the joke came from the young smith's flat belly but his eyes were a little wild as he imagined how quickly such a contest would become very, very bad. He was glad of the distraction from Sivan's pretend pout for, even when it was pretend, Torin had a tendency to want to promise the elf that he would move mountains or craft a new sun when he thought he wanted something.
He could afford to pay for highly skilled workers, if he wanted them, and, in the case of there being a craft that none of those who worked with or for him had that would be used regularly, he did want them.
"I'll make inquiries, though, if you wanted to, you could find someone. You'd have at least some idea of how good their work was."
And Sivan was at least slightly less likely to be taken in by the first sad story he heard of a family back home or a sick child at home. Beggars knew Torin on sight and it was only the fact that his Semblance was running most of the time and was able to tell when someone was lying to him that kept his purse from being constantly emptied into grubby hands. Child beggars were another matter, but there weren't that many of any age in the area of the city where the smith lived and worked.
"And you could pick someone you get along with, since I won't be much to them other than a boss." Torin would try to be at least a friend but the people he had gotten to work the farm land of the Valley treated him differently, and, people who met him now, or found out that he had a title now, also seemed different in small ways. It wasn't something he could describe, just something he felt.
He grinned at the little pantomime and nodded,
"We're going to get a reputation with the craftsman for being a pair of cheating wizards." Even as he said this he raised a hand dramatically and sent a gust of air wafting into the lit forge to bring the temperature up closer to where it would need to be to melt the copper that would become bronze for the little golem.
They, neither of them, were master Artificers, yet. They were learning as they went, reading as many books as could be found, and working their way carefully. The idea of creating something that had a life of its own, however small, in the case of the little insects they had made, or the little golem they were about to make, was still daunting. Even if one were to have a child that child could make all their own choices, reject their parents and run away if they wanted to, once they were old enough. But an Artificed creature had to follow the Words of its making, of its maker, even after that maker was long dead. Torin wouldn't attempt something with anywhere close to human (or elven) intelligence until he felt that he was a master, perhaps not until he went and sought the approval of his skill of a real master.
While they leaned over the desk and discussed if any changes needed to be made from the schema they had worked out for the full sized golems to work as a tiny one, Torin rested a hand on the back of Sivan's neck, gently working at the tension he found there. It was just easier to stand so close when they each had the middle arms tucked around the other.
After a few minutes Torin extricated himself and removed his magical cloak, and then his coat. Thus in his shirt sleeves he moved over to the brightly burning forge and donned the new, never before worn apron that he had made in spare moments over the last season, along with a new pair of gloves that he did not put on, yet. He listened and commented as they continued to discuss while he moved around the new space, getting used to it, letting his body become accustomed to where everything was so he could move effectively.
While the forge and kiln heated he fetched the copper ingots and the smaller tin ones, got out the mold he'd made of the little chest and back plates, the head piece, and interchangeable arms and legs. The thing would stand about two feet high, once completed, assuming it worked.
"I'll always need you." So matter of fact, so sure without self deprecation intended that it sounded like a promise.
The laugh at the joke came from the young smith's flat belly but his eyes were a little wild as he imagined how quickly such a contest would become very, very bad. He was glad of the distraction from Sivan's pretend pout for, even when it was pretend, Torin had a tendency to want to promise the elf that he would move mountains or craft a new sun when he thought he wanted something.
He could afford to pay for highly skilled workers, if he wanted them, and, in the case of there being a craft that none of those who worked with or for him had that would be used regularly, he did want them.
"I'll make inquiries, though, if you wanted to, you could find someone. You'd have at least some idea of how good their work was."
And Sivan was at least slightly less likely to be taken in by the first sad story he heard of a family back home or a sick child at home. Beggars knew Torin on sight and it was only the fact that his Semblance was running most of the time and was able to tell when someone was lying to him that kept his purse from being constantly emptied into grubby hands. Child beggars were another matter, but there weren't that many of any age in the area of the city where the smith lived and worked.
"And you could pick someone you get along with, since I won't be much to them other than a boss." Torin would try to be at least a friend but the people he had gotten to work the farm land of the Valley treated him differently, and, people who met him now, or found out that he had a title now, also seemed different in small ways. It wasn't something he could describe, just something he felt.
He grinned at the little pantomime and nodded,
"We're going to get a reputation with the craftsman for being a pair of cheating wizards." Even as he said this he raised a hand dramatically and sent a gust of air wafting into the lit forge to bring the temperature up closer to where it would need to be to melt the copper that would become bronze for the little golem.
They, neither of them, were master Artificers, yet. They were learning as they went, reading as many books as could be found, and working their way carefully. The idea of creating something that had a life of its own, however small, in the case of the little insects they had made, or the little golem they were about to make, was still daunting. Even if one were to have a child that child could make all their own choices, reject their parents and run away if they wanted to, once they were old enough. But an Artificed creature had to follow the Words of its making, of its maker, even after that maker was long dead. Torin wouldn't attempt something with anywhere close to human (or elven) intelligence until he felt that he was a master, perhaps not until he went and sought the approval of his skill of a real master.
While they leaned over the desk and discussed if any changes needed to be made from the schema they had worked out for the full sized golems to work as a tiny one, Torin rested a hand on the back of Sivan's neck, gently working at the tension he found there. It was just easier to stand so close when they each had the middle arms tucked around the other.
After a few minutes Torin extricated himself and removed his magical cloak, and then his coat. Thus in his shirt sleeves he moved over to the brightly burning forge and donned the new, never before worn apron that he had made in spare moments over the last season, along with a new pair of gloves that he did not put on, yet. He listened and commented as they continued to discuss while he moved around the new space, getting used to it, letting his body become accustomed to where everything was so he could move effectively.
While the forge and kiln heated he fetched the copper ingots and the smaller tin ones, got out the mold he'd made of the little chest and back plates, the head piece, and interchangeable arms and legs. The thing would stand about two feet high, once completed, assuming it worked.
