5 Frost 120
A quick, sweeping gaze took in the Plaza of the Jeweled Arches and the colorful hints of rooftops that gave it its name. He wondered if an Avialae had chosen its name; surely the rooftops were easier to see when one could fly and get a bird's eye view of the bustling center for commerce in the great City-State of Kazasi. High Hopes had given him high hopes for the future, but now he was standing before the Skyforge, the place where the Shinsei plied his trade. It seemed more likely Finn could find him there in the middle of the day than lurking in his brother's tavern or knocking on the gates of the Palace of the First Wind.
The would-be bard muttered to himself for a moment before taking a bracing breath of cold air and exhaling a plume of steam. He could walk out in front of a crowd of strangers with only his lute and feel at home, a thrum of excitement in his blood as he ate up the attention of an audience and transmuted it into a performance. Why did walking through a perfectly ordinary door to talk to one person give him stage fright?
Preparing for a heavy door — Avialae were so strong, after all — he was mildly surprised by how easily the door swung open. Perhaps it was cleverly engineered to require no great feat of strength. Perhaps he was just overthinking things, his mind running around like a rich woman's lapdog.
It was warm inside and his nerves were mildly calmed by the telltale scents of a forge, which only reminded him of his mother's craft and learning beside her, even if he had chosen another path for his feet and employment for his hands. He took another breath of the forge-warmed air and looked around. This was all right. One forge was essentially like another, even if this one crafted miracles while his mother's only crafted horseshoes and plowshares. And if the Shinsei was an august personage, he had proven to be a fair, even kind man, and a monster-killer rather than a monster.
There was no need to be nervous.