What Can be Gained From Elbow Grease and Dust (Part II)
Posted: Sun Nov 07, 2021 4:45 am
12 Ash, 121
A tall blonde man, young, but not a child, and a short blonde boy, nearly to his teenage years but still quite short, walked along side by side, towards the tavern known as the Pig & Whistle. The sign over the establishment swung in the cool, early Ash breeze showing a pig, standing on its hind legs, skipping along, playing some sort of whistle, from which stylized musical notes floated.
It was, in the opinion of both young males, the best place to get a bite to eat within ten city blocks. It wasn't an inn, for it had no rooms to rent, and it wasn't fancy by any means, serving whatever the cook happened to throw into the oven or cook pot that day, along with an assortment of local ales.
The room was warm enough to be cozy, when they pushed their way inside and closed the door politely behind them, but not so warm as to make them sweat once they had their coats off. Plopping down into chairs at a table to the greeting of the tavern mistress they both waved and called back a greeting of their own.
Bustling over she greeted them again, by their names, which she had learned despite them only having lived there a bit over a week. She commented on how hungry they looked and how there must have been a flurry of work done 'over at yonder forge'. They both laughed, and Torin let Timon explain to her how he had found a secret buried under the house, embellishing his exploits here and there. While not all of what the lad said was strictly true, it was all entertaining, and Torin wondered if perhaps he should have Finn over to give the boy a few lessons in storytelling. He should have Finn over anyway, or at least go and visit him at the inn where he lived so he could watch him play. Finn probably lived in a friendly enough place, something that would be suitable for Timon, so maybe they could both go on a night the busker was playing and then catch up with him after the fact.
They had both loved the show he had invited them to, a sort of variety of singers, storytellers, and other performers who were all students together. They had laughed and cried, and it had been lovely. As the story wound down and the tavern keeper clapped her well careworn hands Timon began to order his lunch, which was extensive. The lad could eat enough for two, for all he was small for his age. Torin hoped it meant he would soon hit a growth spurt and catch up to other boys his age. If not, well, Timon wouldn't need a huge body to learn the financial side of Torin's business.
Torin ordered more or less exactly the same thing, but added in the blackberry cobbler he'd seen on another table, one for each of them, with thick clotted cream on top. Timon's eyes lit up and it made Torin's heart ache. The boy had been given into the care of a distant aunt when his parents had passed and no one else had been found to care for him. The woman and her husband had already sired too many of their own children to feed properly so had made a deal to get him apprenticed to a respectable man as soon as could be arranged. That man had been the runesmith, who Torin had been apprenticed to in the city. The man hadn't been cruel, not by city standards, but he had hit his younger apprentices when they had annoyed him, or he'd been in a bad mood and they'd made little mistakes. The food offered in the place was simple but filling and there had been enough for everyone. But there were no treats in Timon's life, not until Torin had gone to his aunt, and then the runesmith to arrange to take over his apprenticeship. The runesmith had not liked the lad, considered him more or less useless, and his aunt had been more than happy to let Torin have him since he had waved the apprentice fee usually paid by the family.
So, now, Torin took every opportunity that made sense to take him out, show him the city, what entertainment it had to offer that would be good for a young lad. It helped that neither of them really knew much of anything about cooking. They could boil water, and manage a stew, but their bread was bought on the days that Matilda, the maid that who came by twice a week to clean and cook for them, wasn't around. Her bread was good, and home-baked was a luxury that, surprisingly Torin now found he could afford. They didn't have desserts every day, because Torin had been raised in the country where sweets were thought to be bad for one, but now and then, as hard as they both worked, it wouldn't hurt.
The woman bustled off and their food was delivered almost immediately, since it had been cooking since early that morning. They dug in, Timon somehow finding time to talk between chewing, explaining his ideas about how they could arrange the shop to display Torin's work, and also asking what work Torin was going to put out for the purpose of said displays.
Torin didn't really know. He would probably come to be known for a certain type of work but what that would be, he hadn't decided. It would more than likely be decided for him, and he felt alright with that. House Luekos would send him whatever work they needed done, and he would do small jobs for individuals or other houses between their orders. The income would be steady, and the knowledge was a weight off his young shoulders. When the meal was finished, and the last of the cream licked from Timon's plate, they headed back home.
Giving Timon a scrub brush, a broom, the mop, and a bucket of fresh soap-and-oil mixture he entrusted the boy to properly clean the little shop that would mostly be his domain. Torin would check it later, but he wanted to trust his only employee. He knew Timon took pride in his work, and any things left undone would be accidents unless something came along to deeply distract him, which wasn't all that unlikely. He was a bit flighty, for all his determination and attempts at maturity.
When Timon scampered off with a quippy, 'Yeth, Bosth.', Torin took himself into the forge. It was cold today, as he hadn't intended to use it, and the lack of heat made him a little sad, though he knew the sentiment was silly. Gathering his work leathers for protection, as well as a heavier hammer, a crowbar, and a thick length of rope. Tying the rope off to the one tree that had survived the neglect of the previous owner he brought all three tools over to the basement entrance. Pulling the doors back wide, and hoping the work would keep Timon distracted enough not to come and investigate, Torin threw the rope down. The sound of it hitting a floor quite soon was reassuring. Testing the stairs proved the right of him holding the younger boy back, they collapsed under the barest of weight.
He kicked them out, as far down as he could, before testing the rope to make sure it would hold his weight, and then carefully climbing down. A second kerchief went from his pocket to tied around his mouth and nose first thing when his feet touched down. The space was large, the length and breadth of the house, and badly dilapidated. Some of the support beams were rotting, others looked to have shifted. He was suddenly glad Timon had found the place when he did. Testing all the beams he discovered that the majority were sound and the floor above his head was not about to fall onto him. With this in mind, he decided to explore a bit. Webs and strands of dust as thick as slim rope ran all over, he had to use the crowbar to cut through them. How many owners had lived in the house without knowing about this cellar? Then again, how long had it been since anyone had actually used the house? Surely not so long as the build-up in the basement implied. Perhaps there had been an older house there before the one that stood above now. The idea was, he admitted to himself as he coughed and explored deeper, a bit thrilling. Like discovering an ancient tomb under one's home.
Perhaps he wasn't all that far off from where Timon was in terms of intellectual maturity. The thought didn't bother him so much as it might have in other moments, because he had a hidden room to discover.
The room turned out to be, more or less, just as it had appeared upon his entrance, the size and shape of the house above it. There were ancient shelves that had long ago collapsed, and though he found several unbroken jars with what looked like preserves of vegetables of fruit in them he decided against opening them to try and of it.
Moving back toward the opening he set the jars near it before using the hammer and crowbar to break down the remaining bits of stairs. No use anyone getting hurt. He stacked the bits of wood neatly too, not wanting to trip on them. There was plenty of broken glass, and stains on the floor implying that there had been many more jars at one point. Perhaps animals had gotten down into the place before the doors were so overgrown as to be hidden.
It wasn't until he had cleared almost all the major strands of dust, revealing the room to its fullest in the bright afternoon light pouring down through the large double doors, that he noticed the oddity. He had broken down the shelves and stacked them also to one side of the opening, so most of the space was just clear now. The floor was stone, somewhat covered over by dirt, and the walls were of the same sort of stone. The same kind, in fact, that the fireplaces upstairs were made of, implying that, at least they, were as old as the basement.
The oddity was a bit of wall that...didn't quite make sense. Looked at straight on it was just a part of the wall, indistinguishable from any other. Looked at from standing along the far side of the wall, near the door opening, it looked... bulgy? Torin wasn't even sure if that was a real word, but it looked off, as though it were leaning out from the rest. Except, his mind was almost insisting that it was just part of the normal stone wall. A runesmith could recognize when his mind was being fucked with by magic, given enough time to study it. Torin might not know if someone was using Mesmer or Masquerade on him, but this, this was a steady, physical enchantment, and it was broken.
A tall blonde man, young, but not a child, and a short blonde boy, nearly to his teenage years but still quite short, walked along side by side, towards the tavern known as the Pig & Whistle. The sign over the establishment swung in the cool, early Ash breeze showing a pig, standing on its hind legs, skipping along, playing some sort of whistle, from which stylized musical notes floated.
It was, in the opinion of both young males, the best place to get a bite to eat within ten city blocks. It wasn't an inn, for it had no rooms to rent, and it wasn't fancy by any means, serving whatever the cook happened to throw into the oven or cook pot that day, along with an assortment of local ales.
The room was warm enough to be cozy, when they pushed their way inside and closed the door politely behind them, but not so warm as to make them sweat once they had their coats off. Plopping down into chairs at a table to the greeting of the tavern mistress they both waved and called back a greeting of their own.
Bustling over she greeted them again, by their names, which she had learned despite them only having lived there a bit over a week. She commented on how hungry they looked and how there must have been a flurry of work done 'over at yonder forge'. They both laughed, and Torin let Timon explain to her how he had found a secret buried under the house, embellishing his exploits here and there. While not all of what the lad said was strictly true, it was all entertaining, and Torin wondered if perhaps he should have Finn over to give the boy a few lessons in storytelling. He should have Finn over anyway, or at least go and visit him at the inn where he lived so he could watch him play. Finn probably lived in a friendly enough place, something that would be suitable for Timon, so maybe they could both go on a night the busker was playing and then catch up with him after the fact.
They had both loved the show he had invited them to, a sort of variety of singers, storytellers, and other performers who were all students together. They had laughed and cried, and it had been lovely. As the story wound down and the tavern keeper clapped her well careworn hands Timon began to order his lunch, which was extensive. The lad could eat enough for two, for all he was small for his age. Torin hoped it meant he would soon hit a growth spurt and catch up to other boys his age. If not, well, Timon wouldn't need a huge body to learn the financial side of Torin's business.
Torin ordered more or less exactly the same thing, but added in the blackberry cobbler he'd seen on another table, one for each of them, with thick clotted cream on top. Timon's eyes lit up and it made Torin's heart ache. The boy had been given into the care of a distant aunt when his parents had passed and no one else had been found to care for him. The woman and her husband had already sired too many of their own children to feed properly so had made a deal to get him apprenticed to a respectable man as soon as could be arranged. That man had been the runesmith, who Torin had been apprenticed to in the city. The man hadn't been cruel, not by city standards, but he had hit his younger apprentices when they had annoyed him, or he'd been in a bad mood and they'd made little mistakes. The food offered in the place was simple but filling and there had been enough for everyone. But there were no treats in Timon's life, not until Torin had gone to his aunt, and then the runesmith to arrange to take over his apprenticeship. The runesmith had not liked the lad, considered him more or less useless, and his aunt had been more than happy to let Torin have him since he had waved the apprentice fee usually paid by the family.
So, now, Torin took every opportunity that made sense to take him out, show him the city, what entertainment it had to offer that would be good for a young lad. It helped that neither of them really knew much of anything about cooking. They could boil water, and manage a stew, but their bread was bought on the days that Matilda, the maid that who came by twice a week to clean and cook for them, wasn't around. Her bread was good, and home-baked was a luxury that, surprisingly Torin now found he could afford. They didn't have desserts every day, because Torin had been raised in the country where sweets were thought to be bad for one, but now and then, as hard as they both worked, it wouldn't hurt.
The woman bustled off and their food was delivered almost immediately, since it had been cooking since early that morning. They dug in, Timon somehow finding time to talk between chewing, explaining his ideas about how they could arrange the shop to display Torin's work, and also asking what work Torin was going to put out for the purpose of said displays.
Torin didn't really know. He would probably come to be known for a certain type of work but what that would be, he hadn't decided. It would more than likely be decided for him, and he felt alright with that. House Luekos would send him whatever work they needed done, and he would do small jobs for individuals or other houses between their orders. The income would be steady, and the knowledge was a weight off his young shoulders. When the meal was finished, and the last of the cream licked from Timon's plate, they headed back home.
Giving Timon a scrub brush, a broom, the mop, and a bucket of fresh soap-and-oil mixture he entrusted the boy to properly clean the little shop that would mostly be his domain. Torin would check it later, but he wanted to trust his only employee. He knew Timon took pride in his work, and any things left undone would be accidents unless something came along to deeply distract him, which wasn't all that unlikely. He was a bit flighty, for all his determination and attempts at maturity.
When Timon scampered off with a quippy, 'Yeth, Bosth.', Torin took himself into the forge. It was cold today, as he hadn't intended to use it, and the lack of heat made him a little sad, though he knew the sentiment was silly. Gathering his work leathers for protection, as well as a heavier hammer, a crowbar, and a thick length of rope. Tying the rope off to the one tree that had survived the neglect of the previous owner he brought all three tools over to the basement entrance. Pulling the doors back wide, and hoping the work would keep Timon distracted enough not to come and investigate, Torin threw the rope down. The sound of it hitting a floor quite soon was reassuring. Testing the stairs proved the right of him holding the younger boy back, they collapsed under the barest of weight.
He kicked them out, as far down as he could, before testing the rope to make sure it would hold his weight, and then carefully climbing down. A second kerchief went from his pocket to tied around his mouth and nose first thing when his feet touched down. The space was large, the length and breadth of the house, and badly dilapidated. Some of the support beams were rotting, others looked to have shifted. He was suddenly glad Timon had found the place when he did. Testing all the beams he discovered that the majority were sound and the floor above his head was not about to fall onto him. With this in mind, he decided to explore a bit. Webs and strands of dust as thick as slim rope ran all over, he had to use the crowbar to cut through them. How many owners had lived in the house without knowing about this cellar? Then again, how long had it been since anyone had actually used the house? Surely not so long as the build-up in the basement implied. Perhaps there had been an older house there before the one that stood above now. The idea was, he admitted to himself as he coughed and explored deeper, a bit thrilling. Like discovering an ancient tomb under one's home.
Perhaps he wasn't all that far off from where Timon was in terms of intellectual maturity. The thought didn't bother him so much as it might have in other moments, because he had a hidden room to discover.
The room turned out to be, more or less, just as it had appeared upon his entrance, the size and shape of the house above it. There were ancient shelves that had long ago collapsed, and though he found several unbroken jars with what looked like preserves of vegetables of fruit in them he decided against opening them to try and of it.
Moving back toward the opening he set the jars near it before using the hammer and crowbar to break down the remaining bits of stairs. No use anyone getting hurt. He stacked the bits of wood neatly too, not wanting to trip on them. There was plenty of broken glass, and stains on the floor implying that there had been many more jars at one point. Perhaps animals had gotten down into the place before the doors were so overgrown as to be hidden.
It wasn't until he had cleared almost all the major strands of dust, revealing the room to its fullest in the bright afternoon light pouring down through the large double doors, that he noticed the oddity. He had broken down the shelves and stacked them also to one side of the opening, so most of the space was just clear now. The floor was stone, somewhat covered over by dirt, and the walls were of the same sort of stone. The same kind, in fact, that the fireplaces upstairs were made of, implying that, at least they, were as old as the basement.
The oddity was a bit of wall that...didn't quite make sense. Looked at straight on it was just a part of the wall, indistinguishable from any other. Looked at from standing along the far side of the wall, near the door opening, it looked... bulgy? Torin wasn't even sure if that was a real word, but it looked off, as though it were leaning out from the rest. Except, his mind was almost insisting that it was just part of the normal stone wall. A runesmith could recognize when his mind was being fucked with by magic, given enough time to study it. Torin might not know if someone was using Mesmer or Masquerade on him, but this, this was a steady, physical enchantment, and it was broken.