Another Apprentice at the Forge
Log Info
- Title: Another Apprentice at the Forge
- Emitter: Robert
- Place: A02 - Lower Trades District
- Summary: Robert is at his forge when the war golem Gramarye appears and introduces herself, then asks if he has an opening for an assistant, as her protocol dictates that she cannot work with another artificer besides her father. When Robert learns that Gramarye's father has passed on, he sits and talks with her for a while. Leetle drops in to ask questions about airships, and little Etzli drops by to pick up her order.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A02: Lower Trades District *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The Lower Trades District is the home of the working man of Alexandria. The Lower Trades is divided, unofficially, into two parts: that controlled by the gobbers, and that controlled by the khazad. The two areas stand in contrast, one with a strong, almost formal architecture and a predilection for blacksmiths, the other a mixture of propped-up rubble and gunpowder. The latter's started to grow however, and take form with the aid of the more structured Arvek Nar. Still, the two stand as uneasy neighbors, though the oruch more easily work both sides, often in the spirit of a friendly, if competitive, warriors' competition that's unique to Alexandria, itself.
Here, the "khazad section" boasts a number of blacksmiths, glass smiths, artifice shops, and basic taverns, as well as any number of trades shops and eateries. The sweet tinge of oil, iron, and spiced BBQ is everywhere. Shrines to Reos, or marks of the same, are found over most doorways, in homage to the khazad Mountain Father and World Smith.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Eztli 5'4" 140 Lb Sith-Makar Female A two-toned, short sith-makar. Gramarye 6'10" 320 Lb War Golem Female A golem girl with obsidian eyes and bronze plating. Leetle 3'6" 34 Lb Goblin Male Gobbo in a blue coat and orange hat. Robert 6'3" 235 Lb Human Male A middle-aged Cerenzan with a friendly, fatherly vibe. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Eluna reigns in a darkening, cloudless, and starry blue sky. Fading, fiery colors reach up from behind distant mountains as if Daeus is loathe to give up His grasp on the day. The cool wind blows lazily in over the walls from the Mythwood, occasionally teasing with out-of-place scents.
The forge of the Ilife smithy is dark but torches are lit and a single glowing stone flits about the place nervously to cast its yellow-gold glow. The fire- and magiclight plays off a half-dozen breastplates hanging from dangling hooks, each broken into two halves and swaying idly in the evening air.
Robert hunches forward on a stool, his nose in an ancient book he cradles delicately in one large hand. He still wears his leather apron and salt spots stain his dark tunic where its gone a bit stiff.
The blacksmith's apprentice and a certain familiar bluejay seem to be taking the night for themselves.
There's a tall figure that approaches the Ilife smithy with long, mechnical motions.
It's what appears to be a golem, albeit one shaped carefully from bronze, the plates flush and the sign of immaculate craftsmanship with little internal gearing or wires exposed from the plates. Long scholar's robes adorn the golem's feminine form, and the faceplate that would look more at home on a porcelain doll if it wasn't made from bronze stays still as the figure stops at the entrance to the smithy, her last step a thud on the ground.
Jet-black eye sockets look out at the man in his smithy. Then a white light hums to life as she speaks in crisp, measured tones. "Hello," she calls out. The mouth doesn't move--nothing on that face can--but the eyes do.
Bob looks up-- then back down-- then up again as he forces himself to ease the old assemblage of half-forgotten knowledge closed. "Muse' grace. Hello," he returns, offering a warm smile as he pulls himself out of his academic puzzles and stands. He waves up one gloved hand in an efficient motion and closes it into a fist; this seems to cause the low gate to swing open on smooth hinges. "Come in, please.
"Welcome to the Ilife Smithy. I'm Robert; folks call me Bob." He turns, sliding the book careful into a sagging bag on the nearby table. "What can I do for you?"
Eztli had made her order some days ago, but being out of town led to her not being around to pick it up when she said she would. This had been on the small Makari's mind for some time now, and the first thing she did when she was in town, after making sure Skielstregar would be okay for the time being, was race off to the smithy. She was relatively out of breath when she got there, and the first thing she saw was a giant war golem.
The small sith-makar presses up against a wall and makes themself as small as possible while the golem went about whatever their business might be. She could wait a bit longer.
The golem's head does not move as Robert introduces himself. Given that her eyes do not move, it's difficult to ascertain if she's looking at him or at something else in the room.
"Robert--nickname variable of 'Bob' acknowledged."
There's another moment before she elaborates, again in careful tones. "I am looking for an artificer to partner with. I am Grace Reason Amity Miracle August Revelry Young Earnest--designation GRAMARYE. I am capable of enchantment and item creation to your exact specifications."
Her head pivots in a slow and intentional motion as she looks at the bag that has the book slid into it. "Father was my previous partner, but is no longer able to perform his duties as of three weeks, one day, eighteen hours, and fifty-seven seconds ago. As I am a magical aid assistant, I am not permitted to operate on my own according to Father's safety protocols, which I am forbidden to override."
GAME: Robert rolls Perception: (3)+8: 11
Bob's smile tempers at Gramarye's introduction and he begins to nod along, motioning for the war golem to make her way inside. "Do you prefer Grace or Gramarye, miss? And how is Father now?" He glances past the large construct and narrows his eyes at some motion, stymied by the transition to the darker world out from under the shop's roof and his aging, human eyes.
"We haven't had much call for the esoteric and arcane. Yet." He reaches up and taps a knuckle into one hanging plate. "I dabble in the Kulthian arts for my own entertainment and the lady Nemori is apprenticing as a metalworker."
The red-skinned Cerenzan turns, tracking the floating crystal and gestures it over. The ioun torch settles into a relatively static position over and behind his right shoulder. "You're welcome to have a seat," he adds, gesturing at an empty stool.
At least for the moment, the war golem didn't seem to be a threat. The small makari sighs quietly and slides down the wall, before pulling a book out of her robes to read. Thankfully she could still hear if Gramyre was moving while she perused the tome.
A tapping sound precedes the arrival of a Gobber in an orange hat and blue coat. He leans heavily upon a cane, limping along carefully. The tip of his cigar glows red with each intake of breath, leaving a haphazard trail of blue-grey smoke behind him. The smoke's soon whisked away by the evening breeze.
GAME: Gramarye rolls Perception: (2)+2: 4
The newly-introduced Gramarye takes the seat as directed, although it seems no amount of sitting will do much to reduce the golem's height as she sits barely eye-level with Robert. Those obsidian eyes flare to life again as she appears to be contemplating--or, well, processing--Robert's remarks and questions.
"I respond to any name or nickname so long as it is registered in my memory," Gramarye responds. "Father called me Daughter, as I am his Daughter, but he also called me Grace or Gramarye."
She shows no sign of hearing the little makari outside the Ilife Smithy. Which might be for the best, really, as she then answers Robert's second question: "Father died three weeks, one day, eighteen hours, twenty minutes, and thirty-eight seconds ago. That is why I can no longer assist him."
There's a curious 'blink' in the white light of her eyes that is not ordinarily there in the space between her words. "It was Father's directive that I continue to work as an assistant to another artificer. I am capable of more than just magical aid and magical item creation, as I also assisted Father in artifice."
There's a sad and sympathetic look in Bob's eyes as his head tilts and he tries to get a better read on the new and frozen face. "Would your father sit with the Anvil or the Muse? Reos or Ceinara?"
The big man bends, finding his stool, and lifts it over closer to where Gramarye has settled before sitting again, himself. He's big for a human but certainly shorter than the bronze-plated artifce. He raises one foot to a higher rung and rests an arm on that lifted knee.
"If you'll tell me his name I'd name him in my prayers tonight. My Yetta can look in on him for you; make sure he's settling in." He offers a warm smile and leans in a bit.
Busy as he is with condolensces, he doesn't quite notice the gobber yet.
As Bob sits closer to Gramarye, the level of craftsmanship in the bronze plating is even more evident. The immobile face plate would certainly be more at home on a porcelain doll, yes, but the rest of the body is almost crafted like a doll, too, but with more joints for flexible movement. There's even what looks to be manicured nails set into the hands that fold in her lap.
But yet the obsidian eyes are inert as Gramarye listens to Bob. There's the blink of white light in them again as he mentions prayers--and then it winks back to life as she speaks again. "His name was Alorin Lunior. My framework is not fully compatible with the concept of 'worship', but I have two-hundred and twenty-eight instances recorded in my memory of Father praying to Ceinara as he crafted my current body frame."
There's a beat of silence and more dead obsidian eyes before she asks: "Bob, query: I asked Father before to define the concept of prayer. He defined it as asking for requests from the gods that were not guaranteed to be answered."
Then comes a startlingly human motion. Those manicured nails reach up for the sapphire pendant that hangs from Gramarye's neck on a golden chain. "Would prayer allow me to speak to Father again?"
Leetle slowly enters the smithy, his cigar smoke disappearing upwards behind him.
With Robert distracted with the Golem, the Gobbo allows himself to putter around the smithy. Tools are inspected, as is the forge, the Gobbo pulling his goggle down and hmmmm'ing at length.
"If you're brave enough, and follow the right road, yes, you could speak to your Father again. But it is fraught with danger, and may end in your own death.", Leetle says, looking up at Gramarye from the forge.
Bob sits up and leans back, turning to track down the gobber and offer a smile and nod of acknowledgement. His gloved hand lifts and curls with one finger extended in a 'just a moment' sort of gesture before he cants his head at Gramarye. Then he turns back.
"It can be, Grace," he nods. "Or it can be confession or reflection; a private moment to consider an event or problems and hold it up against the ideals you strive for in your faith." He looks at the pendant and then casts his eyes up to the frame over the smithy's entryway where a steel Ceinaran symbol is anchored with a nail. He points and looks askance, "It can be a thing we do togehter as friends, family, or a larger community. Shared hopes that forge the strongest of bonds."
The big man gives a little shrug and turns back the war golem. "He might answer. There are holy men and women that can make a conversation easier. I like to think our loved ones enjoy the rewards during their rest they've earned in life and have better things to do... but still find time to look in on us." He smiles, his own gaze drifting down and growing a bit distant for a moment. "... but they'll be there and ready when it's finally our time and the experiences in between will give us things to talk about."
Leatherclad fingers scratch at thick stubble as he looks up, his smile reinforced. "But never meeting mister Lunior, miss Gramarye, I can tell that he loved you very much." He splays his fingers and gestures, indicating her form. "The care and quality of your craftmanship is a marvel, miss, and sure you are a masterpiece he's pleased to have walking Ea as his legacy."
Gramarye's voice may not have much to it in emotion, but there's something in the way her hands, made so lovingly by someone else's hands, cling to that sapphire pendant around her neck. The face may not move, but there's two flickering blinks of light in those dark eyes--suggesting a movement of a different kind.
"I see," she responds, just as unaffected as before. "There is an overflow of data to... process. Please hold."
Her head pivots to that Ceinaran symbol hanging above the doorway. The dark eyes are quiet for another moment.
"Schedule item created: ask subject 'holy man or woman' if awakened constructs pass through the Halls in addition to conventional entities." There's a flickering blink after her words are done as Gramarye's head pivots back down to the doorway.
"Perception receptors indicate that there are one or more entities present. Potential customers? Initiating introduction protocol. I am Grace Reason Amity Miracle August Revelry Young Earnest--designation GRAMARYE. I am capable of enchantment and item creation to your exact specifications."
A little tap comes from the side of the Golem, the Gobbo leaning on his cane as he peers intently at Gramarye's form. "Indeed, you have been well made. All the airships at the station would blush and hide themselves away, for their forms have been eclipsed."
Lifting his goggles up and settling them back on his head, Leetle chuckles and puffs on his cigar. "My condolences. It can be hard losing people. As they say, when it's your time to go, it's your time to go. For everything else, there's resurrection." He blinks, "That's a mouthful of a name. Glad someone built in a nickname for you."
The Goblin turns to Robert, "What do ye know of airship engines, hrrrrm?"
"Enough to know that installing the outflow vents is 'exhaust'ing," Bob quips, hips grin going lopsided as he turns to look down at the unfamiliar gobber. "I cut my teeth on the craft in Dragonier almost thirty years ago. Some Runic interpretations of Kulthian standards were quite popular at the time but we had our own style."
"I'm Bob, by the way. Robert Ilife-- but Bob, please," he holds out a hand, "mister..?"
Attentions drawn to the exterior of the building by Grace's observation, the Cerenzan half turns and raises his voice. "Come in, please. We're open..!"
Flip, Flip.
"Sir Peryn, you absolute cad. No wonder she left you for lady Tianwyr." The small makari mutters to herself, shaking her head. And then his father had died? No, that wasn't right.
Eztli freezes, and stands up after a moment to peer into the shop. "Oh, hello! I couldn't help but overhear your name, I'm really sorry, I was trying not to listen while I waited. I should tell you my name is Eztli before I forget to mention it again, and since I don't believe the owner here got it last time either." She offers once she steps into the building. "Please, don't mind me, I can wait to be served."
"Father designated me 'Gramarye' first after he rebuilt me the first time, which was before I awakened," Gramarye explains to the gobber, light pulsing in obsidian eyes. "Thirteen years, four months, two weeks, one day, eight hours, forty-four minutes, and forty-two seconds ago, he deemed my designation to be an acronym and assigned words that were pleasing to him to create my full name. I am my Father's daughter, and Father defined that a daughter's name should contain 'pleasant and bright' words."
Her head pivots down to the very small makari. There's a moment where the obsidian eyes just stare at the creature that seems so nervous.
"I am capable of assisting you as Bob is capable of assisting the other customer. Or I may assist the other customer and Bob may assist you. There is no need to form a queue."
The Goblin's eyes narrow. "Oh, you're one of those.", he says, with a note of resignation in his voice.
"A pun enthusiast. Lowest form of humor, even below ... ahem... slapstick." He rubs at his chin, and then peers at the appearance of a towering Sith. "It's fine, I'm on my way out."
Puffing on his cigar a few more times, he nods to Robert. "Nice to meet you Bob. I'm looking for some help with an engine problem. It's mostly unintentional, explosive deconstruction, with a little bit of buffing work to be done. And everyone knows that you don't install outflow vents while the engines and powerplant are operational. A quick way to a short life, yes?"
Leetle cants his head slightly. "So what do you know of unintentional, explosive deconstruction? Quickly now, this Sith here wants their daily pun. But at least they have a book to read while they wait."
Leetle nods at Gramarye, "Grams is much easier to remember than Grace Reason Amity Miracle August Revelry Young Earnest. Hah, at least it's not just Earnest... people'd call you Ernie, and guaranteed you'd be mad."
The Cerenzan chuckles and gives a mild shake of his head as he withdraws his hand. "My children share your opinions. Their mother and I always wondered how they ended up so-afflicted when neither side of the family has a history of an absent sense of humor."
Bob stands, dropping both hands into the front pouch of his apron. "You're using a manasteam engine, then, and not an electro-aetherite? Flow regulators and exhaust would be my first instinct. If you have a berth I'd be happy to make some time and have a look, mister..?" He attempts the prompt a second time.
"Oh! Miss Eztli," he's excited now. "The lady finished... I'm sorry she's not here to deliver it herself." Keys jingle as he pulls the ring out and unlocks a chest, reaching in to collect a bundle in soft, folded leather and hold it high. "... your blade."
"Ah, your children have taste.", the Gobbo quips. "So there's hope for your bloodline yet." He grins toothily. "Captain.", he offers, helpfully. "Not mister." He fusses with an ear. "I shall return later with an itemized list of all thirteen thousand parts. Then we can discuss the reconstruction."
Leetle offers a wave to the Golem and towering Sith. "Best of luck to you!"
The Goblin saunters out of the smithy, smoke trailing behind him.
"Oh, no! I appreciate the offer, really, I do, but you can't help me with why I'm here." Eztli sighs. "If I remember correctly, an engine not powered by boiling water is usually powered by a volatile chemical mixture being ignited by some source, which moves the necessary mechanisms instead. I don't see what's wrong with puns or physical comedy however."
"It's too bad Nemori isn't here, she could probably use the word of encouragement about her handiwork." The small makari muses as she accepts the parcel and offers the gold coins in exchange.
Or attempts to, at least. Eztli looks up, huffs, and reaches out to jump and grab the leather package. "It's dangerous to play with knives, you know." She grumbles.
There's a flickering blink in Gramarye's eyes again. "I am Grace Reason Amity Miracle August Revelry Young Earnest--designation GRAMARYE. Not Grams. I will, however, file 'Grams' in my memory as a permitted 'nickname' variable." Is that a sense of irritation in the flat woman's voice?
But then there's the talk of Robert's bloodline and children, which brings Gramarye's further remarks to a halt--and the magical assistant rises from her chair. Her head pivots as she walks carefully around the workshop, analyzing projects finished and unfinished alike.
Then her head returns to the symbol of Ceinara that hangs over the Ilife Smithy's doorway. "I will get to work," she announces to Bob.
The golem doesn't wait for an indication that she'd been hired. It appears that she's simply chosen another father to work for. In a way, that makes sense.
She is her Father's daughter, after all.
"I just meant to show you that I'd found it," Bob answers Eztli, easing the trunk closed and turning to offer the package at a more reasonable level. He gives her an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to tease."
The coin is accepted and dropped into his pouch with a nod. "Take it for a bit and then let her know, please. She'll likely take your feedback to heart after she knows you've put it to use."
The big fellow watches the gobber shuffle out, then turns to consider the war golem making herself at home. "... it looks like I have another apprentice to settle in, miss Eztli. You're welcome to keep us company if you don't have anywhere else to be..?"
"Oh. Well, okay, I guess I was just being impatient." The makari mumbles apologetically after she stops jumping to accept the package.
"I still hope I don't need to put it to use though, what with everything dangerous out there though, that might not be a given. Maybe I'll try something a bit less dangerous though, like eating an apple with it?" She suggests, taking a step back and looking around. "Just make sure she doesn't feel like she has to be here. A golem should be able to accept their own purpose if they want, so keep that option open."
"I'm allowed to stay here for a bit? Well, the forge is nice, warm enough to heat me up a little bit even, and I guess you're nice to talk to. So, sure! I really was just trying to make sure I got here to pay for the thing, but I've got time now."
OOC
On Gramarye's name:
<OOC> Robert says, "'I find it important to be frank and earnest with women. In New York, I'm Frank. In Chicago, I'm Earnest.'"