Look Out Below
It's Korday, Eatonis 23 15:05:25 1019. The full moon is up. The tide is low and slack. Fair weather clouds sail across the blue sky, propelled by light breezes from the west. It's warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the air is clear and dry.
A08: Northern Bridge Over Tornmawr River
It's a beautiful spring day in Alexandria, and the heavy flow of traffic over the bridge is clear evidence of it. Standing at the end of the bridge is a wild elf, an adventurer by his looks, who is watching a maintenance crew work way up high on one of the bridge's towers. Suddenly, a quick flash of light catches his eye, and he takes off charging through the crowd. At that moment, one of the workers shouts, "Look out below!" A heavy-duty wrench is free falling toward the traffic below, right toward where the elf seems to be trying to get to.
A golem, large, adamantine, and built for battle, stands under the workers, watching. It stands still enough that it'd be easy to mistake them for a statue that someone decided it would be amusing to slap a circlet, bracers, brass goggles and a blacksmith's apron on. Then the tool is falling. While the sharp-eyed elf scurries through the crowd, moving even before the cry of caution, the golem watches, then begins to move. A touch to the inside of a bracer and it raises a now glowing tridactyl hand. As the object falls, it begins to glow with the same light, and stops, abruptly, over the heads of the crowd. A deep, metallic voice, sounding like it's echoing from somewhere deep inside the golem says, "A good craftsman minds his tools. A wizard does not neglect his spell book, a warrior does not misplace his weapon, and the smith always knows where to find his hammer."
Finally, the more perceptive among the crowd get a sense of what just happened, as the elf slows to a stop in the golem's presence. Taking a deep breath, he says, "Nice catch." He looks up again at the workers above, and says, "That could have seriously hurt somebody. I could be nice and return the tool to its owner, but perhaps requiring him to descend and request its return might serve him well. What say you?" He smiles.
<OOC> Craft says, "How high would you say the workers are?"
<OOC> Ga'Elian says, "Oh, a good 50+ feet up."
The golem turns, considering the elf, then looks to the wrench, and past it to the worker above. "Out of range anyway." The hammer, still glowing faintly, smoothly floats into the golem's hand. Once clasped, he waves it in a broad, open motion, angling it to catch the light. Magicite eyes return to the elf. "You were attempting to intercept?"
Ga'Elian nods, "I was. I am Ga'Elian Faravanilas, by the way, but you may call me Elian if you like. Were you here to watch them work?" He indicates the workers with an upward nod.
The golem's head nods. "Craft." A moment's eerie stillness. "That is the name I chose for myself." The head turns again, looking to where Ga'Elian ran from, then back to Elian. "Would you have caught it, or were you trying your best?" The more he speaks, the more the voice fits the appearance, the voice sounding like it was hammered out of steel. The wrench is pocketed and Craft offers a hand to the elf.
Ga'Elian takes the proffered hand, and replies with an impish wink, "Well, Craft, I guess we'll never know for sure, but I'd say my chances were pretty good." Already, one of the workers is starting to gingerly make his way downward on a service latter built into the far side of the tower. Elian says, "My griffon and I were relaxing below at the riverbank, when I thought I'd come up here and watch them for a bit."
Craft steps over, looking over the edge of the bridge, searching for a griffon. "I enjoy work. I do not sleep. I do not eat. It leaves one with plenty of time alone with one's thoughts." He looks back up, spotting the worker, raising a hand to catch their attention. "I also enjoy the poetry of having been built to destroy but choosing to create." He turns back to the elf. "Not that I like most forms of poetry. Have you been in Alexandria long?"
Ga'Elian glances toward the worker, then looks up into the face of the golem. "That is... poetic, as you say. I was but 117 years old on the last summer solstice, and first visited this city a month or two previous to that, in fact nearly a year ago. At first, my interest was in preserving Ea and my place in its wilderness, and I came to Alexandria primarily to stem the inflow of demonkind that were ravaging it, so as to prevent their spread outside the city, but I have since become involved in the Guild, and sort of gradually found myself spending more and more time within its walls."
Craft stands silent, but only for a moment. "My age is... harder to tell. I was inside Alexandria when it vanished. I do not know when I was created, or how long I wandered before being taken into slavery by Bludgunni forces." His voice grows harder at that last. "In absolute years, I may be older than you. Alexandrian forces freed me, I showed my gratitude by helping them win the war. Since then, I alternate between adventuring and working as a smith in the city, though, for the last few years, I have largely kept to my work. It's a good city. I appreciate the respect for the freedom to choose one's own path."
Ga'Elian agrees, "I have found it to be so, and perhaps more diverse that any other community in Ea."
By now, the worker is about two-thirds of the way down the tower, close enough to call over, "Hey, thanks for catching that." He continues to descend. The crowd seem now to have largely moved on about their business, all except for one little old lady with a parasol and a mean scowl on her face, who is gazing intently at the worker.
"You should keep a better eye on your tools," Craft remarks. "Take care of your tools, and they will take care of you. The knight doesn't misplace his sword in the middle of combat," he chides.
As the worker steps off of the ladder, he blushes in response to Craft's gentle rebuke. Just as he approaches, his expression a blend of embarrassed and mildly intimidated, he says, "I'll be more careful... sir." (gulp) "Thank you." Just as these last two words escape his lips, the granny strides over, wagging her parasol at him and issuing a constant, shrill tirade of scolding, like she'd just discovered her "sainted" grandson dishonoring the family name by shoplifting. The worker recoils from the waving parasol and says, Easy, ma'am, easy. I'm sorry, alright?"
Ga'Elian just stands there watching, chuckling to himself.
"I suggest a strap," Craft says, gesturing to the strap on his apron that holds his crafting hammer in place. He watches the older woman in silence, and only after she has run her course does he take the wrench from his apron and pass it to the worker.
Ga'Elian can't keep himself from laughing outright when the woman hits her stride, but when she's finished, he tells the worker, "My friend here has made an excellent suggestion. Now I have one for you. You might want to get back aloft ere your foreman gets after you like she did." The worker grins sheepishly at the elf and says, "Yeah. I'll do that." He accepts the wrench from Craft and returns without delay to the service ladder. The elf says, "The wrench, he'll get over soon enough, I daresay, but he may have nightmares about that old woman." *grin*
Craft looks to the old woman, eyes glowing warmly, then he returns to the Elf. "Some behavior needs to be punished. A 'chewing out' is mild compared to some of the punishments I have delivered or seen delivered."
Ga'Elian nods. "Oh, absolutely. Still, this should teach him to be more careful, and really, accidents can happen to anyone." He walks over to the bridge rail and looks down at his griffon who is now splashing about in the river, eating a fish whole every now and then, and says, "So smithing, eh? I'm scraping together the last bit of coin to hire an upgrade to my bow." He pulls a 5-ft-4-inch, plainly magical, composite longbow out of a 21-inch, plainly magical quiver and holds it out to show. "I'd like to have it further enchanted to cause the arrows it fires to seek my targets when they conceal themselves."
Craft gently reaches out for the bow with one hand, tapping the side of his goggles with the other. "Not something I've done before, but I might manage it. Or find you someone who can."
Ga'Elian nods, "Actually, there seem to be a few people around that can do the job, but as I say, I've not quite yet got the funds. Hopefully soon, though."
"Right. That's fairly advanced magic. I'm sure someone in town can do it," Craft assures. "I'd need to research to find out if that someone is me, however."
Ga'Elian stows his bow back inside his quiver and says, "Oh, that's alright. I have someone in mind anyway. Just one more thing that brings me to the City. You just don't find too many crafters powerful enough for some of these things out in the wilderness. Anyway, 'twas good to meet you, Craft, but I should go back and get my griffon to dry off and settle down." He bows like a Llyranesi.
Craft bows his head slightly, and glances to the Griffon. "Reminds me of the dog I live with," he says, phrasing it rather oddly. "I wish you well." He turns, then, and finds an out of the way spot he can stand and observe the work.