Roadblock [Rorugir]

[Elhaym]

The 89th Day of Winter, 511 AV

The last gasps of winter whistled in Elhaym's ears, their icy chill giving rise to gooseprickles and causing her blue robes to snap as if playing the wind's beat. The colored skyglass beads at her wrist were jingling as well, and Elhaym silenced them by pulling them from her arm and tying her hair off into a short pony tail. Her hair had been whipping her in the face all evening, so it served to eliminate that nuisance as well as the incessant clicking sounds of glass on glass. Winter was never too terribly harsh in Lhavit, but even the mountainous wind screen Lhavit had been built around could not contain nature's whims this day.

Aside from the weather, this day was like most others. Elhaym stood aside a senior Shinya, observing as he calmly mediated a dispute between two of the townsfolk. Elhaym only lent half an ear to their plight, something about being short changed by one of the Surya Plaza's many tiny kitchen stalls that sold snacks to the townsfolk around the clock. When the next bell sounded, she would be blessedly free of this droll segment of her day. She tired of training, but shadowing a senior Shinya as he did the more menial tasks the order undertook could be so very boring.

As the flustered man continued to whine about the Kinas he had been cheated out of, Elhaym turned her head to take in the plaza. It was gloriously lit, glowing a thousand different hues as the last few rays of the sun soaked into the cities crystalline structure. The only thing marring Lhavit's beauty was the endless mass of humanity that occupied it, and they were out in force today. She looked on as the people went about their business, whatever hues their clothing may have been overtaken by the gleaming lights produced by Lhavit itself at this distance. Their whining petitioner's voice had grown in pitch to the point that he was almost shrieking, and Elhaym could scarcely take listening to his wails. Her senior did not see to mind; he stood calmly and listened to the man's plight, waving a hand every now and again and asking him to soften his voice and calm himself.

It was then she noticed a man about a dozen paces away resting next to some sort of huge crate, or box… it was hard to tell with the other people darting around him and blocking her view. She could see however that he was clearly in their way by the faces they made as they moved about him. Elhaym placed a hand softly on her senior's shoulder and whispered in his ear that a civilian was in need of assistance. He gave her a knowing look, but nodded that she could take her leave. Elhaym let out a breath of relief as she left the two to their ordeal, pushing her way through the crowd.

When she came upon him, she immediately took note that this was no human. Stocky and short and criss crossed with silver, he was obviously an Isurian. She stepped up to him, one hand propped on the hilt of her blade that was tucked into her sash as the other gestured in greeting.

"Sorry to say, you seem to be in everyone's way. I'd be willing to help you with that, if you'd like."

She placed a balled fist to her heart and bowed briefly, her left hand never straying from her blade. It was a bastard bow she had concocted, born of a Syliran upbringing and newly found Lhavitian culture. And so long as you're going somewhere far away from the petcher with the attitude and Master grandpa, I'll carry the damned thing myself, she thought. He seemed weary, so whatever it was he was hauling likely was quite heavy. Isur were not known to be weaklings, quite far from it. She realized he might think her silly for asking to help, being a human and a woman to boot. Her loose robes did a considerable job in hiding her muscled body.

[Rorugir]

Lights distilled through Lhavitian skyglass broke across a craggy face, slicked by sweat and touched by surprise. It was an isur, alright; born of the Kalean mountains and a god's divine will. He provided a jarring break to the airily native Lhavitians, being grounded in sweat and ground and things that should have been left well below these high peaks. Irises, black as night, blinked slowly as they considered the Shinya woman who approached. "Greetings, Shinya." A silvered hand, darkening to black, shifted the weight of the box off the isur's chest. Inside, metal clanged as it came in contact with one another. "Help would be mighty appreciated, thanks." a wearied voice issued forth, and a free hand gestured outward. "Grab it from the other side, please." Once the box had been grabbed from the other side, the isur would haul it upwards and set the insides clanging again. "Scrap metal for the forges," he explained. "Which is heavier than it first appears. I'm taking this down to a Touch of Fire...the blacksmith shop. It should only be a couple of blocks away." There was a pause in which they would make their way down the Lhavit street in relative silence. Only a grunt or two would tell Elhaym that the person carrying the other end was still there. It was a long time coming before the now-familiar voice pierced the air; "What's your name?" A glance, cast over the bulging box between them, sized up the Shinya. "I'm Rorugir."

[Elhaym]

Elhaym swiped the hair from her eyes and gave a nod to affirm she would help. It took only a few seconds to untie and wrap the cord that had been knotted around her blade's sheath and tie it into her belt with a series of knots; she didn't want it to fall free without her hand their to support it. She took a hold of the opposite end of the crate full of deadweight, and heaved it up in unison with the Isurian. He was odd to look at, but it was not the first Isurian she had set eyes upon. She briefly wondered if humans looked odd to other races when they first set their eyes upon them. Her arms were already straining; she was a woman of capable strength, but a burden to tire an Isurian was not one to be underestimated. She let out harsh breaths as he calmly explained their destination, a trivial fact she had gathered once she had determined they were hauling a box of raw steel.

“I'm familiar with the place,” she said quickly in between breaths, “Aska forged the blade I carry. I liked the smell of the place, and all the old swords.”

Her companion seemed content to walk in silence, and Elhaym was glad for it. As much as she would have liked to talk about blades and steel and fire, a more opportune time than the present would be preferable. She could feel her forearms and fingers beginning to strain, that cold feeling of imminent failure in her muscles beginning to set in. It was difficult, but she found solace in her mind rather than worrying about her cramping digits. The swirling colors of Lhavit melted around her into a starry lit black, and she tried as hard as she could to make her entire world consist of herself and her burden. Occasionally she heard the Isurian let out a grunt as he shifted the weight in his hands, her world interrupted as a shadowy man of short stature flickered in and out. His words sounded far away when he spoke, almost whispers in her ears. Her arms were on fire.

“Elhaym Vormav.”

The words came out like a stray blast from a whirlwind, an obvious sign of her fatigue. Her chest rose and sank with each labored breath. They'd crossed a good length of the massive Surya Plaza now, the Isurian's solitary voyage now seeming much more impressive than when she had approached him. Elhaym's eyes began to sting as a bead of sweat dripped from her eyelash and splashed against her eye, and she scrunched her face up and shook the other accumulated moisture free. This was pathetic. A stomach like carved marble, and she was struggling to merely help carry something a base Isurian had managed the same distance alone? She could kill a man with one blow if she set her mind to it, and the blue of her robe gleamed in the ambient light of the city as if to proclaim her one it's chosen protectors. Though only an Acolyte, the thought of looking so meek angered her. The earlier frustration and boredom only compounded her irritation.

The river beat against the dam furiously, screaming for release. She could feel it there, shattering her mental defenses one by one. It was a torrent of raw power and insatiable in it's desire to find release, yet she denied it more often than not. It had been given to her under the guise of a boon, but this raw power was a curse. A curse, but at times a useful one. Her dam shattered, and the river roared. It was a facade, the worst kind of cheating… but the sheer feeling of it! It was sex. A drought of pure ecstasy, the kind of rush she felt after a fight or a hard workout without the underlying fatigue. It was the most heinous thing the Shinya had given her, and by far the most glorious. As meager as her power was, the Flux felt like power incarnate as it coursed through her body.

Rorugir might have noticed that in a matter of seconds she seemed more sure footed than she had when they began, and her grip seemed tighter and more secure. Her breathing labored on, but she found room for words.

“I've always wondered how you all turn junk like this into something useful. It seems like it would be it's own kind of battle, you and your hammer against the steel.“

Her voice sounded as if she had just tipped back a cup of rice wine, slightly hazy and choppy while retaining enough clarity to be understood. Her eyes glazed over as her colorless world dissipated back into the vivid colors of Lhavit. She no longer needed to retreat into her mind; she found solace in the raw power her own body held now. It was a lie, as always. This time though, just a little white lie. Those kind of lies never hurt anyone.

“How much farther, Rorugir?”

She didn't sound as if she would have been disappointed if he had said the far side of the city.

[Rorugir]

A man of the mountains watched curiously as the woman struggled under the far end of the box, eyeing the popping cords of her arms and the muscles hidden beneath human skin. His own arms were equal in size, perhaps even larger - most certainly the left was, in any case. But she was no weakling, he knew. Help would be an affront, so he did not offer it. Instead, he let her struggle with her portion of the box's weight by herself. Rorugir knew physical betterment was a solitary pursuit. This much he had learned in the dusk touched halls of Sultros, where men and women alike had improved themselves in all areas of physical combat under an unforgiving sky of rock. While Rorugir himself belonged to the magical clan of Pitrius, his schedule in his youth had been filled equally by body building as it was by other, more literary, subjects. It was not a field taken lightly by his people. Not that those paltry offerings he had sat through were doing him much good now - he was panting almost as much as the woman. But at least now the weight was nowhere near as tired as the trek down from the peaks had been. Their increased speed spoke for the gratitude Rorugir deigned not to vocalize. A distance was spanned when the Shinya had given her name in return for his own, eyes flickering like smoke across once more, and Rorugir acknowledged Elhaym with a nod she may or may not seen. "Aska is masterful indeed," Rorugir mentioned in response to Elhaym's latter sentence. "I am an apprentice beneath her." The shift within Elhaym was noticed by a trained eye, but yet again no words were said. The magic that had shot through her veins was carefully accounted for and stored, though a cough stirred lungs in his approximation of veiled surprise. "The shop is only a few more blocks down," Rorugir supplied helpfully. Lhavit dulled to a mere background as the sheer task of transport was fully understood. Twinkling lights flashed across unyielding eyes, concentrating only on the weight within two burly hands. The chatter of passerby receded, allowing Rorugir to concentrate on his breathing; in and out, in and out. It mocked the hum of the mountain, the breath of stone so easily missed, strong, powerful, resilient and patient. Something all isur strove to be. "There." Rorugir grunted at last, eyes leading Elhaym's own to a pitted wood sign that hung to their left. Across it was simply writ- Touch of Fire A reassured stride led Elhaym and the burden carried between them inside and to the back of the show room, where another apprentice awaited. It was with an admittedly reassured sigh that Rorugir shouldered off the raw steel to him. As the human began pulling the box of steel back to the forges, Rorugir turned to Elhaym with a begrudging smile. Approval was not something easily wrested from a Steelrune. "Thank you for you help, Elhaym." Rorugir said. "Please, if you need, feel free to check out our wares."

[Elhaym]

His words floated into her ears, and an absent nod fell in with the rhythm of her body. Each step was countered by the weight of their ever wearisome burden. Even with her strength bolstered, she could feel her arms faltering. The Flux pumped through her body inefficiently, chugging away along the major pathways between her two bodies; the scarred and hardened physical and the smooth and pristine astral. Despite it's euphoric bolstering, only a minute or two had passed before her muscles began to feel the strain again. It was so weak... Elhaym hated that it was like that. If it didn't feel so good, she likely wouldn't bother. That's what she always told herself, anyhow.

She groaned as the sign came into view, a timeworn thing with no hint of glamor. Her low pitched cry may have seemed born of irritation that their journey had ended to her companion if her tone before were any indication, but truly she was glad to be rid of this damned box. She was no weakling, but this sort of strength came only with tireless labor. When their path led them through the showroom, a multitude of not only fanciful weaponry materialized into view, but a slew of other more mundane creations that would serve the people of this city in their everyday needs. Rorugir moved with the same familiarity she had inside the Shinya's territory, so it would only do to follow. An irritant spread throughout her body as the flux pulsed, a deeply seeded restlessness rising from the sudden withdrawal of it's summoned task. She considered letting it go; the need to let the Flux taper off when she was able had been relentlessly pounded into her head. She held on. Despite, her breath was labored when he thanked her. A crooked smile and a nod were given in return.

“I've seen it all before, mostly.” she replied once her breathing had returned to normal. And she had. She'd spent many hours in the showroom, to the point Aska had just given up on watching her to return to her work. Yet she wasn't quite ready to leave… Master Grandpa was probably still out there whittling away at Lhavit's petty problems, one whining comment at a time. She had no desire to take anymore part in that. She turned her unsteady gaze to Rorugir instead, taking a good look at him for perhaps the first time. The Isur were strange to look at indeed, though they did not tend to leave the same impression a Konti's stunning beauty always did on her. “I'd rather have a look at the forge. When the hammer strikes, I love the way it looks. Like a tiny explosion. It's nice.”

Her stalling tactic would give her time to try something new. She still held on to the djed in her body, and it was beginning to wear on her. She knew that if she did not relinquish it, eventually her djed would take it upon itself to perform the task for her. It was not an experience she wished to duplicate. Yet just cutting it off was almost as bad, a burning sensation that had started as if her limbs were being pricked by a thousand dull needles. Now the needles had become sharp, and the idea that it had grown so exponentially more painful alarmed her…

“If you don't mind, I'd like to see what you all do here. Or were you finished for the day?”

She tried to put some feeling into her words, but she was more focused on the inner workings of her body than any real interest in a blacksmith's duty. Unless he started forging something, she likely wouldn't find it the least bit fascinating. What did fascinate her was her own djed. She felt it now, pulsing through her arms and legs, and especially her torso. She focused on the gushing power that flowed in her right arm, and focused on it. Bit by bit, she began pulling the strength away from the main pathways by diverting it into lesser pathways where it would dissipate harmlessly. A small grin crept across her face; she was pleased to have finally begun to discover a way to handle the Flux, though it would be incredibly time consuming.

It was Rorugir's house as they say, and she knew not what his day's agenda consisted of after his delivery. The Isurian seemed pretty formal to her, but then again she knew little of them in general. Would they even allow anyone in the room when they forged? She was an Acolyte of the Shinya, but they accounted for less than nothing most places. She figured a smithy's shop was like a ship; it had only one Captain, no matter who claimed to own the port it docked in.

[Rorugir]

A tracery of disquiet settled on isurian features. “See the forge?” Rorugir asked uncertainly. “I’ve don’t know how much Mistress Aska would like me taking people back there...” “...But you are Shinya,” The geomancer reasoned at last. “I’m sure she won’t mind.” A hand guided Elhaym to the door at the back of the room through which another apprentice had just so recently entered. But he must have exited through different means, because as they entered the room beyond was empty. The very same hand closed the door behind them, blocking out the light that had been streaming in and allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkened room. The lack of fires burning merrily made it dimmer than usual, as the forge sat cold and dark. A master and her trademark urgency were conspicuously absent. Rorugir made his way over to the table in the middle of the room, where a mishmash of papers and miscellaneous tools fought for dominance of the scarred wood slab. He picked up one of the hammers there even as he kept an eye on his passenger. One of his nails fought fault on the hammer’s tip, carefully flicking off rust off of it. “This is where we work,” Rorugir said as he set the hammer back down on the table. He crossed his arms in an affectation of professionalism. “We’re almost done for the night - that’s why the forges aren’t fired up.” “Do you have any questions?” “And, as to what you said earlier...I do have one more thing I have to do tonight. And I do need some help in forging it...if you wanted to give me another hand?” A faint smile lingered on bluish lips, obstinate in their ambiguity. “What I need help with doesn't take any smithing skill as all. Just some good old-fashioned manual labor.”

[Elhaym]

Elhaym nodded silently as his inner turmoil seemed to turn in her favor; more time spent here to perfect her craft was good, and the bonus of witnessing his would be a bonus if he managed to make it interesting. Together they made their way into the heart of the Touch of Fire, and darkness dominated once the creaking hinges of the door stopped. He moved with ease through the low light, and Elhaym took advantage of his distracted attentiveness for a moment. Her right hand flickered in gesture as the Shinya had taught her, coiling into a fist and reforming into the same gesture over and over under the cover of semi-darkness. It was a concentration tool. The repetition allowed her to focus more readily on her body, and it did seem to have a soothing effect on her inner workings. Already she had begun to divert the chaotic streams of djed in her body into minor pathways where it dissolved harmlessly.

"Questions? Well, I… I don't know. I mean, I know you have a forge and you hit stuff with a hammer. I watched a smith in Syliras forging a sword once, but I was drawing him at the time. I didn't really pay attention to what was going on."

The last bit of djed slithered free from her body. It was like the first breath you take when stepping out from a cozy warm room into a winter storm; harsh and cold and numb. Her body suddenly felt weary. Both shoulders sagged inwards and she let out an exasperated sigh, only to lift her head as Rorugir proposed his task to her.

"You need help? Well, I don't..."

She started to complain that her arms ached, and that her back felt strained. The mask of strength the Flux had given had cracked, revealing the sorry state the long trek across Lhavit had left her in. Still, she had been in this spot before. Sometimes when she was weariest, pushing forward helped her regain her fortitude. Hesitance melted.

"Why not? If you need help, I'll help. What exactly needs doing?"

Without her rampant djed clouding her mind, the intrigue of the forge and it's workings became a little more obtrusive in her mind. To see it, even if it was mundane, would surely be more interesting than Master Grandpa's lecture if she returned. To take part in it would be even better.

[Rorugir]

“Hold your horses, girl,” Rorugir admonished gruffly. His voice was rougher and less formal now, full of a smithy's fire and smoke. “Or your okomos, I guess. Anyways, first we have to make sure you don't end up burning yourself.” He searched the table, finally reemerging with a pair of blackened gloves. “Here.” he threw the gloves towards Elhaym, then turning around to claim another pair for himself. He gave the Shinya woman a small, cool smile before striding past here, over to where the box they had struggled with lay demurely on the bare smithy floor. With his newly gloved hands Rorugir grabbed the box. The twine holding it together was easily untied, and the cover was thrown off to reveal a mish-mash of steel within. “We're going to use these cylinder shaped ones,” Rorugir continued, holding up an example, “to make some nails. Nothing so romantic as a sword, I'm afraid. But still, we'll have some work set out for us. You'll have to heat up the metal and then break it apart, before shaping it. Do you think you can you do this?” Rorugir didn't wait for her answer. He began pulling on the box, which jostled noisily as it slid across the pockmarked floor. There was a stillness, a comfort about the way Rorugir moved, that showed how he was more at home here than anywhere else, befriended to the blacksmith's fire and zeal. At long last Rorugir drew near Elhaym and the table once more, and with a grunt managed to grab the box and level it up onto the table. Turning, Rorugir appraised the Lhavitian with a glance, eying the muscle of her frame and the callouses of her hands. You are tough, Elhaym. Undoubtedly. But are you tough enough for this? “We'll need to start the forges for this, to heat up the metal. Here,” Rorugir said, handing Elhaym a shovel, “the coal is waiting for you.”

[Elhaym]

"Hah," she grunted in surprise as she caught the floppy gloves in her hand. They were rough and thick, the kind of gloves honest laborers wore. Immediately she liked the way they felt on her hands despite looking slightly awkward. Even with her frame, she was still a woman and they seemed a bit over-sized. Making some nails may not have been a glorious task, but there was still a part of Elhaym that resided in Syliras and worked in a store that cared for animals. That part of her had hauled sacks of grain and carried sick animals when they could no longer walk… and that sort of work had always been enjoyable to her. Save for taking care of the birds, of course.

"Well, I guess." she said, shrugging her shoulders and fiddling with the gloves as if that would somehow make them look more natural on her hands. Of course, it was her uniform that made them look so awkward. Elhaym slipped the thick gloves off, and began peeling off the thick robe that covered her upper half. She was not indecent underneath; a sleeveless white tunic functioned as an undergarment for her torso, and despite still wearing a sash and the flowing pants of an Acolyte she immediately felt more at ease. Rorugir on the other hand needed no help to feel at home. His movements were sure and his posture was that of a man in his element.

Holding the pair of gloves in one hand, she noticed Rorugir's appraising eye. A mere woman perhaps, but even in these harsh times most women did not have as solid a build as she. He spoke of the forges, and passed a shovel into her waiting hand. She propped it against her body briefly while she slid the gloves back on, and then took a firm grip before walking to what she supposed was the spot he intended her to shovel the coal in. It looked like it, anyhow.

"Okay, sounds easy enough. Just shove it in there, right?"

With a heavy hand she dipped the blade of the shovel into the chunks of coal, and spoon herself out a goodly amount. A small grunt escaped her lips as she slid the shovel forward and dumped the coal where she supposed it was going, though for all knew she could have put it somewhere inappropriate. "When do I stop?" she asked, sliding the dull blade in for another round. Whatever Rorugir's estimation was, she would fill it.

It was like a small reminder of when life was simple. Even the slight victory in manipulating the Flux was forgotten as she pressed herself into her labors. Work like this… she would probably be a better person if she just retreated somewhere she'd never been, and toiled herself to sleep every day doing something like this. Alas, life was never so simple. Just for a little while today though, it could be.

[Rorugir]

Rorugir watched Elhaym as she worked, struck by the reversal in the scene. Just a season ago he had been where the Shinya stood, a newborn waiting for Aska's guidance and approval. And now here he stood, giving the directions this time around. Fate was ironic sometimes, it seemed.

By her words, Rorugir's attention returned and he focused in on the coal being thrust into the forge's hungry mouth. Using his previous experience with both nail-making and this particular forge, he tried to estimate when the right temperature would be reached.

“Your good, fer now,” Rorugir said after a moment, a bronzed hand raised to still Elhaym's progress, “'Tis reached the right amount of heat, I'd say. Now, we heat up the metal.”

The mountain within him shifted as he grabbed the ladle besides the open flames, preparing himself for the inferno before him. Fire was fire, and no matter how many times he used it it was important not to blind himself to its dangers. It was a precaution many reimancers forgot to take, as Rorugir had seen in his time beneath Pitrius Citadel.

“We'll take the ladle and melt the cylinders within them down to a liquid. Look over to your right, Elhaym. Do you see a greenish-gold box? Get it for me.” The device in question was one of Aska's masterpieces, a contrivance made for her by a gadgeteer that Rorugir had used in his first attempt to make nails. Seemingly just a simple box at first, it opened in the middle to reveal a cylinder-shaped depression perfect for casting nails. It was set on an open cabinet shelf, tucked in with the utmost care and just waiting for the next time it would be used.

“Take the gadget, open it, and scrub out the insides with the brush next to it,” Rorugir instructed, though his eyes did not leave the ladle held out in front of him.