Closed One Ring to Bind Them...?

[Matthew]

A glance was cast her way at the apology, the harlot silently wondering what she was even saying sorry for. He hadn't heard the clanking of the bowls, or he might have given her a look. She seemed to handle the weight of the backpack and the rings fairly well, so he kept quiet. She had this determined look on her face, as if she was going to carry them no matter what he said. He knew the look, and also knew it was best to probably just save his breath. He lurched a bit under the weight of the metal, but luckily for him, it didn't wobble. It was a wheelbarrow with two wheels at the front, making it much easier to push. There wasn't any balancing he would have to do, there was merely lifting and pushing and hoping that he could get it where it needed to go. At her offer to carry his bag, he silently shook his head, jaw clenched as he struggled to slowly inch the load forward. He could be just as stubborn as any other person, and this was one of those moments where he had decided to be. It wasn't actually anything but his arms that were giving him the most trouble. They were already starting to ache, but he ignored the burn and pushed on. He was thankful that people were polite enough to make him a little path, and oblivious to some of the chuckles and scowls that were aimed at both him and the Nuit. They were definitely an odd sight, as Isolde had already noticed. It was usually a much stronger, gruffer-looking man who was straining against the metal to be recycled. Seeing this rather dandy-looking eye-candy was definitely a bit funny. At least they hid their smiles from the harlot. He faintly heard her offer to stop if he needed, and she would be met with another quick shake of his head. He was actually quite afraid that he wouldn't be able to get going again if he stopped. Best to just wheel on. He was distantly aware of Isolde clearing the way with a few shouts every now and then, but didn't pay any mind to it. Her back was his guide, and he followed it faithfully, not even glancing upwards to make sure she had headed in the correct direction. At one point, a sailor from the Harbor brushed past them, carrying the same load but going at a much quicker pace. An eyebrow was tossed at the odd pair, but he didn't say a word. Matthew felt a moment of envy for his muscles, but quickly discarded it. He had long ago decided that the hulking definition that some people built themselves to have was something he didn't want. He didn't find it very attractive, and he thought he had a good taste for what was attractive and what wasn't. Isolde probably didn't know it, but her quick little sentences that told him where they were and how much farther away the Ironworks was. It gave him a goal, and reminded him that there was an end to the inch-by-inch progression he was making with the wheelbarrow. A Knight or two paused as they saw him, considering offering a hand... but the look on Matthew's handsome face was one of utter determination. They just let him be on his way, a respectful nod offered to Isolde for once. It was odd what just a little hard work could do for you in the eyes of certain others. Matthew was obviously putting a ton of effort into it, muscles bulging and brow dripping with sweat. Isolde looked just as worn by her load, but matched Matthew's determined expression. Finally they were there, and the harlot quickly dropped the handles of the cart and dragged in some hungry breaths. His hands were sore and the fingers were red from where the handles had dug into his flesh, warning that there might eventually be blisters. He leaned against the same wall Isolde did, gasping for air, relieved to finally have something to rest against. His arms hung loosely at his sides, having absorbed most of the damage. He couldn't even feel them at this point. There was just a huge aching feeling that stopped right below his shoulders, and gave way to a sensation of numbness. At her last question, he blinked, leaning his head back to stare up at the the ceiling as his thoughts raced. In the end, his mind passed through all of the ideas she had, but he was at the point where he was too tired to really go hunting for what they needed. "I think we could just ask the metalsmith if he could make a pair to put into the ring. I doubt a pair of small boxes will cost too horribly much." He hoped not, at least. He had seen them going for only a few copper pieces before at the Bazaar. Randomly, he noticed that she was straining a bit under the weight of the rings. He turned, body peeling off of the wall to revolve in front of her, staring her down for a few moments with his piercing gaze. After a silent second or two, he reached forward and relieved her of the rings, straining just a bit to get them off of her without bumping her in the head. He set them down next to the door, taking some time to catch his breath a bit more as he knelt on the ground beside of them. "This'll do then, you suppose? We can knock on the door, show him all of our stuff, and hope for the best?" He could sense her excitement, and he shared it. It seemed different for her than it was for him, but he couldn't put a finger on it. At least they were both on the same page, though perhaps different sentences.

[Isolde Seibold]

"I think we could just ask the metalsmith if he could make a pair to put into the ring. I doubt a pair of small boxes will cost too horribly much."

The Nuit mused on that for a moment, then simply nodded her head, accepting his words. Yes, she supposed that was the best way, though it would cost more than salvaging something and getting it for free. She had no better ideas. And if it meant avoiding a trip to the Bazaar... well, then, all the better.

When Matthew turned to face her, standing directly before her, she simply glanced up at him, staying where she was. When he reached out, though... she froze, confused, wondering what he was doing. For a second her mind flashed to the punishment that he'd stipulated (which she had defied momentarily at the Springs) and she wondered if he was going to try to exact revenge now, here of all places. Panic flickered for a moment over her features... before the confusion melted back into place as he gently took hold of the rings. What is he-- oh! As things clicked into place she let out a sound of protest --she could carry them, he didn't have to; he had already done his part-- but she held purposefully still, allowing him to better lift them over and off of her. The weight on her shoulder immediately lightened and she visibly bounced upwards in response, momentarily rocking forward onto the balls of her feet before settling down into a more comfortable position. Loathe as she was to admit it, she was glad that he'd taken them from her, placing them nearby, safely tucked against the wall.

"This'll do then, you suppose? We can knock on the door, show him all of our stuff, and hope for the best?"

Isolde took a moment to consider, making certain they'd gotten what they needed. The rings to act, of course, as the base for the doorway. The bowls to hold the chargers. And they'd inquire after boxes to hold the keystones. "...Yep. I think that's everything. Hold on a second." She held up one hand in a 'wait' gesture, before swinging her knapsack off and retrieving the metal bowls. She tucked those under one arm, awkwardly cocking her elbow out to keep them in place, and then rummaged through to the bottom, searching... before she pulled out the largest of the keystones and then buttoned her knapsack back up, slinging it over her shoulders once more. "He'll need to have these," she explained, indicating the bowls, "And I figured we can show him a keystone so that he'll have an idea of the size of boxes we'll require. This is the largest stone from my pack; I don't know if you had any bigger, but if we show him the largest, of course, then all the rest will be certain to fit." It was simple logic and practical, so she figured it was the best option.

Okay. Now all there was to do was find a blacksmith. From what she knew about the Ironworks --which was a goodly amount, surprisingly-- there were some fifty or sixty employees, most of which were highly skilled metalworkers. Considering the Isurian who ran this place, they would all have to be highly skilled or risk termination. So really... it shouldn't be too hard to find one. Probably every person she saw had learned metalworking to some degree... though she imagined that most of those scampering around --including the muscled young man who had come and wheeled away their wheelbarrow-- were either apprentices or assistants to the actual hired employees. The metalworkers would all be busy at one of the ten forges, pumping out all the metal supplies --from screws to bridles to platemail-- that Syliras required to remain functioning smoothly. So. All they'd need to do was find the nearest forge, and there was likely to be at least one man working there who could help them, if not more than that.

"Alright, uh. Let's get some directions and head over to the nearest available forge."

The door that Matthew had indicated seemed to be the 'main' office. No doubt there were countless other areas that had been designated to deal with customers, but at least someone should be situated here, near the front entrance, in order to direct potential buyers. The Nuit paused for a moment, letting yet another young man --this one looking to be in only his early teens-- flash by, his arms laden with scrolls that would no doubt be used to compare the finished product to design specifications, or that indicated who had ordered what, how much metal and what type was needed, and how many of a certain type of product had been requested to be forged. As soon as he'd breezed by she stepped up to the door, raised a hand, and hammered hard with the side of her fist on the wood (sparing her knuckles). There was no immediate response; it was very possible that whomever it was inside hadn't heard her over the noise of the place, which would only get more and more oppressive as they ventured further into the belly of the business. She waited a few ticks out of politeness, then raised her hand again and pounded on the door once more. This time a kindly, gruff voice shouted something from within, and the Nuit took the sound as an invitation to enter.

The inside of the building was very plain, a simple room with a couple chairs and a clunky old wooden desk facing the door... until one looked at all the advertising on the walls. Mounted on the walls were countless metal artifacts. One wall held a selection of shields and breastplates. Another: weapons galore, glitteringly expensive and all the more menacing for it. Another held a variety of smaller sections, including parts for carts, farming tools, and to be used in architecture. Beside that hung a whole variety of simple metal jewelry, bracelets and cuffs, beautiful stoneless rings, and a hundred polished necklaces, a lot of which featured varying degrees of chainwork: tiny delicate chains braided and braided and woven together as if they were made of the thinnest, silkiest thread, and not of tiny metal links. It was an impressive sight to behold, probably used to both impress and intimidate customers and competition alike.

Whatever the intention, Isolde found herself walking more meekly, automatically falling into a more submissive, polite role as she approached the scuffed old desk. A old warhorse sat comfortably behind it; the man had a rather massive grey mustache which seemed at odds with the fragile monocle that perched expertly in front of one eye. Similarly, his calloused, stained hands moved surprisingly gently as he inspected a box of small metal parts. So absorbed was he in his work that he hardly glanced up when the two approached. When he did, it was only to offer a toothy, welcoming smile, before asking, "Something'ya need?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, thank you." The Nuit hesitated, glancing over at her partner, before stepping even closer and speaking clearly, "Actually, we were looking into having a modified ring crafted--"

"A ring'ya say? Ya tyin' the knot, then?" The man glanced up once more, this time looking more closely, inspecting the both of them with about as much brief intensity as he had the metal parts on the desk.

"Ah, no! No! Nothing like that-- I meant-- well--" Isolde tugged at her hood, a small, simpering smile breaking across her face as her thoughts were completely derailed. She struggled a moment, then continued, "No. Actually, this ring is for a uh, project we're undertaking. Really, all we need is a few things melded together. We've brought most of our own materials, though we'll have to have two small, metal boxes crafted and attached, as well. Do you think you could point us to someone who could do something like that? And could you indicate a price...?"

OOCI figured Matthew could continue the conversation if you wanted so he doesn't just have to stand there while Isolde makes her awkward way through it. XD

[Accolade]

Matthew

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Observation	+ 3 XP
Investigation	+ 1 XP
Interrogation	+ 3 XP
Bodybuilding	+ 1 XP
Socializing	+ 4 XP

Lores

•	Lore Earned
•	Title: The man who would bed anyone
•	The materials for making a MC Ring
•	Isolde: prone to flights
•	Isolde: Regretful Nuit
•	Isolde hates crowds

Notes :

I remember when this idea first was brought up and I was looking forward to seeing how it was pulled out. Nicely done. Isolde I will ad your grade when you return and update your ledger.

The Sylir has spoken

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out.