Closed Mostly Work and Some Play, Maybe... (Oriah)

[Tourmal Firemane]

Tourmal, Winter 15, 513 AV The day had gone along fine so far. Tourmal had somehow not made it a habit of being late since he returned from Endrykas. It was probably due to the fact that he felt that if he didn't prove himself he would likely get the boot. Most the other workers did not take summer breaks and considering this last break was three seasons long he felt extra pressure on him to keep on good terms with the boss. He did work for the Knights by proxy. The Drykas was told he would continue his work from the day before which he had nearly finished. He just had to put the finishing touches on a longsword. He along with a few other smiths had been tasked with making long swords. It seemed that there was a recent influx of squires and the Knights had need of more. Tourmal had decided to make all four of them first and then finish them after they were finished, because of that he spent the previous day and the morning crafting the swords folding, drawing and shrinking. Shaping the metal into their proper form. Then he grabbed his wire brush and scraped off the scale bringing them to a semi polished look. Afterward he took them to the grind stone and gave them a nice edge. He was on his last one now. The sword was still black covered with scale he took his most course brush and scrubbed the majority of the scale. He used long strokes to speed up the job he left only trace pieces here and there. Then he followed up with a medium brush and used shorter quicker strokes and removed the remainder making the steel look much smoother. After that he took a fine brush to it and finished it off. The sword was shiny and smooth. It glistened in the light emitting from his forge. Yet it still lacked a proper edge. The sword was blunt. He would need to take it to the grindstone and sharpen the rounded edges. First he used a rough grindstone and took off the excess metal which thinned out the edges so that they could be sharpened. He finished the sword with a medium grit grindstone and sharpened it to about a forty five degree angle. Not too sharp but not too dull. Finally the sword was done. Now all it needed was his mark. As Tourmal rummaged through his equipment to find his etching equipment he heard the door open, and looked up. There he found a nice looking woman surveying the large open room where the smiths worked as she walked to the sales office. Tourmal looked over and no one was there yet. The Drykas fumbled with his equipment and as soon as he found it he placed it next to his latest creation. As he did he saw someone else walking over an older smith with plenty of experience much more than he, the two locked eyes and Tourmal gave him a look that he was sure to understand. The older man kept walking so to put more emphasis on his intentions he quickened his pace. “Darn you, you have no need to talk to her you have yer own wife at home” Tourmal said to himself. Yet the man persisted in walking. The Drykas was further away so he sped up to a run to try and cut the man off as he did he ran into an empty anvil which would later leave a hefty bruise on his right side. It was then that the older man laughed shook his head and turned around. Tourmal had won he felt great, well all except for his side which now throbbed in pain. As Tourmal entered the room he held his side, however as soon as he caught site of the customer he quickly regained his composure and put up a facade trying to cover the fact he had a recent injury. “How are you miss? Can I help ye with something?”

[Oriah]

Oriah was not a morning person.

One would think, what with her harsh upbringing, devout following of Yahal, and general upbeat personality, that she would be. But the Benshira was not. She preferred to attribute this to the fact that her livelihood as a dancer was only useful during the night, when people set down their tools or locked their shop doors to migrate to the nearest or rowdiest tavern. This meant she danced late into the evening, often sharing more than a few drinks with her audience till twilight, and woke up sometime near midday with a mildly throbbing head. If she were ever forced to rise before a good nine or so bells of sleep, the results were usually not pretty.

Widow Tresha had practically beaten down her door that morning. Apparently, a high and mighty something or other who lived next door complained that there were too many squeaky floorboards in their neighbor's room, which kept his or her majesty up all night, unable to sleep. The innkeepers would not hear the end of it until they agreed to inspect the room and fix any looseness in the floors. This meant Oriah had to be evacuated no later than the 9th bell to make room for the specialist, who needed all the furniture in the room removed for the day.

Absolute shyke, Oriah fumed silently in her own head. Absolute, pure, horse shyke. She had tried, in her groggy state, to explain that it had nothing to do with the floorboards; she had been doing her routine post-dancing stretches. The Benshira was a firm believer in warming down, just as much as she was in warming up.

Unfortunately, the widow, specialist, and her finicky neighbors all took "post-dancing stretches" as code for "wild, inhibited coupling." Offended beyond words, Oriah took her few possessions and marched to a different room that had been offered.

Once the girl had set down her things, however, she found she could not return to sleep. It was too cold and she'd already been up too long. So, with a heave and a sigh, she donned her clothes once more and headed out to peruse the streets of Syliras.

Within a bell, she was lost. Again.

And gods above, was it cold. Not five days ago, heavy snows had rolled in, faster and harder than anyone had anticipated. Oriah, ill equipped as she was both physically and materialistically, had to immediately set out to buy the thickest clothing she could find. The snows had abated by now, but there was still an icy chill in the air that left the Benshira less than eager to be out on the streets for much longer.

Oriah stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of a knight patrolling toward her direction. His well polished armor shined despite the gloomy, overcast sky, and he had a distinct look of determination about him. The Benshira had nothing to hide, but she decided it would be best to avoid trouble all the same and ducked into the first building she laid eyes on.

As soon as she'd stepped in, the girl was struck by the sheer alienness of the place. She'd rarely if ever been inside of a metal smith before and if it hadn't been for the frigid cold outside of its doors, she would have backed out at the first possible opportunity. It was intimidating, to say the least, especially the towering, muscular man who was now stalking towards her.

“How are you miss? Can I help ye with something?”

Oriah sputtered a bit, unsure of how to act and what to answer him with. The man looked like he could bring her neck with his pinky, and that was the least of her problems. The walls were covered with everything from farming equipment to weapons. Many, many weapons. "Umm, actually I--"

And that was when the knight she had caught sight of earlier burst through the doors, his face as stoney as...well, stones. For half a tick, Oriah was afraid he had come for her simply for having tried to evade his presence. His order of business, however, was clear when he announced in a gruff, no nonsense sort of voice, "Sorry to interrupt, but I'm here on official business. We are responding to the raids from the past seasons and therefore I must make a quick surveillance to see if everything is going smoothly before I move on. It will take only a little of your time. Please state your names and business."

Oriah stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then answered, "My name is Oriah, sir. I'm a dancer for the Rearing Stallion and visiting for the season. I'm just here to, ah, browse a little..."

The knight seemed satisfied with her answer, then slide his gaze over to the towering metal smith beside the Benshira.

[Tourmal Firemane]

Tourmal, Winter 15, 513 AV Tourmal looked at the woman as she stumbled with her words amused. He assumed she was caught off guard by his attractive good looks. The Drykas used to be a jewler in his youth. His family actually specialized in the craft and when arriving at the city he gained his first job at a small family owned stall where they sold jewelry. Back then he didn't know how to deal with women at all completely incapable of handling himself in their presence. A lot had changed since then he was no much more confident many would say he was full of himself. But he would never let them know how he thought about himself. Suddenly the door burst open again and there stood a knight in all his splendor. Full plate armor most likely made by one of Tourmal's co-workers. When the man stated his business the Drykas wasn't sure what would happen considering his heritage. He would have to twist his words a bit as to not make the man suspect. The lady stated she was a dancer. “Ah?” he said showing his piqued interest. “Yes sir, she was just sampling some of our wares here. As for me, I will assure yeh I don't agree with the raids conducted by me clansmen not one bit sir.” he shook his head in disdain at the thought of it. “Meh name's Tourmal Firemane. I work here at the Iron Works as you can see, and I just got here about 15 days ago from Endrykas.” There it was that was the magic word. Hopefully nothing would come of it. The blacksmith took a deep breath in anticipation of what was to come.

[Oriah]

Everything, from her appearance to her faint accent, marked Oriah as an outsider. Which was why when the knight averted his gaze she felt a wave of relief. Syliras may have been rumored to be many things, but at the very least it was a fair city that did not feel it needed to treat someone poorly just because she was foreign.

Her thoughts, however, lost her attention as the enormous fellow beside her introduced himself as Tourmal Firemane, a Drykas who had just returned from Endrykas not fifteen days ago. Well, that explained quite a bit.

The knight narrowed his eyes. Oriah gulped involuntarily. If she were a knight, patrolling around for any potential threats involving Drykas raids, then the very fact that Tourmal had just come from Endrykas so recently would have given her reason enough to drag him into questioning. And, from the look of things, this very same line of reasoning was going on right then through the real knight's head.

Fortunately, it seemed Tourmal's earnestness and the fact that he was a worker in the Iron Works was reason enough to hold off on hasty action. Not to mention he was a formidably sized man, surrounded by weapons and the like he had forged, and in the presence of a lady as well. The knight would let them be. For now.

He gave a curt nod, his helmet glistening like the rest of his armor. "Very well. Carry on, then, and keep yourselves out of trouble."

And just like that, he was gone, taking with him an air of tension and opressiveness that had Oriah on edge the entire duration of his stay."Well," she sighed, still looking at the door as though the knight might burst back in at any moment, "that was a bit nerve wracking."

The Benshira turned back to the Drykas and smiled, holding out her hand in the common way of greeting. "Well met, Tourmal Firemane. Knights, scary business. I'm afraid I stumbled in here mostly by chance, but since I've got nothing but time today, I wouldn't mind learning a thing or two about what you do here."

Oriah inclined her head a little in deference. "If you don't mind, that is."

[Tourmal Firemane]

Tourmal, Winter 15, 513 AV The look on the knights face said it all. Maybe if he had left that last part out. The suspense was killing him. He thought for a second I am surrounded by weapons if I surprise him before he has a chance to respond, maybe, just maybe I can take him out. Then he recalled watching them train before, while he was doing so he was amazed at their speed and ability to read their opponent. He would be done for no matter what. He was wearing no armor and had much less training in his skill there was no way. Not to mention that if word got out he would be hunted for the rest of his life. A smithy on the run from the law. That would not do well. How could he better his craft. If it meant going to jail for a day or two it would be much better than the alternative. And just like that the Knights face changed and left the two of them alone. “Wouldn't dream of it sir.” Tourmal replied with a smile and a wave goodbye. As the door closed, the smith let out a sigh of relief, and after the woman had said her peace he agreed with her. “Aye ye can say tha' agin.” Oriah held out her dainty hand, and Tourmal coupled it with his large mitts. He was always astonished at the difference between men and women. How two people can be so similar yet so dissimilar at the same time. “Well met” she said, he gave a nod in agreement. She then continued to explain her situation. “I'd be more 'an happy to show a fine lady like you aroun 'ere. Now is that Miss or Mrs?” He inquired. “Honestly there isn't really much, but here we go” The man shrugged. Tourmal took a look around. “We migh' as well start here” He raised his hands exhibiting the show room. “This is the show room, tis where we put our finished weapons and tools.” The walls were covered in miscellaneous weapons and smithing and farm tools of many shapes and sizes. “Tis not tha' big, but it does its job.” He took a look around again giving her time for questions. “None of my works are here most of these were made a long time back, and are here just for display to give customers ideas as to what we can make fer them.” “And next is the forging room.” He walked out the door back to where she entered and let her look around a bit. “This is where the work gets done.” There were rows and rows of forges with two stations set up at each forge one on each side. Many were empty but many more were full. “There are a lot more workers here now than there was when I first started workin' here four years ago” The man paused for some more questions. Then he started walking down one of the aisles to give her a closer look at what they did. First they passed by a smith working on a wagon axle. Next was one working on a set of plate armor. After that there were two newer smiths making nails. “Poor lads” he muttered and nodded as he passed bye. Then there were an assortment of men working on a number of farm tools. Tourmal took short breaks at each of the stations to allow for questions.

[Oriah]

When the congenial smith returned her greeting, Oriah gaped a little at the sheer difference in size. His hand was enormous, and even rougher and more calloused than she'd expected. Granted, the Benshira herself was no delicate flower, being more than sufficiently used to the grueling effort of honing her art and ensuring her own survival. But when Tourmal's hand wrapped around hers, swallowing it up in a firm shake, she had to admit she looked positively miniature in comparison.

Miss or missus, she repeated in her head. What on Miz are those again? The Benshira had to hesitate for a moment before her brain dredged up some vague memory on these common terms. She'd heard a portly baker woman this morning being called Missus Yeats, while there'd been a young girl a merchant had addressed as "Little Missy" in trying to sell her some sweets.

Oriah stood there in consternation for a while. She had the sinking feeling this ought not to have been a difficult question, but it was stumping her. Obviously, "missus" referred to someone older and more mature, where as "miss" referred to young girls. Well, Oriah was neither as old as the baker, or as young as the child being sold sweets. Where did that leave her then?

Ah hah! She smacked her fist in an open palm. I had it all wrong! "Missus" must refer to a woman who is a professional in her trade, where as "miss" would define young girls who were not yet set in some kind of livelihood.

There, that had to be it. "That would be a Missus," Oriah proudly answered, seeing herself as nothing if not professionalism at its finest.

She followed Tourmal around the smithy, nodding and committing as much information to memory as possible. Show room, for finished products. Forging room, for workers. Oriah bent closer in fascination, careful not to get in anyone's way but curious to see their various tools and techniques. Most were rather gritty looking, as was expected, but none were nearly as formidable looking as her guide.

The workers seemed to be making everything that could be made out of metal. Axles, plates of armor, and even nails!

When they passed by the nail-making section, Tourmal uttered a sympathetic comment and nodded to the smiths hunched over the tiny slivers of metal. Seeing this, Oriah leaned toward her guide and discreetly asked, "Why do you call them poor lads?"

She glanced at the nail makers, then at the other workers, whose muscles were strained and brows covered in sweat as they labored over larger projects. "Surely, nails are not as difficult as armor or farm tools, no?"

[Tourmal Firemane]

Tourmal, Winter 15, 513 AV In response to Tourmal's question on her marital status. There was a pause. At first Tourmal thought nothing of it but the longer it got and the way her face contorted as she continued to struggle for an answer made the man smile. He stayed patient for some time and just as she looked up he was about to rephrase the question, when she said “That would be a Missus.” “Well then nice to meecha ma'am.” His eyes looked up If only symbolic as him saying why do the gods curse me. 'Running into that anvil was not worth it.' He thought. Oh well she was still nice to look at, and it was long enough since he had been in contact with the opposite sex. Not including the girl tasked to wash him down at the Soothing Waters. He never counted them because he never talked to them. By the end of the day he was just too tired to chase not without a few drinks in him that is. Through most of the Tour she remained silent. Taking in what they were doing watching not saying a word. Not until they had reached the station where nails were being made. It was obviously his comment that got her attention. Her question was as follows. “Why do you call them poor lads?” then, “Sure nails are not as difficult as armor or farm tools, no?” She was spot on you could say she hit the nail on the head. Tourmal laughed at the joke he just told himself in his head. “First, I feel sorry for them. Second, you are righ'. Nails aren't hard to make, they are just boring. They do it all day, the same thing over and over agin. There is no creetivity. And don't get me wrong they work just as long and hard as the rest of us. They just don' get to use their eemagineashun.” He shook his head. “It's tough but we all had our time making nails and other basic tools: punches, chisels, horse shoes.” Last he came up to An older smith named Chuck Thorson. He was much better than Tourmal at weapons smithing and was given a task to make a custom sword for one of the higher ranked knights. He had an knack for the trade but then again so did Tourmal, only Chuck has had a lot more time to get it right. “Aye Chuck!” The man ignored him. “Chuck, yeh hear me?” the drykas spoke again. “Can't ya see I'm workin' ya pethcin...” The older man turned around and saw Oriah standin there and was stopped. “I see how are ye miss?” The old smith said with a sweet smile. The same one he used before he groped the barmaids in the taverns. “Ahem” Tourmal force a cough and dipped his head in. “Missus.” He said with an obviously forced smile. “Oh.” His smile faded partly. Chuck turned back to his work and hammered away at the sword he was assigned to. “Yer lucky I didn't mess up me work with yer interruption, Drykas.” He said the last word with such disgust it caused Tourmal to wince. The man new he could get away with it because of his seniority. So did Tourmal. If it were around a campfire Tourmal would have beat him black and blue. Well at least blue. The man had been known to get into a bit of trouble and was as tough as nails. “We should just stay out of his way.” Tourmal told Oriah. “Just by watching for a while I could learn a something. If you have any questions just ask. The old man put the steel into the forge and pumped the bellows a few times to re-heat it. He got the metal a yellowish orange color. Then placed it on his anvil and hammered away. Drawing out the metal, as he did so he left the base of the sword wide, then put a curve in both sides of the blade about four inches long. The metal had grown cold so he heated it again and continued on after the curve narrowing the width of the blade evenly, continually re-heating and hammering.

[Oriah]

At Tourmal's explanation of the unpleasant task of making nails, the Benshira's eyes widened and she nodded her head in understanding. She'd be bored out of her mind as well if she danced only for simple prayers or drummed meditation rhythms.

Their next stop was by an older fellow named Chuck, who was working diligently on what looked to be the shape of a sword. When Chuck's bushy eyes met Oriah's curious gaze, he smiled sweetly and asked how she was. The girl was just about to answer when Tourmal corrected his elder.

Missus, not miss. Chuck's smile waned a little, then he growled something at Tourmal and went back to work.

Now, perhaps it was just her imagination, but Oriah got the feeling that this whole "Missus" business was earning her some rather strange looks and behavior. One moment, everyone seemed so eager to talk to her. The next, they clammed up and went straight back to work. It was as though as soon as her professional status was made known, a tension formed in the air around her.

How very, very strange. Perhaps the man in Syliras were intimidated by competent women? No, no, that couldn't be it. I mean, just look at all the knights! Oriah thought to herself. At least one out of every two or three she'd met so far was female, and none so much as hesitated before slapping a ne'er do well upside the head.

Then, what could it be?

Her mind churned around the issue as she watched Chuck re-heated and hammered, re-heated and hammered. She was beginning to get a feel for what metal smithing entailed now, as well as a growing frustration over this Missus business.

Finally, Oriah could hold it in no longer. She tilted her head up at Tourmal and blurted, "Okay, what exactly is a Missus?"

[Tourmal Firemane]

Tourmal, Winter 15, 513 AV While the Drykas was watching Chuck work Oriah posed a question. One he found quite strange. After she asked it he was puzzled and the look showed on his face plainly. “What?” He could not believe what he just heard. “Yeh don't know?” He looked at her seriously trying to determine if this was a test or a joke of some kind. And after a few seconds he figured she honestly didn't know what it meant. “Well...” He thought for a moment. “I'll just put it simply. A Missus is a woman who is married. A Miss is a woman who has not been married. And a Mizz is a woman who was once married but isn't any more, and that is not to be confused with a widow, which is a woman who's husband has died.” He paused, then added. “A widow is a Mizz but a Mizz is not always a widow.” “I hope that wasn't confusin.” He smiled at her ignorance of what he thought were common terms. But then now that he thought about it her accent was a bit different than a normal Syliran. He had heard it before sometime long ago when he was a child. “Where are you from, if you don't mind me askin?” The man waited for her response.

[Oriah]

Oriah's head swam a little as Tourmal dove into his convoluted explanation. A widow is a Mizz but a Mizz is not always a widow...she was still trapped in the logic of that statement when something struck her with indignation.

"Gods be good, I'm no Missus!" she exclaimed. About half the workers stopped to stare at her sudden outburst and she flushed furiously in embarrassment. "Um, sorry..."

They chuckled amongst themselves and went back to work. Meanwhile, Oriah watched Chuck's steady hammering of the sword in consternation. Marriage was a sacred and serious thing amongst her people, as Yahal was as jealous as any husband could be and condemned adultery with ruthless conviction. Granted, the worst physical punishments were mostly reserved for the city dwellers of Yahebah, as Tent dwellers had to be more pragmatic. But the weight of marriage still held true, despite the miles upon miles that now separated her from her community.

The Benshira felt a prickling of shame that she had so carelessly claimed to be under such a bond. Even if she tended to look upon marriage as stifling and oppressive, the significance of it still carried through sheer habit and upbringing. She was so lost in thought that she almost missed Tourmal's question about her origins.

"Ah," Oriah responded, blinking to clear away her dazed expression, "it's quite easy to tell I'm not from here, isn't it? I was born in the deserts of Eyktol, and I come from the Tents of Malech."

She looked up at him inquisitively. "And you, I assume, were born amongst the Drykas of Cyphrus?"

The girl went back to staring at Chuck's tireless movements. "It must be nice, to know horses so well. They are beautiful creatures, and clever. I think they can always sense my ignorance of them. They always shy away at my touch."

She glanced at Tourmal again and smiled. "I'm sure they are the complete opposite with you."