48th Day of Spring, 514 AV
PermissionI have spoken to Radiant via PM and received permission to self-mod this location/thread.
The first thing that Bitt noticed was the heat. It came in waves. Relentless, like the sea. Pushing against him, trying to force him back. With every step he took, the heat grew fiercer. More intense. He had begun to sweat, but how could he not? They were in a particularly large space, but it was still the Stormhold Citadel. Encased by stone, it felt like a large stove. All around him, people buzzed with activity. For the most part, it was labourers carrying one thing or another, somewhere, for some reason. Occasionally, Bitt's gaze would land on a pair of knights, fully armoured and on patrol. When this happened, both he and his patron Crowe, who walked just beside him, would offer a small, quick salute. The dull sound of metal striking metal had been growing steadily louder over the last several chimes. There was a smoky flavour to the air. It wasn't the most pleasant odour, but when one considered the alternatives, it wasn't exactly unpleasant either.
"Lad, we're here." It was Crowe who spoke, of course. Bitt returned his attention to what lay ahead; their destination was in sight.
The Ironworks.
The industrial heart of Syliras. Crowe had told Bitt that it was responsible for the majority of the arms, armour and tools that circulated the various businesses of Syliras, as well as the Syliran Knights themselves. Naturally, the place was enormous.
Crowe wore a silver pin on his collar. It was a small thing, styled to look like a sword. Every member of the Syliran Knights, squires and pages excluded, wore one like it. There were slight variations in the design depending on a knight's rank, but its general purpose remained the same: Identification. It wasn't just members of the order who would frequent The Ironworks, citizens were more than welcome to shop there. As Crowe led Bitt through a maze of forges, anvils and people, the young squire realised that the city's guardians were given a certain amount of special treatment; the knights guarding The Ironworks would just wave them through, where normal people were made to wait. While Bitt wasn't entirely supportive of such preferential treatment, he merely shrugged his shoulders;
It is what it is.
He knew there would be no point in dwelling on it. The people they passed didn't seem too surprised, so it was likely an accepted practice. Furthermore, most of his attention was on all of the amazing equipment that surrounded him. Hammers, anvils, tongs, pieces of armour, half-finished sheets of chain mail, scythes, nails, the list went on!
...and all these weapons!
The weapons! Barrels full of them. They littered work benches, were mounted on racks and just filled the empty space. Swords, axes, maces and a dozen other things Bitt wasn't sure he'd be able to accurately identify, in all stages of their completion. All the while, smiths and their apprentices worked, shouting orders and tempering metal in a carnival of activity. It was almost overwhelming.
"Get ready, lad." Crowe murmured in a low tone.
"Ready for what, Ser Crowe?"
"Shopping." Bitt could tell my the way his patron practically groaned out the word, that the older knight wasn't particularly fond of the activity. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth;
This could prove amusing.
The first thing that Bitt noticed was the heat. It came in waves. Relentless, like the sea. Pushing against him, trying to force him back. With every step he took, the heat grew fiercer. More intense. He had begun to sweat, but how could he not? They were in a particularly large space, but it was still the Stormhold Citadel. Encased by stone, it felt like a large stove. All around him, people buzzed with activity. For the most part, it was labourers carrying one thing or another, somewhere, for some reason. Occasionally, Bitt's gaze would land on a pair of knights, fully armoured and on patrol. When this happened, both he and his patron Crowe, who walked just beside him, would offer a small, quick salute. The dull sound of metal striking metal had been growing steadily louder over the last several chimes. There was a smoky flavour to the air. It wasn't the most pleasant odour, but when one considered the alternatives, it wasn't exactly unpleasant either.
"Lad, we're here." It was Crowe who spoke, of course. Bitt returned his attention to what lay ahead; their destination was in sight.
The Ironworks.
The industrial heart of Syliras. Crowe had told Bitt that it was responsible for the majority of the arms, armour and tools that circulated the various businesses of Syliras, as well as the Syliran Knights themselves. Naturally, the place was enormous.
Crowe wore a silver pin on his collar. It was a small thing, styled to look like a sword. Every member of the Syliran Knights, squires and pages excluded, wore one like it. There were slight variations in the design depending on a knight's rank, but its general purpose remained the same: Identification. It wasn't just members of the order who would frequent The Ironworks, citizens were more than welcome to shop there. As Crowe led Bitt through a maze of forges, anvils and people, the young squire realised that the city's guardians were given a certain amount of special treatment; the knights guarding The Ironworks would just wave them through, where normal people were made to wait. While Bitt wasn't entirely supportive of such preferential treatment, he merely shrugged his shoulders;
It is what it is.
He knew there would be no point in dwelling on it. The people they passed didn't seem too surprised, so it was likely an accepted practice. Furthermore, most of his attention was on all of the amazing equipment that surrounded him. Hammers, anvils, tongs, pieces of armour, half-finished sheets of chain mail, scythes, nails, the list went on!
...and all these weapons!
The weapons! Barrels full of them. They littered work benches, were mounted on racks and just filled the empty space. Swords, axes, maces and a dozen other things Bitt wasn't sure he'd be able to accurately identify, in all stages of their completion. All the while, smiths and their apprentices worked, shouting orders and tempering metal in a carnival of activity. It was almost overwhelming.
"Get ready, lad." Crowe murmured in a low tone.
"Ready for what, Ser Crowe?"
"Shopping." Bitt could tell my the way his patron practically groaned out the word, that the older knight wasn't particularly fond of the activity. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth;
This could prove amusing.
