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Cyrene Everwind --- Quinlain Forgeheart Sultros |
Appearance
Race: Ethaefal (Leth) / Isur
Gender: Female / Female
Age: 445 / Appears to be early-mid twenties
Fall-day: 31st summer 70AV
Birthplace: Cyrene fell just off the coast of riverfall.
Appearance:
Isur Form:
In the light of day Cyrene stands at a height of five feet exactly. and weighs a hardy 187lbs A well muscled frame indicating a long history of time at the forge. Her hair is a light brown colour often pulled back into a hard and tight ponytail to keep it out of her eyes whilst working. Her eyes are a shocking and almost unnerving vibrant hazel green. Her right arm A bright carmine red. Fierce in colouring even more so with the reflection of the flame shimmering off of it lightly. Her skin tone is more tanned than most isur but still very pale, with the silvery sheen of her outstanding veins she almost looks like walking ore, or even a marble statue. Along her left arm she has large sprawling tattoo. Starting at her left pectoral muscle working it's way over her shoulder and down her left arm. *
She speaks with a thick and rather hard to cut through northern english accent very hard on the vowels.
Ethaefel form:
In ethaefel form Cyrene grows in height by over a full foot standing to her new found height of six feet and two inches tall, her weight however shifts up to 202lbs. Her red arm fades as the rest of her body darkness slightly growing more pale with the darkening of the night. Ending in an almost opalescent sheen in the moonlight. Her eyes glow changing from the vibrant and unnerving hazel to a mysterious and almost eerie pale moonlight blue. Her hair colour changes with the seasons as do her horns. Her horns start from her temples like most ethaefel sweeping back around her head occasionally sweeping up into smaller points and touching almost at the back of her head with a small rotation around each other as they tail off. However unlike most her horns go forwards slightly and wrap around each other in a double helical fashion. Almost looking like a crown of sorts has formed around her head. In this form her hair is let down and is just as thick as in her isur form. In this form her voice is much ligher, and more refrined with a slight french twinge to the accent Much softer on the consonants
Colour changes
Summer:
Hair;
Her hair in summer is black like the very darkest of moonless nights. Drinking the brightness of nearby light sources.
Horns;
Her horns are a spiralling mix of pale and deep greens giving her horns an appearance of carved and shaped jade.
Fall:
Hair;
Her hair becomes a pale almost shimmering rose gold.
Horns;
Her horns Become a vibrant golden colour given their shape it almost looks as if she is actually wearing a crown.
Spring:
Hair;
Her hair takes on a pale blue, almost turquoise in colour. Like a mysterious halo of fallen moonlight.
Horns;
Her horns are a stark white, almost like shaped ivory.
Winter:
Hair;
In the winter her hair becomes white, pure and clear as the driven snow. And just as beautiful to look at.
Horns;
Her horns grow to a blackened purple almost translucent like frozen obsidian glass.
Character Clothing
When Cyrene is Quinlain she dressed much like in the picture above showing off the body she's taken time to sculpt.
When in front of a forge she wears much the same but with a pair of leather gloves and a leather apron atop it.
When Cyrene is Cyrene she wears a long flowing dress with high leather boots and stockings beneath. Much fancier undergarments as well.
Character Concept
Cyrene/Quin is a fairly secretive person. Having spent a lot of their life on the mortal plane having only been by leth's side for a paltry ten years. She believes that leth is still looking for her within the heavens. And has as of yet to really look down into the mortal realm. Given her incessant longevity she has often found it somewhat necessary to travel. So every thirty or so years she completely packed up shop. Given this point of contention she's travelled over a lot of the world not caring too much for the time that passes. Knowing her skills with a hammer and her arm are more than enough to carry her where ever the wind may take her. As such she doesn't make particularly close ties to any but the immortals.
She is Brave to a fault. Studius, inventive and hard working. Rarely taking time away from a forge only to travel or to plan out new designs. She often uses two names. One her name from before her fall. And the other a name she coined for her Ethaefallen self. mostly to keep her identity away from those who would seek to do her harm.
Character History
Cyrene fell just off the coast of riverfall in the year 70AV. Her plunge into the suvan sea was something of a unprecedented occurrence. Shortly after splashing to her new form she crawled ashore. coughing and spluttering as the night sky loomed above. Leth's pale glow moruning her fall at least in her eyes as she looked to her hands. her body lithe and thin. Something about her didnt seem quite right. Settling into her new body was a challenge. even walking with the added height felt off. She stumbled through the sands towards the centre of town. not knowing where or quite who she was she did know one thing. She was naked as her name-day. Stealing a dress from one of the nearby hanging lines she slipped it on. Not sure what else to do. She stumbled through the city till a kind older couple found her. And took pity on her. Their own daughter having been claimed by the wilds in a risky venture to the north into syliras. They furnished Cyrene with clothes and even a place to stay. the first kindness to be shown to her since returning to the mortal plane. As the morning roused she awoke in a much sturdier form. her arm was a fibrant and stunning red. and she felt shorter, more solid in her footing. And then a memory of before her fall hit her like a falling anvil. She headed out a new isur in town she asked for access to a forge. Picking up a hammer a voice in her head told her she didn't need one but still she grumbled to her self pinning her hair back with a thin strip of leather and began to hammer away at the heated billet. Producing tools with a much swifter regularity than the blacksmiths in town were able too.
Her time in riverfall however was short lived at least by her standards. fifteen years passed with her stay in riverfall before the kindly older couple who had taken her in passed away. She'd had a small fling with a akalak she met and he'd taken the time to teach ehr a few words in tukant. She broke that off shortly after her the passing. She made her peace with the city as a whole and broke off from riverfall and headed south. Deep into the city of kenash. Using the coin she'd made in river fall she set to work plying her trade at the local forges in the area. Most smiths welcomed the isur with open arms. but her time there was fraught with danger. Rough nights and rougher customers.
Her travels took her over most of the known world spending time with travelling caravans all over the place until her stop in sultros. A city she spent a long seventy years in. Plying her trade and honing her skills. She'd outshone a lot of other smiths in the world but here. In this city she felt outclassed by a humongous margin. So instead of setting up her own branch of a shop she used her birthright (or at least she claimed) to gain favour with some of the best smiths in sultros to learn from them. it was here she learnt her birth language. Picking it up with ease partially from the memories which had begun to flow back to her steadily over the course of the now eight hundred seasons she'd seen.
Still after a further eighty years within the confines of sultros and many advances from suitors of an isurian persuasion, she turned them mostly down. A few here and there staying long enough to see her other side. Though eventually she crafted the weapon she chose to wield from there on in. A glaive, of her own creation. Still she continued her travels over the cities of Mizahar from east to west using her hammer and her arm to gain her whatever she needed wherever she needed it. Eventually coming to a stop in her travels at the city of Alvadas. Now she had set up in one of the forges in the city. Earning her way with her hammer as she was want to do.
Language
Fluent Language: Common.
Basic Language: Isur.
Poor Language: Tukant.
Skills
Lores
Helpful Lores: (Pick 2)
Flames colour and effect on steel.
Basic structures in metal.
Location: Kitrean Krafts
Blacksmithing: Lighting a forge
Singing: Tune of the forge
Blacksmithing: Drawing out metal through hammering
Blacksmithing: Cooling metal with water and reheating it in the fire
Blacksmithing: Use of an oil bath
Weaponsmithing: Creating a fuller on a blade
Weaponsmithing: Grinding a sharp edge
Weaponsmithing: Forming a guard and pommel
Blacksmithing: Creating a screw thread
Weaponsmithing: Finishing a hilt
Vacielli: Owner of Kitrean Krafts
Armorsmithing: Creating a flat disk
Armorsmithing: Use of a doming hammer to form a curve
Armorsmithing: Attaching straps/handles
Metalsmithing: Basic welding
Blacksmithing: Polishing using iron/steel wool
Engraving: Drawing lines with chisels
Engraving: Using a hammer and chisel
Weaponsmithing: Attaching a blade to a wooden shaft
Calder: Naïve young merchant
Blacksmithing: Folding metal and hammering it down to strengthen it
Metalsmithing: Melting brass
Metalsmithing: Casting using a simple mold
Negotiation: Maintaining firm prices
Gnosis
Izentor: 1 *Approved by Gillar
Possessions
-Simple Shirt
-Simple Pants
-Simple Undergarments
-Simple Coat
-Simple Boots
1 Waterskin
1 Backpack which contains:
-Comb (Bone)
-Brush (Bone)
-Soap
-Razor
-Balanced Rations (1 Week’s Worth)
-1 eating knife
-Flint & Steel
-95 Gold Mizas
- Well crafted Glaive
-Apron ( leather )
-Gloves ( leather )
-Vest
-Dress
-Jacket
-Undergarments
-High boots (leather)
-Belt (leather)
-Stockings
- 3 small steel chisels
-Small Steel hammer for fine work
Heirloom: Her Heirloom is the weapon she made whilst still in sultros a long time ago. A long and fully functional glaive. It's a little battered and worn, but it's still fully functional and deadly. And as sharp as the day it was made having been looked after. Her heirloom is made form Purple heart wood and basic steel.
Housing
Location: Alvadas
House: Staying at the Cubacious Inn.
Ledger
Thread List
Winter 515
[Kitrean Krafts] Metal Music. (Job thread) - 12th Winter 515AV
[Kitrean Krafts] Harmonies and hammers (job thread) - 17th of Winter, 515AV
Blood and Steel (Cyrene) - 23rd of Winter, 515AV
[Kitrean Krafts] Steel Meets Steel (Amon) - 27th of Winter 515AV
Strong and Flat? - 37th of Winter 515AV
When Pigs Fly - 41st Winter 515AV
[Kitrean Krafts] The Irony (Cyrene) - 45th of Winter 515 AV
Spring 516
[job thread] Moonlight Melodies - 23rd Spring 516AV
A Rivarian Welcome [Cyrene] - 46th Spring 516AV
[Job thread] Applause, can give pause. (Vai) - 51st Spring 516AV
Isur form :
Ethaefel form :
Race: Ethaefal (Leth) / Isur
Gender: Female / Female
Age: 445 / Appears to be early-mid twenties
Fall-day: 31st summer 70AV
Birthplace: Cyrene fell just off the coast of riverfall.
Appearance:
Isur Form:
In the light of day Cyrene stands at a height of five feet exactly. and weighs a hardy 187lbs A well muscled frame indicating a long history of time at the forge. Her hair is a light brown colour often pulled back into a hard and tight ponytail to keep it out of her eyes whilst working. Her eyes are a shocking and almost unnerving vibrant hazel green. Her right arm A bright carmine red. Fierce in colouring even more so with the reflection of the flame shimmering off of it lightly. Her skin tone is more tanned than most isur but still very pale, with the silvery sheen of her outstanding veins she almost looks like walking ore, or even a marble statue. Along her left arm she has large sprawling tattoo. Starting at her left pectoral muscle working it's way over her shoulder and down her left arm. *
She speaks with a thick and rather hard to cut through northern english accent very hard on the vowels.
Ethaefel form:
In ethaefel form Cyrene grows in height by over a full foot standing to her new found height of six feet and two inches tall, her weight however shifts up to 202lbs. Her red arm fades as the rest of her body darkness slightly growing more pale with the darkening of the night. Ending in an almost opalescent sheen in the moonlight. Her eyes glow changing from the vibrant and unnerving hazel to a mysterious and almost eerie pale moonlight blue. Her hair colour changes with the seasons as do her horns. Her horns start from her temples like most ethaefel sweeping back around her head occasionally sweeping up into smaller points and touching almost at the back of her head with a small rotation around each other as they tail off. However unlike most her horns go forwards slightly and wrap around each other in a double helical fashion. Almost looking like a crown of sorts has formed around her head. In this form her hair is let down and is just as thick as in her isur form. In this form her voice is much ligher, and more refrined with a slight french twinge to the accent Much softer on the consonants
Colour changes
Summer:
Hair;
Her hair in summer is black like the very darkest of moonless nights. Drinking the brightness of nearby light sources.
Horns;
Her horns are a spiralling mix of pale and deep greens giving her horns an appearance of carved and shaped jade.
Fall:
Hair;
Her hair becomes a pale almost shimmering rose gold.
Horns;
Her horns Become a vibrant golden colour given their shape it almost looks as if she is actually wearing a crown.
Spring:
Hair;
Her hair takes on a pale blue, almost turquoise in colour. Like a mysterious halo of fallen moonlight.
Horns;
Her horns are a stark white, almost like shaped ivory.
Winter:
Hair;
In the winter her hair becomes white, pure and clear as the driven snow. And just as beautiful to look at.
Horns;
Her horns grow to a blackened purple almost translucent like frozen obsidian glass.
Character Clothing
When Cyrene is Quinlain she dressed much like in the picture above showing off the body she's taken time to sculpt.
When in front of a forge she wears much the same but with a pair of leather gloves and a leather apron atop it.
When Cyrene is Cyrene she wears a long flowing dress with high leather boots and stockings beneath. Much fancier undergarments as well.
Character Concept
Cyrene/Quin is a fairly secretive person. Having spent a lot of their life on the mortal plane having only been by leth's side for a paltry ten years. She believes that leth is still looking for her within the heavens. And has as of yet to really look down into the mortal realm. Given her incessant longevity she has often found it somewhat necessary to travel. So every thirty or so years she completely packed up shop. Given this point of contention she's travelled over a lot of the world not caring too much for the time that passes. Knowing her skills with a hammer and her arm are more than enough to carry her where ever the wind may take her. As such she doesn't make particularly close ties to any but the immortals.
She is Brave to a fault. Studius, inventive and hard working. Rarely taking time away from a forge only to travel or to plan out new designs. She often uses two names. One her name from before her fall. And the other a name she coined for her Ethaefallen self. mostly to keep her identity away from those who would seek to do her harm.
Character History
Cyrene fell just off the coast of riverfall in the year 70AV. Her plunge into the suvan sea was something of a unprecedented occurrence. Shortly after splashing to her new form she crawled ashore. coughing and spluttering as the night sky loomed above. Leth's pale glow moruning her fall at least in her eyes as she looked to her hands. her body lithe and thin. Something about her didnt seem quite right. Settling into her new body was a challenge. even walking with the added height felt off. She stumbled through the sands towards the centre of town. not knowing where or quite who she was she did know one thing. She was naked as her name-day. Stealing a dress from one of the nearby hanging lines she slipped it on. Not sure what else to do. She stumbled through the city till a kind older couple found her. And took pity on her. Their own daughter having been claimed by the wilds in a risky venture to the north into syliras. They furnished Cyrene with clothes and even a place to stay. the first kindness to be shown to her since returning to the mortal plane. As the morning roused she awoke in a much sturdier form. her arm was a fibrant and stunning red. and she felt shorter, more solid in her footing. And then a memory of before her fall hit her like a falling anvil. She headed out a new isur in town she asked for access to a forge. Picking up a hammer a voice in her head told her she didn't need one but still she grumbled to her self pinning her hair back with a thin strip of leather and began to hammer away at the heated billet. Producing tools with a much swifter regularity than the blacksmiths in town were able too.
Her time in riverfall however was short lived at least by her standards. fifteen years passed with her stay in riverfall before the kindly older couple who had taken her in passed away. She'd had a small fling with a akalak she met and he'd taken the time to teach ehr a few words in tukant. She broke that off shortly after her the passing. She made her peace with the city as a whole and broke off from riverfall and headed south. Deep into the city of kenash. Using the coin she'd made in river fall she set to work plying her trade at the local forges in the area. Most smiths welcomed the isur with open arms. but her time there was fraught with danger. Rough nights and rougher customers.
Her travels took her over most of the known world spending time with travelling caravans all over the place until her stop in sultros. A city she spent a long seventy years in. Plying her trade and honing her skills. She'd outshone a lot of other smiths in the world but here. In this city she felt outclassed by a humongous margin. So instead of setting up her own branch of a shop she used her birthright (or at least she claimed) to gain favour with some of the best smiths in sultros to learn from them. it was here she learnt her birth language. Picking it up with ease partially from the memories which had begun to flow back to her steadily over the course of the now eight hundred seasons she'd seen.
Still after a further eighty years within the confines of sultros and many advances from suitors of an isurian persuasion, she turned them mostly down. A few here and there staying long enough to see her other side. Though eventually she crafted the weapon she chose to wield from there on in. A glaive, of her own creation. Still she continued her travels over the cities of Mizahar from east to west using her hammer and her arm to gain her whatever she needed wherever she needed it. Eventually coming to a stop in her travels at the city of Alvadas. Now she had set up in one of the forges in the city. Earning her way with her hammer as she was want to do.
Language
Fluent Language: Common.
Basic Language: Isur.
Poor Language: Tukant.
Skills
| Skill | EXP | Total | Proficiency |
| Blacksmithing | 26 SP + * + * + * | 37 | Competent |
| Weapon-smithing | 9 SP + * + * | 17 | Novice |
| Armour-smithing | * | 3 | Novice |
| Metal-smithing | * + * | 3 | Novice |
| Body building | 5 SP + * + * | 11 | Novice |
| Carving | 5 SP + * | 6 | Novice |
| Weapon: Glaive | 5 SP | 5 | Novice |
| Leadership | 10 RB | 10 | Novice |
| Singing | * | 2 | Novice |
| Composition | * | 2 | Novice |
| Observation | * + * + * | 6 | Novice |
| Socialization | * + * + * | 6 | Novice |
| Engraving | * + * + * | 5 | Novice |
| Intimidation | * + * | 3 | Novice |
| Planning | * | 1 | Novice |
| Drawing | * | 1 | Novice |
| Interrogation | * | 2 | Novice |
| Negotiation | * | 3 | Novice |
Lores
Helpful Lores: (Pick 2)
Flames colour and effect on steel.
Basic structures in metal.
Location: Kitrean Krafts
Blacksmithing: Lighting a forge
Singing: Tune of the forge
Blacksmithing: Drawing out metal through hammering
Blacksmithing: Cooling metal with water and reheating it in the fire
Blacksmithing: Use of an oil bath
Weaponsmithing: Creating a fuller on a blade
Weaponsmithing: Grinding a sharp edge
Weaponsmithing: Forming a guard and pommel
Blacksmithing: Creating a screw thread
Weaponsmithing: Finishing a hilt
Vacielli: Owner of Kitrean Krafts
Armorsmithing: Creating a flat disk
Armorsmithing: Use of a doming hammer to form a curve
Armorsmithing: Attaching straps/handles
Metalsmithing: Basic welding
Blacksmithing: Polishing using iron/steel wool
Engraving: Drawing lines with chisels
Engraving: Using a hammer and chisel
Weaponsmithing: Attaching a blade to a wooden shaft
Calder: Naïve young merchant
Blacksmithing: Folding metal and hammering it down to strengthen it
Metalsmithing: Melting brass
Metalsmithing: Casting using a simple mold
Negotiation: Maintaining firm prices
Gnosis
Izentor: 1 *Approved by Gillar
Gnosis design :
Gnosis story :
The sunshine of syna burned strongly in the sky filtering down through the murky smoke blackened air. The sweltering heat of the forge saturating the room with a thick and almost over bearing heat. The smell of fire and steel smoothed through the room. Thick and heavy with the smells of oils and boiling water. The distinctive hiss of quenched blades filling the room, the bubbling of water and the ever present roar of freshly doused oil quenched steel. The ever present and pounding of hammers, the ring of worked steel and the crackle of the fire. Her own eyes however were focused on the metal in front of her. Each blow of her hammer slamming firmly onto the white hot steel. Hammering the blade flat. Trying for a uniform thickness. Each ringing blow of the hammer falling upon singularly strong rings. Patience. Listen for the sound. Focus through the haze of noise. The din of other hammers. Each ringing strike against the steel gave away it’s secrets. Each blow ate away at the base of the steel widening it. Thinning it. She closed her eyes now focusing purely on the sound of the ringing. Slowly. Slowly. Each successive ring of the hammer pummelled the steel. Three, four, five…There! She stopped hammering and slipped the long metal blade straight into the quenching oil next to her. The sizzling crackle and then subsequent burst into flames. Hold it. Wait. Now. The transition from the flaming tray of oil to the water bath was almost seamless. The steaming hiss of boiling water now filing the air. With her free hand she dropped the hammer atop the anvil and closed off the lid over the oil bath. Starving the flame and preventing a massive fire. She pulled the steel free from the bath. Perfect. Holding the tang of the blade with the tongs in her left hand she lifted the tip from the water with her bright red fingertips. Holding the length of steel at arm’s length and looking down the blade. Perfectly straight. She nodded a little. The rest of the forge not even paying attention to her. As if a beginner could do what she did. Setting the blade aside she sighed pulling another billet from the fire, and began the process all over again. Listening through the din for the perfect moment in time. She felt like a smaller cog in a much larger machine.
The day eventually wound to a close with the late summer sunshine. Cyrene stayed behind letting Argus the head blacksmith know that she would be in the shop a little longer than usual. Since she was staying behind she’d lock the shop up for him. With a gruff and firm nod he handed her the key. Slapping the steel key into her palm. His only caveat that when she locked up the place she drop the key off at his place. She nodded sharply and went back to her anvil. Instead of using the anvil for a singular purpose of recreating the same thing as she had all damned day she readied herself for another point. Letting her hair fall back she ran her fingers through it scooping it back and tying it into a tight high pony tail. Knowing full well that her change was about due. She sighed lightly and picked up the hammer again. Feeling her hair lengthen and the horns sprout from her head. She grew over a foot in height her form lengthening as she now hunched over slightly to see into the forge. I hate being this tall in this city. She growled under her breath, staring down at the forge. The stark hazel green of her eyes leering into the fire. Watching the flames shift in colour. The soft yellows hardening into firm oranges, and then growing stronger still roaring into reds. She waited. Watching the billet heat. A voice then permeated her mind. Interested in her approach.
“Child. Why do you stare at the flames so?” The question hung in the air. The voice like a thundering din of a thousand hammers all striking in unison. Maybe watching the fires had finally sent her mad. If she was it couldn’t hurt to talk to herself a little. Keeping a close eye on the intent of the flame she spoke. A voice like the smoothest steel and just as hard echoed in retort.
“I watch the flames for any change. When the flames reach a certain point it makes the metal softer. Easier to work.” She shifted the flames a little more adding a piece of charcoal to the fire. Being extra careful to do so as she did not have the protection of her Isur arm in this form.
“Why not just work the metal now?” The voice rang out again. As if urging her to break her patience and pull the metal free of the flame.
“Because the metal is not hot enough yet. It only glows yellow against the red backdrop. It needs to glow white before it can be properly worked.” She responded again in an even tone. She would not be distracted from this. Even a single moment of wavering could spell disaster for this type of metal work. Another chime and a half of waiting, finally the metal reached the correct heat. Gripping it firmly with tongs she pulled it from the flames and then began to draw the metal out. Adding a slight curve to the steel. Eventually the glow began to die down. Falling from the bright white to a ruddy orange. Sliding it back into the forge she allowed it to heat back to temperature. Silence. She breathed a small sigh of calm.
The heat of the steel blazed from the forge. The vent she wore soaked with sweat and strands of loose hear stuck to her brow, still she didn’t take her eyes off the forge. Never leaving the steel for a second.
“A strong conviction.” The voice rang again. Still she didn’t waiver. Instead she picked the steel free from the forge again. Hammering the blade out. Each strike flattening it moulding it. Tapering it. Drawing the steel to fruition.
“You try to blot out my voice. Why?” A weight of authority now added to the voice’s thunderous boom. She held steady in her actions. Taking a moment between slipping the steel back into the forge to reheat and the final stroke of her hammer for this round to simply speak.
“If I listen to you I cannot hear the voice of the steel.” She watched the flame. “I can speak with you whilst I’m watching the steel. The flames talk through a much simpler voice. However the steel sings in a complex melody. If I cannot have clarity in sound. I cannot tell when it wants the fire again. Or when it wishes for the water.” A curtness to her voice. Not of impatience but of someone at work. A delicate process this was. To one of the other isurian smiths she was still a novice. Too unskilled for a technique such as this. This was taught to more adept blacksmiths. But she’d found this technique all on her own.
“You stumbled upon this yourself? No teacher?” Great now the voice had to be in her head.
“Yes I found this on my own. Now please silence one more. I need to hear the steels voice.” She slammed the hammer down on the steel her muscles working overtime as she did. Hammering as much of the steel flat in a single stroke as she could manage. Thinning the edge but thickening the spine. It’s ready. She slipped the steel at it’s blazing heat into the oil. Quenching the blade, and setting the oil alight again. And then she slipped the blade into the water dousing the flame and sucking the heat from it. She placed the lid on the oil snuffing the flame’s existence.
The water hissed and cried screaming at her to be let go. She pulled the blade from the water and heated it again. Again the voice rang out.
“You hear the steels voice well. Perhaps you would be one to receive my gift.” A gift? What gift? What gift could a disembodied voice give?
“I could give you the strength to see your construction to fruition.” Cyrene simply smiled still watching the flames.
“If I didn’t have the strength to see this build to the end I wouldn’t have started it.” Her words dissolving into the fire. “And I’ve the patience to see this through and explain to an inquisitive voice which as far as I know is still inside my head. Exactly what I’m doing between bouts of listening to the song of the steel."
“Are you turning down my offer?” The voice asked almost a little shocked. She thought a moment knowing full well the voice could probably hear what she was thinking until finally she spoke again.
“I simply wish to prove that I can do this on my own. That I have the strength to do this on my own. Only then am I worthy of a blessing.” She repeated her steps again this time using the tongs to hold the steel steady as she drove a wooden wedge into the base of the blade. Driving a gap for the steel to clasp a hold of the wooden handle it was meant for. Driving the wood into it she placed the steel back into the flame. She shifted back now picking up a long square piece of teak. A hard and strong wood, yet flexible and easy to shape. Perfect for the simpler sword handles. Still she began to carve at the edges of the wood taking it slow and steady, easing off lumps of wood at a time. Rounding the shaft of the weapon.
“You stop watching the flame?” The voice spoke again. She nodded in response chipping off leaves of the wood at a time. A little rough and ragged. And a little uneven at points but it was enough to make it right. “I’ve timed the steel. Each time I placed it back in the times got shorter.” She wished she had kept up her isur form. Her arm would have been perfect for shaping the wood into a perfect circle. However she’d bear with a few imperfections. How did one get better if they didn’t show their flaws in their early work?
She sighed lightly pulling the blade free from the forge. And letting the wooden fitting crumple to ash in the wake. She slipped the shaft into the recess, holding the blade with tongs again she doused it in the oil and then the water a fraction of a second after the oil ignited. Dousing the flames and hardening the steel around the wood. The steel clamped hold of the wood. Forming a tight seal around the shaft. Pulling the blade free from the water, she could see it was plain and a little uneven across the shaft but now she needed to work on the blade and she didn’t have to use the tongs.
Tossing those to one side she slipped the blade back into the fire. Letting the flames restore the blades heat.
“You treat the steel as though it were alive. “ She chuckled slightly into the air. “But isn’t it though?”
She scoffed a little. “Steel can tell you what it wants. How it wants to be worked. When it needs heat when it needs cold. You just have to have the patience to listen to it. The same with fire. It can tell you how hot it is. You just need to listen to it." As she spoke she struck the metal again flattening the blade to its sharpened edge and strengthening the back with a few choice strokes of the hammer. And then she quenched the blade again.
A low rumbling chuckle filled the room. “Girl you are defiant. And strong of will. You listen with patience and act with certainty. Take my gift my child. And use it wisely. I look forwards to seeing just what you learn to do in the future.” As the voice stopped rumbling the room with its speech. A sensation of heat crept down her right arm. Stopping just shy of her elbow but crawled over her chest a little and encompassed the whole of the shoulder. Thin black tendrils appeared in the place of the heat. Glowing a subtle white which shimmered every colour of the rainbow for a second before fully settling down to pitch black.
In her hand now she held a blade forged of simple steel but in a way that the edge was easy to whet and hardened to a point of sharpness but still flexible enough to absorb the shock of the impact. She stood in awe for a moment. She’d just back chatted to a god. And managed to prove her strength of will. Without even fully realising it. She’d shown her patience in appliance to her technique. Never faltering and even asking for silence when necessary. She slumped in shock…Maybe I am mad…
The day eventually wound to a close with the late summer sunshine. Cyrene stayed behind letting Argus the head blacksmith know that she would be in the shop a little longer than usual. Since she was staying behind she’d lock the shop up for him. With a gruff and firm nod he handed her the key. Slapping the steel key into her palm. His only caveat that when she locked up the place she drop the key off at his place. She nodded sharply and went back to her anvil. Instead of using the anvil for a singular purpose of recreating the same thing as she had all damned day she readied herself for another point. Letting her hair fall back she ran her fingers through it scooping it back and tying it into a tight high pony tail. Knowing full well that her change was about due. She sighed lightly and picked up the hammer again. Feeling her hair lengthen and the horns sprout from her head. She grew over a foot in height her form lengthening as she now hunched over slightly to see into the forge. I hate being this tall in this city. She growled under her breath, staring down at the forge. The stark hazel green of her eyes leering into the fire. Watching the flames shift in colour. The soft yellows hardening into firm oranges, and then growing stronger still roaring into reds. She waited. Watching the billet heat. A voice then permeated her mind. Interested in her approach.
“Child. Why do you stare at the flames so?” The question hung in the air. The voice like a thundering din of a thousand hammers all striking in unison. Maybe watching the fires had finally sent her mad. If she was it couldn’t hurt to talk to herself a little. Keeping a close eye on the intent of the flame she spoke. A voice like the smoothest steel and just as hard echoed in retort.
“I watch the flames for any change. When the flames reach a certain point it makes the metal softer. Easier to work.” She shifted the flames a little more adding a piece of charcoal to the fire. Being extra careful to do so as she did not have the protection of her Isur arm in this form.
“Why not just work the metal now?” The voice rang out again. As if urging her to break her patience and pull the metal free of the flame.
“Because the metal is not hot enough yet. It only glows yellow against the red backdrop. It needs to glow white before it can be properly worked.” She responded again in an even tone. She would not be distracted from this. Even a single moment of wavering could spell disaster for this type of metal work. Another chime and a half of waiting, finally the metal reached the correct heat. Gripping it firmly with tongs she pulled it from the flames and then began to draw the metal out. Adding a slight curve to the steel. Eventually the glow began to die down. Falling from the bright white to a ruddy orange. Sliding it back into the forge she allowed it to heat back to temperature. Silence. She breathed a small sigh of calm.
The heat of the steel blazed from the forge. The vent she wore soaked with sweat and strands of loose hear stuck to her brow, still she didn’t take her eyes off the forge. Never leaving the steel for a second.
“A strong conviction.” The voice rang again. Still she didn’t waiver. Instead she picked the steel free from the forge again. Hammering the blade out. Each strike flattening it moulding it. Tapering it. Drawing the steel to fruition.
“You try to blot out my voice. Why?” A weight of authority now added to the voice’s thunderous boom. She held steady in her actions. Taking a moment between slipping the steel back into the forge to reheat and the final stroke of her hammer for this round to simply speak.
“If I listen to you I cannot hear the voice of the steel.” She watched the flame. “I can speak with you whilst I’m watching the steel. The flames talk through a much simpler voice. However the steel sings in a complex melody. If I cannot have clarity in sound. I cannot tell when it wants the fire again. Or when it wishes for the water.” A curtness to her voice. Not of impatience but of someone at work. A delicate process this was. To one of the other isurian smiths she was still a novice. Too unskilled for a technique such as this. This was taught to more adept blacksmiths. But she’d found this technique all on her own.
“You stumbled upon this yourself? No teacher?” Great now the voice had to be in her head.
“Yes I found this on my own. Now please silence one more. I need to hear the steels voice.” She slammed the hammer down on the steel her muscles working overtime as she did. Hammering as much of the steel flat in a single stroke as she could manage. Thinning the edge but thickening the spine. It’s ready. She slipped the steel at it’s blazing heat into the oil. Quenching the blade, and setting the oil alight again. And then she slipped the blade into the water dousing the flame and sucking the heat from it. She placed the lid on the oil snuffing the flame’s existence.
The water hissed and cried screaming at her to be let go. She pulled the blade from the water and heated it again. Again the voice rang out.
“You hear the steels voice well. Perhaps you would be one to receive my gift.” A gift? What gift? What gift could a disembodied voice give?
“I could give you the strength to see your construction to fruition.” Cyrene simply smiled still watching the flames.
“If I didn’t have the strength to see this build to the end I wouldn’t have started it.” Her words dissolving into the fire. “And I’ve the patience to see this through and explain to an inquisitive voice which as far as I know is still inside my head. Exactly what I’m doing between bouts of listening to the song of the steel."
“Are you turning down my offer?” The voice asked almost a little shocked. She thought a moment knowing full well the voice could probably hear what she was thinking until finally she spoke again.
“I simply wish to prove that I can do this on my own. That I have the strength to do this on my own. Only then am I worthy of a blessing.” She repeated her steps again this time using the tongs to hold the steel steady as she drove a wooden wedge into the base of the blade. Driving a gap for the steel to clasp a hold of the wooden handle it was meant for. Driving the wood into it she placed the steel back into the flame. She shifted back now picking up a long square piece of teak. A hard and strong wood, yet flexible and easy to shape. Perfect for the simpler sword handles. Still she began to carve at the edges of the wood taking it slow and steady, easing off lumps of wood at a time. Rounding the shaft of the weapon.
“You stop watching the flame?” The voice spoke again. She nodded in response chipping off leaves of the wood at a time. A little rough and ragged. And a little uneven at points but it was enough to make it right. “I’ve timed the steel. Each time I placed it back in the times got shorter.” She wished she had kept up her isur form. Her arm would have been perfect for shaping the wood into a perfect circle. However she’d bear with a few imperfections. How did one get better if they didn’t show their flaws in their early work?
She sighed lightly pulling the blade free from the forge. And letting the wooden fitting crumple to ash in the wake. She slipped the shaft into the recess, holding the blade with tongs again she doused it in the oil and then the water a fraction of a second after the oil ignited. Dousing the flames and hardening the steel around the wood. The steel clamped hold of the wood. Forming a tight seal around the shaft. Pulling the blade free from the water, she could see it was plain and a little uneven across the shaft but now she needed to work on the blade and she didn’t have to use the tongs.
Tossing those to one side she slipped the blade back into the fire. Letting the flames restore the blades heat.
“You treat the steel as though it were alive. “ She chuckled slightly into the air. “But isn’t it though?”
She scoffed a little. “Steel can tell you what it wants. How it wants to be worked. When it needs heat when it needs cold. You just have to have the patience to listen to it. The same with fire. It can tell you how hot it is. You just need to listen to it." As she spoke she struck the metal again flattening the blade to its sharpened edge and strengthening the back with a few choice strokes of the hammer. And then she quenched the blade again.
A low rumbling chuckle filled the room. “Girl you are defiant. And strong of will. You listen with patience and act with certainty. Take my gift my child. And use it wisely. I look forwards to seeing just what you learn to do in the future.” As the voice stopped rumbling the room with its speech. A sensation of heat crept down her right arm. Stopping just shy of her elbow but crawled over her chest a little and encompassed the whole of the shoulder. Thin black tendrils appeared in the place of the heat. Glowing a subtle white which shimmered every colour of the rainbow for a second before fully settling down to pitch black.
In her hand now she held a blade forged of simple steel but in a way that the edge was easy to whet and hardened to a point of sharpness but still flexible enough to absorb the shock of the impact. She stood in awe for a moment. She’d just back chatted to a god. And managed to prove her strength of will. Without even fully realising it. She’d shown her patience in appliance to her technique. Never faltering and even asking for silence when necessary. She slumped in shock…Maybe I am mad…
Possessions
-Simple Shirt
-Simple Pants
-Simple Undergarments
-Simple Coat
-Simple Boots
1 Waterskin
1 Backpack which contains:
-Comb (Bone)
-Brush (Bone)
-Soap
-Razor
-Balanced Rations (1 Week’s Worth)
-1 eating knife
-Flint & Steel
-95 Gold Mizas
- Well crafted Glaive
-Apron ( leather )
-Gloves ( leather )
-Vest
-Dress
-Jacket
-Undergarments
-High boots (leather)
-Belt (leather)
-Stockings
- 3 small steel chisels
-Small Steel hammer for fine work
Heirloom: Her Heirloom is the weapon she made whilst still in sultros a long time ago. A long and fully functional glaive. It's a little battered and worn, but it's still fully functional and deadly. And as sharp as the day it was made having been looked after. Her heirloom is made form Purple heart wood and basic steel.
Housing
Location: Alvadas
House: Staying at the Cubacious Inn.
Ledger
| Purchase | Cost | Total |
| Starting | +100 GM | 100 GM |
| Sold Housing | +500 | 600GM |
| Apron ( leather ) | -6 SM | 599 GM 4 SM |
| Gloves ( leather ) | -1 GM | 598 GM 4 SM |
| Vest | -3 SM | 598 GM 1 SM |
| Dress | -8 SM | 597 GM 3 SM |
| Jacket | -6 SM | 596 GM 7 SM |
| Undergarments | -1 SM | 596 GM 6 SM |
| High boots (leather) | -1 GM | 595 GM 6 SM |
| Belt (leather) | -2 SM | 595 GM 4 SM |
| Stockings | -4 SM | 595 GM |
| Seasonal Expenses Winter 515 | 135GM | 460GM |
| Seasonal Expenses Spring 516 | 135GM | 325GM |
| Seasonal Expenses Winter 516 | 135GM | 190GM |
Thread List
Winter 515
[Kitrean Krafts] Metal Music. (Job thread) - 12th Winter 515AV
[Kitrean Krafts] Harmonies and hammers (job thread) - 17th of Winter, 515AV
Blood and Steel (Cyrene) - 23rd of Winter, 515AV
[Kitrean Krafts] Steel Meets Steel (Amon) - 27th of Winter 515AV
Strong and Flat? - 37th of Winter 515AV
When Pigs Fly - 41st Winter 515AV
[Kitrean Krafts] The Irony (Cyrene) - 45th of Winter 515 AV
Spring 516
[job thread] Moonlight Melodies - 23rd Spring 516AV
A Rivarian Welcome [Cyrene] - 46th Spring 516AV
[Job thread] Applause, can give pause. (Vai) - 51st Spring 516AV
