Delve
Tenebrae - Friday, February 13, 2015, 8:20 AM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A09: Banks of the Tornmawr *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Overhead, the Highbridge spans. Here is a pleasant enough bank, if one does not mind the ship traffic amid the broad and winding Tornmawr. A few picnicers spend their time here and a few blankets are present. Many of them are craftsfolk and other "ordinary" people, as well as a multitude of tired river sailors here on break. Or, the watchful husbands and wives of sea-sailors. To the south, the great river empties into that great expanse.
"A rapier? Aye, I know the basics. Ain't me usual choice, but I'll dance wit' ye if ye've a mind." Aldean's grin is good-natured as he accepts the invitation. The pair are by the riverbank, amid rocks, ice, snow and mud. A fair weather sun shines wanly down on the river, the sun glinting off of the water here and there. It's warmer than it has been, and there's some ice melt.
He slides off the rock and unclasps both cloaks, folding them neatly together and laying the pair aside on the sun-warmed rock. "Got one I might borrow from ye?" he asks, eyeing Yrqemm measuringly.
Mikilos strolls with a small delve of dwarves. (That's the proper term for a group of dwarves, you know. A Delve.) The group pauses by the ramp leading up towards the bridge above, shaking hands and bowing to each other. "I mean it, those are all in pounds, not ounces. This is going to be a big project. Okay? Okay. Thank you very much for your time, gentlemen." The magus waves as the delve heads up, watching a long moment before peering around absently to see what's about.
Abigail grips the reigns of the light horse as it walks towards the river, guiding it to the sure footing close to the water. A mule trails the pair, without need of the rope that damgles between it and the horse, slow and steady. Abigail's blue eyes look up the the bridge above and the sky beyond, then again to her surroundings. The woman nods a greeting to those nearby as she dismounts. "Good day." She says in a clear voiceas she moves to the river and cups her hands to draw a sip up to her lips. Tested. she steps away and lets the animals move forward to drink. A black bird descends and settles to the back of the mule, looking about with jerking motions.
"Of course, of course," take one of mine, says Yrqemm, removing it long scabbard and all, holding it out to Aldean. "Would you prefer to spar with a single blade or two?" he asks, "I'm not much for shields, so I usually train with two," he adds, motioning toward the spot on the ground where he has tread all over, "As you saw."
Zyla makes her way across the bridge and then does hear voices so it prompts the giantborn lass to make her way down to the banks. She glances around for the source.
It's a fair day on the banks of the Tornmawr, and warmer than it has been; meltwater coats some of the ice and snow that lingers along the banks and paths here. In fact, there seems to be a good deal of activity down here, including a pair of men who look as if they're preparing to spar. Aldean shakes his head, his speaking voice a deep, mellifluous baritone that is marred by a sailor or dockworker's brogue. "Na, one be enough, and do ye wield them well enough, they'll serve ye as well as any shield." He takes the blade Yrqemm hands him, and looks over his shoulder at Abigail. "Mind th'horses, mate, I'd not have 'em startle." He's easily audible up the bank, given the carry of sound over water.
That done, he hefts the blade, testing it. His movements say that he's exactly correct -- he knows the way of it but it's not his best weapon. Once he's comfortable, he assumes a ready stance. "Ye've nice blades, mate," he acknowledges, waiting.
Mikilos perks at the sight of the pair of quadrupeds, and makes his way towards Abigail, though his eyes watch the duelists. Or potential duelists, at least. "Good morning, miss. Recently arrived to Alexandros?"
The sparring Dawn Elf looks around, spots Mikilos and gives him a wave with the blade, then moves it really fast and downwards, sending the condensation flying off into the snow.
"Thank you Master Aldean," he says, "First cut or touch, agreed?"
Zyla blinks jus a little as she realizes there is going to be a spar. She moves over and dip her head to those she sees gathered nearby and turns her attention back to those about to cross blades.
"As ye like," Aldean answers, still grinning. "An' I'll not use magic," he adds. There's a glint in his eyes as he waits.
Abigail gives a nod to the comment about the noise, "Thank you." she offers in a soft clear voice as she moves to pat the mule on the flank as it starts to drink with the horse. She starts to fish through the bags, taking out some wrapped cheese and biscuits. Her gaze lifts a little to Mikilos, "Recently returned. I am Abigail Writmaker, good sir." Her eyes taking in the arrival of the Half-giant woman briefly before returning to Mikilos.
"And I won't punch you with this," says Yrqemm, showing his spiked gauntlet before putting his hand up and out, assuming the stance. "Ready?"
Mikilos blinks, and quirks a brow. "A name of promise, though suppose I shouldn't assume. Mikilos Mithralla, Builder Arcane. Might I inquire as to what took you from the city, and what has brought you back? Bsides the obvious, of course." He smiles with a glance to the animals.
Zyla smiles a little and gives a dip of her head towards Abigail and Mikilos and then back to the two about to spar.
The instant a nod is offered, Yrqemm lunges forward with the speed of a viper, closing the little gap there was at speed, sure footed as a goat despite the snow and mud. Rapier out, aimed at Aldean's sternum for what is clearly intended to be a probing, quick strike.
A glance is spared the two deulist, but Abigail turns her gaze back to Mikilos. "I am an assessor by trade, that requires a good bit of travel, the outer regions have need bookkeeperts and assessors more than the city that spawns them. Autumn is the good season, there is no purpose to counting the chickens before they hatch, or especially before they are laid. Builder Arcane?" she asks, keeping closer attention on the pack mule than the horse as the sparring starts.
The human, not being anywhere near as fast as the dawn elf but considerably bigger, is nonetheless canny and smart, and the pair feint back and forth for several seconds, metal blades clashing and flashing in the sunlight. Before long, though, the elf's speed proves to be too much for the human, and the tip of Yrqemm's blade finds pay dirt, visible in the blood drawn where armor would normally have been in Aldean's left shoulder. "Agh. Yer wearin' armor, ain't ye?" He lowers the blade, conceding defeat, then switches it to the other hand to cover the small mark. It's by no means serious. "Well done o' ye, mate." He offers the rapier back to the elf.
Zyla cocks her head to the side. She is listening to the conversation next to her while watching the duel curiously. There is a nod to her head, "Well done, good show on both parts." she offers.
"The beauty of Mithril, my friend, and it didn't make too much difference here and here," says Yrqemm, showing where the cloth of his clothing was cut in two incredibly close near-misses.
Taking back the rapier, he points with its pommel at Mikilos, "His work, like my boots and other things I have," he offers, bringing the rapier to his brow to offer Mikilos a salute. He then turns to re-attach the scabbard, after sheathing his primary blade. "We'll do more evenly equipped one with /wooden/ sparring weapons of choice another time, perhaps for a wager." He removes his gauntlet and offers Aldean a hand.
Mikilos chuckles, and touches his brow in return to Yrqemm, before nodding to Abigail. "A magus and a crafter. I specialize in the creation of magical items, be they enchanted blade or useful bauble. Though of course I do mundane items and more typical magics as well."
"I don't wear armor in th'city, mate, not 'less a job wants it," Aldean counters with a grin. "Aye, I'll be takin' ye up on that wager, then." The bard takes the hand., the grip firm. "An' aye, I've a few things of his hand," he agrees. "Fine work. I'll be lookin' fer ye here, then."
Zyla raises a brow, and turns back to Mikilos, "baubles, do you craft bracers? The kind that provide defensive magics?" she asks a little curiously. The duel is over so she is not distracted by it.
"I see, a very useful trade, and likely even more profotable." Abigail says as she watches the completion between the two. "I am an abjurer, myself. Very minor skill this far." She says and steps back just a hint to let Zyla and the crafter speak.
Once the fighter elf is gone, Aldean looks after him with a chuckle and a shake of his head, then flexes the crimson-touched shoulder gingerly and retrieves his cloaks, pullling them around him. He does leave the hood down, though, letting the wan sunlight spill across his face. "Oy, fair winds to ye, Mikilos," he greets, clearly recognizing the mage, but seeing that business is in progress, he too falls silent.
Mikilos nods to Zyla. "Bracers, boots, belts, brooch, amulets, figurines, bags, haversacks... just about anything, really. Though not wands... could likely manage if I set my mind to it, but seems a waste to put so much effort into somethign that won't last forever..." Frowning mildly a moment, he nods and shrugs to Abigail. "Everyone starts somewhere. Wasn't all that long ago was an apperntice myself." Resuming the frown a moment, he nods to Aldean. "You know, impromptu practice is one thing, but if you're planning to duel, you really should go to the Arena. The blades there are enchanted to not draw blood. I know you two know your busniess, but wouldn't be the first to draw more blood than intended. Espically should a third party meddle."
Zyla nods and gives a dip of her head and then a bow, "I am Zyla Dramfist, Sister in good standing of the Brotherhood of War." she offers and then nods her head, "The other option is to spar without weapons, that is one of the true tests and most pleasing to Kor and the other gods." she says and then nods as she looks back to Mikilos, "I am sure that I will be looking for such before long. While I do not fight with armor, it would be foolish not to seek something to aid in defense."
To that, Aldean simply shrugs, dismissing the incident. "His idea, mate. The lad's got something t'prove." He doesn't sound terribly bothered, his demeanor one of easy good humor. "Kor?" He looks up, and studies the giantborn. "Mayhap, lass, but do ye find yerself fightin' more'n fools, 'tis such as'll keep ye out o' the Harpist's halls that ye'll be wantin'. Ye'll want defenses, aye, an' more'n armor. There be things ye'll find as'll go right through any armor."
Abigail listens to the list of things the other wizard can craft, setting them to memory. "Good day sir, and nice match." She offers to Aldean, before looking back to Mikilos, "Yes, still.. Patience is easier once the skill is acquired." she offers and steps a little forward to Zyla, "Pleasant to meet you, Sister Dramfist." The equine heads lift up from the water to trace the woman and the horse moves to follow her, the mule remains by the water waiting for the horse to llead. The raven though seems to care nothing for the rest of things, and picks at a purse on the mule's back till it is open enough to draw out a cracker. The action seems to remind Abigail that sh has the food out herself and she places a peice of cheese against a thin biscuit to start her snack.
Mikilos nods to Zyla and Aldean. "Armor is important, but best to stay out of a fight you need not be in. Though of course sometimes can't be avoided." Turning to Abigail, he bows politely. "A pleasurse, miss Writmaker. I'm sure we'll meet again some time."
Zyla smiles and nods, "Yes the Brotherhood is devoted to the service of Kor, we do good works in his name." she says and then dips her head to Abigail and then to Mikilos as well, "The true test is not to be there when the blow comes but I have to admit I am still learning and progressing in my studies." she shakes her head a bit.
Much less formal but still friendly, Aldean's grin turns on Abigail, a greeting of sorts. "An' t'ye, lass." To Zyla, he nods. "Aye. The nastiest blows'll not come from weapons nor fists, neither." The easy good humor accompanies that, but it's Mikilos that gets the laugh. "An' that, mate, is why ye be a damned fine crafter living in the arse o' nowhere an' not workin' fer the Guild."
Mikilos grins to Aldean. "I still do the occasional job, though has been a while. And my shop location was chosen with care." Blinking, he frowns a moment at the position of the sun. "Speaking of which, I really should be getting back."
Zyla dips her head, "May the day favor thee." she says and then nods and looks back to Aldean and nods her head a bit. She seems to be thinking on something for the moment.
Mikilos steps back a little, and murmurs softly a moment. And then the magus is just... gone. Not even a 'poof'. Wizards, right?