[ prp ] Forged (Sindri & Bastion)

[lizbot]

In one corner of the forge sat a figure hunched over their work. This was not an odd sight in and of itself, but the accompanying ring of small bells to every strike of the tiny hammer was a bit different. As were the brilliant green ribbons adorning sweat slicked pale braids; and while goggles were of great use to a smith, these ones were so decorated with small charms that it was a wonder the wearer could see a thing.

Along with the bells' light song, the crafter sang as well, a low but sweet tune concerning a shepherd's ghost, crying an apology for their lateness to the dinner table. A human song, as they knew death quite well, and very appropriately obsessed over it in many of their doings.

There was a gauntlet to the side on their work table, only awaiting its final polish. Scales glinted along the armour piece, curiously razor sharp until one was to slip it on and trigger the mechanism that raised them. It was the sort of ambitious and experimental piece that practically screamed personal or learning work rather than commission.

nio love

 

[Nio Love]

"Four, five, yes just enough," It was nearly impossible to see who was behind the giant bags of goods that someone was carrying into the forge, but whoever it was seemed fond of talking to himself a little too much to be normal. "If I stretch it, perhaps - but no, that won't.. ah if I use interspersing - yes! Brilliant, Bastion, such a mind on you."

He chuckled at himself, and set all of the bags down - only a few feet away from the person at the forge that he hadn't realized was there. He was crouched, still in the position his body had been in when he'd dropped all of the bags, and stared open mouthed at her for a moment in shock.

A rock fell from one of the bags and clinked to the floor. The sound knocked him out of his surprise, and he shook himself. "So sorry, so sorry! I didn't realize there was someone here - sincerest apologies, my lady. Please, forgive this clumsy oaf!"

He began to clean up the mess he'd made, moving all of his bags a few more feet away to give her privacy and space should she require it for her work. Then he settled down, edging forward to start unpacking his wares. His eyes warily flickered to her every few seconds, to check if she seemed unhappy with his presence or if she didn't care about sharing the space as they worked.

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

At the clatter, Sindri calmly ceased her work on a particularly odd hair clasp (an offering to Ylaria to go with her extremely late assignment) and carefully placed it down in order to observe the disturbance and what impact it could create on her work. Perhaps she'd have to finish another time.

The timely falling of the stone she felt, was significant. There was a very correct sort of drama to it that made the other's presence significantly more portentous than when he was simply staring in surprise.

Taking out a little cone of incense (guaranteed lucky, blessed and purified by the shores of three rivers) which she lit just in case, Sindri watched the other in wide-eyed curiosity. His was an unfamiliar figure, though suspicions began to form.

Tilting her head, she asked calmly, "Forgiveness is yours for the price of a name. You own preferably, though a false one would also be acceptable." Sindri appreciated a good lie.

nio love

 

[Nio Love]

Her response was neutral, which was favorable to him. He preferred that greatly over distaste, and believed it easier than sudden overzealous friendliness. He stopped unpacking his bag and put his hands on his knees. "Leonardo! Balthazar! Jeremiah! I will pay you with many names my lady, your forgiveness is worth more than one. But if mine is worth more to you, that name would be Bastion." He bowed, though difficult from a seated position. "Jewelcrafter of the Death Clan, though I suppose that much is obvious." All of his wares unpacked before him glimmered and shone with the mark of a jewelsmith - there was no subtlety to what he did.

He lifted his head up, and surveyed what she was making as inconspicuously as he could. It would be rude to be caught looking when she hadn't offered to show him, after all. "May I be so honored as to receive your name in turn?"

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Ah," she responded, eyes widening minutely in recognition, and behind her bandanna, Sindri smiled. "Nergui's matching piece. She mentioned you had survived." She pulled out another cone of incense, again, just in case. The nature of the paired Omens was still in question.

"My own is Pythia, Dodona, and maybe perhaps Hope, should I be particularly cursed. But there are those who might call me Sindri, Jewelcrafter of the Death Clan." Wrapping three times on the table, she gestured to her own work, the gauntlet and the clasp. Her equipment took up little space, as it was mostly finishing work to be done on the two pieces, overdue by years. She could have, in all honesty, worked in her room for what was left, but the forges drew her and Sindri was never one to ignore the heart's urgings. They were the most important of all guides, because what was there but Death's will in the hearts of all his people?

"It is perhaps fortunate to finally meet you in person." Perhaps.

nio love

 

[Nio Love]

The mention of Nergui brought him to life, and he brought his head up, startled at the sound of her name. "You know of my Noni?" He breathed out in excitement. She gave him many names, and he thought all of them fine, though Hope sounded the best of all of them. He'd even started to consider calling her that instead of the name she'd given him, when he felt that tingle of recognition itch at the back of his mind.

"Sindri. How do I know that name? Perhaps it is simply a common name, I shouldn't assume. Sindri, I am tempted to call you Hope, but I will try to refrain. Now tell me, how do you know of my beloved cousin?" He started packing up his jewels again - he was suddenly far more interested in conversing with the woman, and he had put himself just far enough to feel rude to do so. He wanted to move closer, very much.

"Sindri. Sindri. That name whispers in the back of my mind, but it is too quiet for me to catch."

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"My name is one of forges and thunder and godly weapons," she began in dramatic tones, before admitting, "...though yes, it is a common thing for parents to name their offspring in hopes of inviting such aspirations. I perhaps have more hope than I bring," Sindri continued, the corners of her eyes wrinkling in a slight smile, "...but perhaps Hope will arrive should you call. And perhaps in the form of myself. But then again, perhaps not."

She gave him a small bow, a how-do-you do of swinging bells and braids. "Nergui I have know since our coltish days, my family thought proximity would grant me her studious nature and graceful air. Instead we played chess, our kingdoms warring for centuries and I remain very much myself. Perhaps the cries of that battlefield are the whispers that strain for your ears."

nio love

 

[Nio Love]

"My name speaks of defense, and fortification." Bastion shared with her, a note of tender and insecure amusement tinging his voice. "But it was they who did most of the defending, when I did not live up to my name. They were hoping for a guardian." Bastion's soft grin lit up his dark face. "Instead, they got me."

He doubted that the cries of her games with Nergui were how he'd heard her name, but it was more likely that his cousin had whispered hushed secrets in the darkness of his rooms about her interactions with others. Jealousy had strained him so much in those days. Now, he breathed in the freedom of meeting people on a daily basis. He breathed it in just now, a long, satisfied inhale.

"It pleases me to meet someone who knows my Noni. And a craftsperson no less. Is your current work a secret, or would I step on no boundaries if I asked you what it is?"

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Ah, but a Guardian only safeguards one," Sindri reasoned solemnly. "A bastion protects many and expands the spectrum of battle. A grave misnaming for a Guardian, but apt for one who would arm such among others through the working of Craft." She was grateful that her family knew not simply the importance of naming, but sought to fully understand such names before applying them to their progeny.

"It holds many secrets and I hope a few shall be whispered to the one who it was made for." As she spoke, Sindri pulled out another cone of incense and felt comfortable with the three. It was a strong number, the fragrant smoke carrying nine blessings into the air. Satisfied, she leaned close and held up the hair clasp, murmuring conspiratorially, "One is that her student begs forgiveness for missing many, many lessons. Though perhaps that is not so much a secret as a justified expectation."

It looked, at first glance, like a rough piece of wood, a dark and ragged earthy bit of bark, damp from the morning dew, a twig growing out from it. It took a keen and experienced eye to note that it was not wood but metal of unusual composition. The twig was removable, the simple mechanism for hold hair in place.

On the inside of the clasp was a small secret, the tiny, delicate skeleton of a bird. The message of course was plain and well loved among many: within all life resides death.

xnio love

 

[Nio Love]

Bastion had never considered his name in this way, because his family had not. When Sindri put it like that, it was easy to see how his name could be considered a positive reflection of his current choices. Except.

"Ah, but! My work is not always something that anyone would consider arming. And I see no fault in that, because what I make, ahh." He came closer, pausing to openly admire her handiwork and its delicate nuances. "What I make, I do not make to strengthen. I make it to sing. It's compelling, and often troublesome. But in the end, I think, it's best to follow those urges. Even if they leave me weak and disappointed."

He plopped one of his bags down in front of him - it was show and tell, since she'd shared with him! He pulled out a long, intricately filigreed chain. It looped hundreds of times into itself, and several very strategically placed and strategically cut rubies gave it the very distinct impression of dripping with blood. He slowly pulled it over his head, and settled it around one shoulder, letting the rest fall to loop around his waist.

"Art. Expression. It will save no one on the battlefield. But it saved me, and continues to do so to this day. That alone is worth it."

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"Ah," Sindri exclaimed softly watching the shifting red glow of lava play upon the chain. "But strength comes in many forms, and not all are to our understanding. Even as your hands craft bring such into existence, there is a greater will guiding them, is there not?"

Removing a glove, she reached out to touch one of the jewels and this was perhaps not terribly polite or even wise, considering the empowered nature of a Jewelcrafter's wares. There was always the chance that what glimmered prettily before you was no mere gaud or bauble.

"A beautiful wound," she murmured, "...what expression moved you to create one with such shifting permanence?" After a moment it became clear she was counting the number of rubies that dripped from the chain.

nio love

 

[Nio Love]

Bastion did not know if there was a greater will guiding his actions, save for the light of Medea's grace - but it sounded like an interesting prospect, and he turned to look down at his piece and re-evaluate its creation. He did not find it rude to have her touch the jewels of his craftwork, because his work was made to be touched, and appreciated. He beamed when she called it a beautiful wound, enchanted that she'd understood the meaning behind its artistic expression.

"This particular piece was inspired by a battle I was able to fight in not too long ago. My blade cutted right across the human just so, and it was a success I wanted to commemorate. So I mimicked the look of that fresh cut just after the blade slid through flesh. Splatters and all! See, this one, and this one, and this one!"

Despite how gorey the detail, when Bastion explained it it sounded more like a child explaining a crude work of finger painting art.

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

"So you are not without a warrior's prowess," Sindri bowed her head slightly in respect. "It is well thought, to value such an act." She was not bloodthirsty by nature, nor had vengeance kindled within at the Great Loss. But that did not mean the crafter didn't value death and such acts as it resulted from. Far from it.

"From Nergui's family I had heard you two were bad omens, and as such severely unlucky and bound to misfortune. Perhaps they were mistaken, perhaps two true Death Omens had been born within their midst instead." The mare's voice had gone thoughtful, "I had always wondered, for those bearing mourning colours to be so shunned, but had taken it as the truth of elders. Recent knowledge has brought it to the forefront of my meditations quite often."

Sindri paused, and then asked, curiosity edging her calm tones, "Do you feel you are lucky?"

nio love

 

[Nio Love]

Bastions dark cheeks blushed a healthy color out of sheer pride at being able to admit that he had finally, after so long, seen the battlefield. Of course, this was only because his entire family was dead, and no one was left to tell him what he could or could not do.

Sufficed to say, Bastion did not seem entirely heartbroken over their loss.

"They were mistaken about a great many things, I've found!" Bastion murmured cheerfully, and thoughtfully. "But I doubt I would go so far as to consider myself a true Death Omen. Only the servant to one. Our fair Medea, she is the only true Death Omen I recognize." He leaned back, resting on his haunches. "But I have brought no one bad luck, in my lifetime. So that much can be said for me. As to whether I consider myself lucky or not, well, that's a difficult question! I am free, I am doing what I love, and I have met so many wonderful people - present company included! In that sense, I find myself very lucky."

But there were other senses where Bastion considered himself regretfully unlucky, and he brushed them away quickly. "But one cannot be lucky in all things, I suppose!"

lizbot

 

[lizbot]

Sindri did not comment upon Medea beyond the incline of her head. She accepted Medea's rise to power as the will of one greater, but could not find a love for the figure beyond simple respect. Perhaps one day, but not today.

"One can try, though, to increase their luck in many things, or at least keep ill fortunes at bay." Sindri's eyes seemed to glow above her scarf as she plucked out a small ring with a number of pretty, dangling charms from one of many hidden pockets. They were simple in design but clever in creation, unique tempering and thoughtful use of shadow granting them a slightly more impressive first glance than what further inspection revealed.

Seven metal magpies were held aloft, dangling from their ring, and there was a sense that Sindri was smiling, if only a bit, as she spoke an old rhyme, "One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for a birth, five for silver, six for gold, seven a secret that dare not be told." A pause, and then more seriously, "If you see a lone magpie, draw a spiral with your foot, and perhaps sorrow will get lost on its way to you. It is just a small thing but a day is made of many such and with all the signs and portents that weave through our moments, little patterns form to hint at what comes next."

Another pause, and then cocking her head, "When were you not free?"

nio love