07-18-2016, 10:37 AM
“Ciamath, it’s wonderful-- come see!”
Just inside the walls of Minas Tirith, I’m met with what feels like a glorious sensory overload. Grand and elegant architecture runs along both sides of the cobblestone streets. Stands and carts line the streets, staffed by people shouting their stock into the commuter-filled streets. A barrage of different smells, most of which were fortunately good ones, reach my nose along the gentle breeze. “I’ve never seen anything like this before! Is this-- normal for the Omniverse?!”
Ciamath kneels at the edge of the cart with me and smiles. “You may want to keep in mind this is home to one of the most powerful forces in the Omniverse. It may not be normal, but there are places like this out there,” she answers. “You’ll find that this world is very different depending on where you end up, and there are many more places you can travel to than just Camelot.”
I consider leaving the carriage, though based on the crowds of people moving about, I decide maybe that isn’t the best idea. “Do we have a plan for where we’re going? I… have no idea where we’re going.”
“We’ll be looking for Jamven’s smithy, called Falconsflight Steel. I know the way, so I can lead us there. Just take my hand and don’t let go.”
I would have been an awful lot more comfortable with this back when I wasn’t as small as I am now. But now, as I look around, I’m dwarfed by almost everybody I can see in this crowd. “Could I-- and you can tell me no if you’re not comfortable with this-- ride on your shoulders like earlier?”
She raises and eyebrow and giggles a little. “I suppose it would be all right,” she responds, then steps off of the cart. She rests her back against the edge of it, waiting for me. “Go on. If we don’t go quickly, the sun will be down before we get there.”
Following the request to hurry up, I carefully slip onto Ciamath’s shoulders and hold my hands down, which she meets with her own, helping me balance a lot better. We hand over our fare for the ride and Ciamath leads the way down the streets, making comments every now and then about the area. I point out a few interesting things I see thanks to my raised line of sight, noting a jewelry store, a bakery specializing in sweetrolls and a self-proclaimed ‘market of whimsy’. I make a note to visit each of these places later.
I summon a little notebook and a pencil. Visit jewelry store, sweetroll bakery and market of whimsy. Having nowhere to put either, I tuck the pencil behind my ear and just keep the notebook in hand with my coinpurse.
Before too long, we approach a rather large-looking building - at least by comparison to the others - which has a balcony on its second (and top) floor, where a large forge puffs out smoke into the air. A sign above the door says FALCONSFLIGHT SMITHY. “We’re here,” Ciamath says, reaffirming my thoughts. She takes a knee and I hop off of her shoulders, being careful not to catch myself on either end of her spear. “Jamven is nice enough. Just talk to him like you talk to me and you two should get along beautifully,” she adds.
As we step through the door, a heavy-sounding bell noise sounds above us. Not a cute little ding-ding like you might expect when you walk into a business and there’s a bell at the door - this sounded like the bell got pumped full of testosterone or something. On a less ridiculous note, the place looks pretty neat, with the walls lined by pretty much every weapon I can name off and then some. I note a stark lack of firearms, or at least firearms more advanced than a simple flintlock or musket, though I imagine not many people use guns around here. There’s even a bunch of different types of armor, from chainmail to full plate to hardened leather. Cool.
Then I notice, as my eyes reach a staircase leading up, a guy who towers over me is walking down. As I look at him, he’s not taller than Ciamath, though I also note Ciamath is beyond tall. She’s gotta be six and a half feet tall or something.
The man approaching, who is presumably the Jamven I’ve heard so much about, is bald on top with a long, gray beard. He has long gray hair at the back, as I look at him, big red eyes and a nose like a brick. His outfit’s pretty much just a tattered tunic and apron charred all over with a pair of gloves and boots, and he’s got a build that looks like two rolled up carpets leaning against an outhouse.
I may be just a little bit scared right now.
“Long time no see, Jamven,” Ciamath chimes. “You haven’t changed a bit. Are you keeping yourself well?”
“‘Course I am,” he shoots back, leaning against a nearby counter. “Business isn’t too great lately, but it’ll spike again. Always does,” he continues. “Always a need for good steel.”
He turns his crimson eyes to me and I almost jump out of my boots. “So who’s this, then? You lost?” he asks, then notices the bag of coins in my right hand and laughs a bit. “If you’re looking for anything your size, you’re definitely lost, lass.”
“Come now, Jamven. You and I both know you’re joking…” Ciamath narrows her eyes. “But she doesn’t. Besides, she can pay, so why not help her? You said yourself, business isn’t great for you.”
I step away from the conversation, wandering toward a wall covered from floor to ceiling by swords. My eyes glint with wonder, drinking in the beauty of it all. From a distance, it was just generally impressive, but up close, it was something else entirely. Rapiers and shortswords and longswords and scimitars and I swear I can see a shotel in here somewhere… a pair of hook swords that look absolutely masterfully forged, and a scimitar that looks bigger than I am--
“So you like what you see, eh?” I yelp and whirl around, relaxing a little at the sight of Ciamath nearby - though Jamven is closer. “Sorry about what I said, lass. All in good fun, right? Didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?” I pause for a moment. He does seem genuine, and I can’t bring myself to hold a grudge over something so silly and petty. Plus, he’s got a big, dumb grin on his face and it’s contagious.
“No harm, no foul, baldie,” I joke, laughing a little and offering a hand. “I’m Joline.” Jamven just bursts out laughing.
“So you want a sword, right? Think I’ve got a few ideas for you… lemme look around a second, see what I can get.” Jamven paces around the building, stroking his beard thoughtfully. His eyes scan the numerous racks of blades about the store. I consider asking if I can help, but it occurs to me that I have a fascination with weapons and he has enough knowledge to actually make the things, and well at that. I stand back and let the clear master do their work.
Eventually Jamven returns to me with what appears to be a longsword. It’s big, heavy-looking and very ornate, almost more so in the former category than me, but I get the feeling it wouldn’t be impossible to wield. “I have my doubts, but try this one.” He offers it with one hand on the hilt and one beneath the flat of the blade, which fortunately for my nerves is sheathed. “Check and see if you like the weight first.”
I take the blade into my hands cautiously. Stretching out my arms to reach where Jamven had put his feels a bit uncomfortable, but it’s probably the most convenient way to hold a weapon of this size. It’s not unbearable, but it isn’t a comfortable sort of weight to bear. Looking the weapon up and down, I shift both hands to the hilt. “Position yourself like this-- turn to the side, right foot forward, left foot facing to your right… good, like that. Now hold it so the flat of the blade is facing up. Let it hang a little so you can relax a bit.”
I feel sweat on my forehead, and I haven’t even swung the thing yet. Knowing this, I can’t even imagine what armor might be like to wear. Noting Ciamath’s dressing choice, I decide armor isn’t a necessity, and might not at all be the case with speed like mine. At that, I make a mental note to ask Ciamath about my speed, as well. She had mentioned it, but something had taken its place as the more important topic. Maybe it was worth talking about.
“That might be a suitable weapon for someone like me,” Ciamath remarks, “but not for her. She’ll tear her arms off trying to swing the thing.”
“Which is why I said I had my doubts,” Jamven explains. “You never do know around here - once had a kid her size come in and ask for a sword that made that thing look like a toy…”
I giggle. “I’d like to hear a little more about the kinds of people you meet here, but-- maybe some other time, when we’re not focused on this,” I respond as Jamven walks off to find something else. He eventually decides on a pair of large curved daggers - one mostly black and one mostly white - which he hands off to me. “I don’t think you’ll have any issue with these,” he states and steps back. “The only issue with something like these is they don’t have much reach. They’re small, so they’re plenty light and aren’t too hard to use, but you might need to get closer than you’d like to make ‘em count.”
I find that twirling them about and changing stance with them is rather easy, and I can even look somewhat imposing while I wield them, though they don’t feel like they’re the right pick. “Two-weapon fighting might be a bit difficult for her, and it would be a crime to take only one weapon from a pair,” Ciamath comments. “Unless you think you’re up for the challenge?”
I shake my head. “Could be interesting, but I’d rather not get into something too complex. Ultimately what I want is something to fall back on if things go sour, right? Why would I want something really difficult to learn for that?”
Ciamath nods. “A wise decision.” Jamven walks off to grab something else.
He returns moments later with a shortsword - it’s wrapped with brown leather at the hilt, and as it’s passed to me, I notice that the sheath is made of some kind of wood. “Just remembered this one - forged the thing a while ago. Can’t remember for who, but whoever they were, they never picked it up. Wanted to call it Brug Hild, or something like that.”
The weight feels just right, I decide and gently pull it from its sheath. It produces a shwing noise, like the kind you’d hear from someone drawing a weapon in a movie or something. I grasp at the hilt with my left hand, feeling my fingers fit into little grooves in the leather. I shut my eyes, take a deep breath and open again. Without another moment’s hesitation, I try taking a swing. The sound of the air splitting before me, creating a high whistle in the air is like music to my ears.
“I think this might be the one,” I conclude, turning to Jamven. I sheathe the blade and hold it in my hands. “May I--?”
“She’s all yours,” he answers. “I think I can get you a few other things you might want, though - make lugging that thing around a little easier.”
Jamven steps behind the counter for a moment and roots around in some kind of box. I can hear him whistling something, though he stops as he lifts something into the air. “A-ha!” I look to his hand and see a pair of belts, along with a few extra straps. He returns to my side and kneels down. “Ciamath, lend me a hand, would you?”
In response she nods and ducks down in front of me. I instinctively straighten up and feel… a little bit awkward and embarrassed. I feel something tighten and click starting at my left shoulder and ending at my right hip, along with the same feeling at both my hips. I then feel Brug Hild’s weight ease onto my back. “This goes here, and that goes… like so,” Jamven mutters as I hear a few more clicking noises. “Good! That should do. Now, look over your left shoulder. Slowly, now.”
I do just that and see… Brug Hild’s hilt right there. I suppose I should have expected as much, but still, it is a bit surprising. “One more thing - how about we get you a shield? Best offense is a good defense and all,” Jamven declares. “And I’ve even got just the thing.”
He dashes over to a rack of shields in between some spears and axes. “Having fun?” Ciamath asks me, grinning. I nod. “Well, he certainly is, even though he might not want to admit it. Maybe we should drop by here some other time again?” I nod again and we laugh, though we pipe down as Jamven comes back, holding a small wooden shield reinforced with steel. It has what looks almost like a sun design on the front. “It’s a buckler - Beskyttende, I think it’s called. Means Protector, or Protective or something like that. I figure that second hand won’t do you much good in battle unless it’s got something in it, so why not have a shield?”
I extend my hand and he offers the shield. I fit my right hand into the grip and wave it about a bit, making sure it handles well. The weight is comfortable - similar to Brug Hild’s weight. “I like it,” I decide. “I’ll take this too.”
A little bit more fastening and clicking later, Beskyttende is attached to my back as well. Fortunately, the weight’s not uncomfortable - it seems like something I’ll get used to in not too much time. “You know, even with just this,” Ciamath comments, “you have the look of a hero to you.” Jamven nods in agreement. “Here, you can see for yourself - think I’ve got a mirror upstairs somewhere…”
Jamven brings the mirror down and leans it against the least weapon-covered wall in the building, then gestures to it. “Go on - I’m not getting any younger,” he jokes, then steps aside. I step forward with my eyes wide--
“...woah.”
I feel like a whole different person. With a couple of belts, a sword and a shield, I feel changed in a wonderful way. “I look good.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself, lass,” Jamven adds, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’m feelin’ generous, so let’s say… twelve gold pieces for this? Normally I’d charge thirty, but this was fun enough, and you’re a friend. Why not?”
I beam and, without hesitation, pluck the necessary coins from my coinpurse. “Here you go, then-- and you’re sure you don’t want anything more? I mean, I think I’ve got plenty…”
Jamven scoffs. “Pah! I’ll be fine, lass, but the thought’s nice.” He gives me a pat on the back, which I can feel even through my shield and sheathed sword. “You two just enjoy your stay in Minas Tirith - and next time you come through, don’t forget about me, eh?”
Ciamath leans against the counter. “We should be here for another day or two. We can stop by before we leave for a quick goodbye if you’d like.” I nod and add, “sure, let’s do that-- we can talk then. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like a plan, then.” He grins. “Well, better get back to the forge, I figure - steel ain’t gonna work itself!”
We say our goodbyes for the time being, I hang my coinpurse at my hip, then hop onto Ciamath’s shoulders and at last we head off on our way again.
Just inside the walls of Minas Tirith, I’m met with what feels like a glorious sensory overload. Grand and elegant architecture runs along both sides of the cobblestone streets. Stands and carts line the streets, staffed by people shouting their stock into the commuter-filled streets. A barrage of different smells, most of which were fortunately good ones, reach my nose along the gentle breeze. “I’ve never seen anything like this before! Is this-- normal for the Omniverse?!”
Ciamath kneels at the edge of the cart with me and smiles. “You may want to keep in mind this is home to one of the most powerful forces in the Omniverse. It may not be normal, but there are places like this out there,” she answers. “You’ll find that this world is very different depending on where you end up, and there are many more places you can travel to than just Camelot.”
I consider leaving the carriage, though based on the crowds of people moving about, I decide maybe that isn’t the best idea. “Do we have a plan for where we’re going? I… have no idea where we’re going.”
“We’ll be looking for Jamven’s smithy, called Falconsflight Steel. I know the way, so I can lead us there. Just take my hand and don’t let go.”
I would have been an awful lot more comfortable with this back when I wasn’t as small as I am now. But now, as I look around, I’m dwarfed by almost everybody I can see in this crowd. “Could I-- and you can tell me no if you’re not comfortable with this-- ride on your shoulders like earlier?”
She raises and eyebrow and giggles a little. “I suppose it would be all right,” she responds, then steps off of the cart. She rests her back against the edge of it, waiting for me. “Go on. If we don’t go quickly, the sun will be down before we get there.”
Following the request to hurry up, I carefully slip onto Ciamath’s shoulders and hold my hands down, which she meets with her own, helping me balance a lot better. We hand over our fare for the ride and Ciamath leads the way down the streets, making comments every now and then about the area. I point out a few interesting things I see thanks to my raised line of sight, noting a jewelry store, a bakery specializing in sweetrolls and a self-proclaimed ‘market of whimsy’. I make a note to visit each of these places later.
I summon a little notebook and a pencil. Visit jewelry store, sweetroll bakery and market of whimsy. Having nowhere to put either, I tuck the pencil behind my ear and just keep the notebook in hand with my coinpurse.
Before too long, we approach a rather large-looking building - at least by comparison to the others - which has a balcony on its second (and top) floor, where a large forge puffs out smoke into the air. A sign above the door says FALCONSFLIGHT SMITHY. “We’re here,” Ciamath says, reaffirming my thoughts. She takes a knee and I hop off of her shoulders, being careful not to catch myself on either end of her spear. “Jamven is nice enough. Just talk to him like you talk to me and you two should get along beautifully,” she adds.
As we step through the door, a heavy-sounding bell noise sounds above us. Not a cute little ding-ding like you might expect when you walk into a business and there’s a bell at the door - this sounded like the bell got pumped full of testosterone or something. On a less ridiculous note, the place looks pretty neat, with the walls lined by pretty much every weapon I can name off and then some. I note a stark lack of firearms, or at least firearms more advanced than a simple flintlock or musket, though I imagine not many people use guns around here. There’s even a bunch of different types of armor, from chainmail to full plate to hardened leather. Cool.
Then I notice, as my eyes reach a staircase leading up, a guy who towers over me is walking down. As I look at him, he’s not taller than Ciamath, though I also note Ciamath is beyond tall. She’s gotta be six and a half feet tall or something.
The man approaching, who is presumably the Jamven I’ve heard so much about, is bald on top with a long, gray beard. He has long gray hair at the back, as I look at him, big red eyes and a nose like a brick. His outfit’s pretty much just a tattered tunic and apron charred all over with a pair of gloves and boots, and he’s got a build that looks like two rolled up carpets leaning against an outhouse.
I may be just a little bit scared right now.
“Long time no see, Jamven,” Ciamath chimes. “You haven’t changed a bit. Are you keeping yourself well?”
“‘Course I am,” he shoots back, leaning against a nearby counter. “Business isn’t too great lately, but it’ll spike again. Always does,” he continues. “Always a need for good steel.”
He turns his crimson eyes to me and I almost jump out of my boots. “So who’s this, then? You lost?” he asks, then notices the bag of coins in my right hand and laughs a bit. “If you’re looking for anything your size, you’re definitely lost, lass.”
“Come now, Jamven. You and I both know you’re joking…” Ciamath narrows her eyes. “But she doesn’t. Besides, she can pay, so why not help her? You said yourself, business isn’t great for you.”
I step away from the conversation, wandering toward a wall covered from floor to ceiling by swords. My eyes glint with wonder, drinking in the beauty of it all. From a distance, it was just generally impressive, but up close, it was something else entirely. Rapiers and shortswords and longswords and scimitars and I swear I can see a shotel in here somewhere… a pair of hook swords that look absolutely masterfully forged, and a scimitar that looks bigger than I am--
“So you like what you see, eh?” I yelp and whirl around, relaxing a little at the sight of Ciamath nearby - though Jamven is closer. “Sorry about what I said, lass. All in good fun, right? Didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?” I pause for a moment. He does seem genuine, and I can’t bring myself to hold a grudge over something so silly and petty. Plus, he’s got a big, dumb grin on his face and it’s contagious.
“No harm, no foul, baldie,” I joke, laughing a little and offering a hand. “I’m Joline.” Jamven just bursts out laughing.
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“So you want a sword, right? Think I’ve got a few ideas for you… lemme look around a second, see what I can get.” Jamven paces around the building, stroking his beard thoughtfully. His eyes scan the numerous racks of blades about the store. I consider asking if I can help, but it occurs to me that I have a fascination with weapons and he has enough knowledge to actually make the things, and well at that. I stand back and let the clear master do their work.
Eventually Jamven returns to me with what appears to be a longsword. It’s big, heavy-looking and very ornate, almost more so in the former category than me, but I get the feeling it wouldn’t be impossible to wield. “I have my doubts, but try this one.” He offers it with one hand on the hilt and one beneath the flat of the blade, which fortunately for my nerves is sheathed. “Check and see if you like the weight first.”
I take the blade into my hands cautiously. Stretching out my arms to reach where Jamven had put his feels a bit uncomfortable, but it’s probably the most convenient way to hold a weapon of this size. It’s not unbearable, but it isn’t a comfortable sort of weight to bear. Looking the weapon up and down, I shift both hands to the hilt. “Position yourself like this-- turn to the side, right foot forward, left foot facing to your right… good, like that. Now hold it so the flat of the blade is facing up. Let it hang a little so you can relax a bit.”
I feel sweat on my forehead, and I haven’t even swung the thing yet. Knowing this, I can’t even imagine what armor might be like to wear. Noting Ciamath’s dressing choice, I decide armor isn’t a necessity, and might not at all be the case with speed like mine. At that, I make a mental note to ask Ciamath about my speed, as well. She had mentioned it, but something had taken its place as the more important topic. Maybe it was worth talking about.
“That might be a suitable weapon for someone like me,” Ciamath remarks, “but not for her. She’ll tear her arms off trying to swing the thing.”
“Which is why I said I had my doubts,” Jamven explains. “You never do know around here - once had a kid her size come in and ask for a sword that made that thing look like a toy…”
I giggle. “I’d like to hear a little more about the kinds of people you meet here, but-- maybe some other time, when we’re not focused on this,” I respond as Jamven walks off to find something else. He eventually decides on a pair of large curved daggers - one mostly black and one mostly white - which he hands off to me. “I don’t think you’ll have any issue with these,” he states and steps back. “The only issue with something like these is they don’t have much reach. They’re small, so they’re plenty light and aren’t too hard to use, but you might need to get closer than you’d like to make ‘em count.”
I find that twirling them about and changing stance with them is rather easy, and I can even look somewhat imposing while I wield them, though they don’t feel like they’re the right pick. “Two-weapon fighting might be a bit difficult for her, and it would be a crime to take only one weapon from a pair,” Ciamath comments. “Unless you think you’re up for the challenge?”
I shake my head. “Could be interesting, but I’d rather not get into something too complex. Ultimately what I want is something to fall back on if things go sour, right? Why would I want something really difficult to learn for that?”
Ciamath nods. “A wise decision.” Jamven walks off to grab something else.
He returns moments later with a shortsword - it’s wrapped with brown leather at the hilt, and as it’s passed to me, I notice that the sheath is made of some kind of wood. “Just remembered this one - forged the thing a while ago. Can’t remember for who, but whoever they were, they never picked it up. Wanted to call it Brug Hild, or something like that.”
The weight feels just right, I decide and gently pull it from its sheath. It produces a shwing noise, like the kind you’d hear from someone drawing a weapon in a movie or something. I grasp at the hilt with my left hand, feeling my fingers fit into little grooves in the leather. I shut my eyes, take a deep breath and open again. Without another moment’s hesitation, I try taking a swing. The sound of the air splitting before me, creating a high whistle in the air is like music to my ears.
“I think this might be the one,” I conclude, turning to Jamven. I sheathe the blade and hold it in my hands. “May I--?”
“She’s all yours,” he answers. “I think I can get you a few other things you might want, though - make lugging that thing around a little easier.”
Jamven steps behind the counter for a moment and roots around in some kind of box. I can hear him whistling something, though he stops as he lifts something into the air. “A-ha!” I look to his hand and see a pair of belts, along with a few extra straps. He returns to my side and kneels down. “Ciamath, lend me a hand, would you?”
In response she nods and ducks down in front of me. I instinctively straighten up and feel… a little bit awkward and embarrassed. I feel something tighten and click starting at my left shoulder and ending at my right hip, along with the same feeling at both my hips. I then feel Brug Hild’s weight ease onto my back. “This goes here, and that goes… like so,” Jamven mutters as I hear a few more clicking noises. “Good! That should do. Now, look over your left shoulder. Slowly, now.”
I do just that and see… Brug Hild’s hilt right there. I suppose I should have expected as much, but still, it is a bit surprising. “One more thing - how about we get you a shield? Best offense is a good defense and all,” Jamven declares. “And I’ve even got just the thing.”
He dashes over to a rack of shields in between some spears and axes. “Having fun?” Ciamath asks me, grinning. I nod. “Well, he certainly is, even though he might not want to admit it. Maybe we should drop by here some other time again?” I nod again and we laugh, though we pipe down as Jamven comes back, holding a small wooden shield reinforced with steel. It has what looks almost like a sun design on the front. “It’s a buckler - Beskyttende, I think it’s called. Means Protector, or Protective or something like that. I figure that second hand won’t do you much good in battle unless it’s got something in it, so why not have a shield?”
I extend my hand and he offers the shield. I fit my right hand into the grip and wave it about a bit, making sure it handles well. The weight is comfortable - similar to Brug Hild’s weight. “I like it,” I decide. “I’ll take this too.”
A little bit more fastening and clicking later, Beskyttende is attached to my back as well. Fortunately, the weight’s not uncomfortable - it seems like something I’ll get used to in not too much time. “You know, even with just this,” Ciamath comments, “you have the look of a hero to you.” Jamven nods in agreement. “Here, you can see for yourself - think I’ve got a mirror upstairs somewhere…”
Jamven brings the mirror down and leans it against the least weapon-covered wall in the building, then gestures to it. “Go on - I’m not getting any younger,” he jokes, then steps aside. I step forward with my eyes wide--
“...woah.”
I feel like a whole different person. With a couple of belts, a sword and a shield, I feel changed in a wonderful way. “I look good.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself, lass,” Jamven adds, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’m feelin’ generous, so let’s say… twelve gold pieces for this? Normally I’d charge thirty, but this was fun enough, and you’re a friend. Why not?”
I beam and, without hesitation, pluck the necessary coins from my coinpurse. “Here you go, then-- and you’re sure you don’t want anything more? I mean, I think I’ve got plenty…”
Jamven scoffs. “Pah! I’ll be fine, lass, but the thought’s nice.” He gives me a pat on the back, which I can feel even through my shield and sheathed sword. “You two just enjoy your stay in Minas Tirith - and next time you come through, don’t forget about me, eh?”
Ciamath leans against the counter. “We should be here for another day or two. We can stop by before we leave for a quick goodbye if you’d like.” I nod and add, “sure, let’s do that-- we can talk then. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like a plan, then.” He grins. “Well, better get back to the forge, I figure - steel ain’t gonna work itself!”
We say our goodbyes for the time being, I hang my coinpurse at my hip, then hop onto Ciamath’s shoulders and at last we head off on our way again.