Fort Weyr - Smithy Repairs

Off the tunnel leading to the inner sections of Fort Weyr is this small smith shop. The entry area has been separated off from the forge in the back by a U-shaped counter, forming a nice little waiting area for customers. There are a few chairs there for sitting. The counter in front is covered in piles of papers: receipts mostly, standards paperwork, signed copies of things, and other bits of this and that. A plaque on the counter reads: In Living Memory of Jedrek, original owner/operator.
The forge itself is off to the right of the shop, carved right into the stone and has several anvils around it that the smiths uses to shape the metal against. There are a few different workbenches each with their own tools for different jobs, the one that stands out the most is the long one closest to the door. This one is covered in small metal parts and where the smiths usually sit to repair items. The left side of the shop's wall has many machinery parts hanging on it and some larger tools.
Towards the back of the left side of the shop is a staircase leading up into a private living area.

It's a nice cool day at Fort, but the forge is as sweltering as ever. Fellan is currently taking a break from the heat of the flames, out in front leaning on the countertop. The sweat on his brow and the soot that flecks his heavy leather apron leaves little doubt about how his morning has been spent thus far, even if he is sitting idle at the moment.

A nice cool day is quite welcome, given all the rain that has plagued the region lately. But then it would not be late spring and despite the grumblings, most folk know it's a necessary evil. So with the skies clear, many are out and about to enjoy it and the Weyrleader is among them. What brings him to the forges could be anything, but as his hands are empty and he's dressed in his casual riding gear (black and neutral, as always) it's hard to say. Stepping inside, he pauses for a moment to glance about the room, ignoring the heat. Spotting Fellan idly sitting at the countertop, Th'ero makes his approach. "Good afternoon," he drawls in a low tone, giving the young man a long look, more reserved than it is welcoming.

The rain, at least, is a break from the snow. Yet, it somehow manages to be just as chilling. At least the entry to the smithy is somewhat heated by the ambient temperature of the forge. Fellan looks up at the sound of someone stepping in, noticing the riding gear and the knot in short order. He stops leaning on the counter, standing straight and firing a quick salute. "Afternoon, sir. What can I do for you?"

Likewise, Th'ero is taking note of the knot Fellan wears as well and at the salute, he inclines his head with respect to acknowledge it. Standing straight as well, the Weyrleader looks a little tense, but borne only out of the bronzerider's old habits of never been at ease around folk in public, from idle chatter to simplest of interactions. Eventually he will relax, but for now he fixes the Journeyman with his gaze. "I am here to inquire on the status of the orders I put in earlier this sevenday." he states simply in his usual low voice. The paperwork should be about somewhere or perhaps it's already known. But the Weyrleader did leave an old short sword to be refurbished and balanced, as well as place in an order for some rather simple but elegant hunting knives. He's either here to collect or simply receive an update, but regardless he's silent as he awaits the reply.

The combination of turns in a weyr and turns in a crafthall have clearly left Fellan with something of a rigid respect for authority. There's no relaxing here, just quick respectful responses. "Yes sir. Let me just check that for you." He reaches behind the counter for a clipboard, flipping through the papers attached to it. Eventually he comes to the correct line and nods quickly. "Looks like everything's complete, sir. I can get it together for you if you like. Would you prefer them packed, or would you like sheathes to wear any of them out?"

Rigid respect for authority is something Th'ero can understand or at least note with well hidden approval. The quick, respectful responses are met with the barest of smiles as the Weyrleader simply waits patiently, hands coming to clasp over themselves in front of him. "Thank you," he replies, gaze dropping to eye the clipboard with idle curiosity. When Fellan confirms the readiness of his order, Th'ero seems a little surprised though it only shows through a lift of his brows and nothing more. "Prompt work," he remarks, sounding satisfied that he won't be leaving empty handed it seems. "The smaller hunting knives may be packed. The sword can be sheathed, if you do not mind."
Long distance to Thea: Th'ero eyes the birthplace.

"Thank you, sir." Fellan replies with just a tiny hint of pride at the compliment on the promptness of his work. "Don't mind at all, sir. I'll have that for you straight away." He moves back towards the storage area near the forge, carefully collecting the blades in question. A small box is found, and the knives are carefully packed to prevent them from moving in transit. A dark leather sheath of an appropriate size for the sword is also found, blade placed within. He returns, carefully setting both items upon the counter. "Here you are, sir. I hope it meets with your satisfaction."

The Weyrleader likely hasn't put two and two together, figuring Fellan to be the one behind the work. Th'ero remains quiet as the Journeyman moves off to gather the blades. Once they're settled upon the counter, he takes a small step forwards with hands already out to grasp the sheathed sword. While the gesture isn't meant to be rude, he does unsheath part of the weapon, turning it slightly in the light and regarding it with a critical eye before giving a subtle nod. The sword is sheathed again and as he begins to buckle it on, replies. "It does and my thanks." Glancing up once the weapon is secured at his side, Th'ero tilts his head a little, frowning slightly. "Is it your work then?" he asks, his tone neutral though he seems more curious then anything else. Idle chatter, perhaps?

Fellan doesn't seem to take anything as rude or surprising about the Weyrleader's eagerness to grab the sword and inspect the metalwork for himself. He just watches for a moment, as if rechecking his own work. "It is indeed, sir." He answers, another little note of pride in his work. "I make a great many blades. Mostly for guards and hunters."

Th'ero inclines his head again, noting Fellan's remark and speaking up again in a low but casual tone, which seems at odds to the tenseness of his posture. "You show skill with your Craft," he says by way of compliment, one hand coming to rest briefly on the hilt of his sword before falling back to his side. "Do you now?" he asks, sounding far more curious than before and makes no motion that he's finished with their business quite yet. "I am sure then that you get a fair amount of work," he murmurs. "Have you been posted here with Fort, long?"

"Thank you, sir." Fellan repeats, pride obvious in his voice again. "I do indeed. Blades are something of a specialty of mine, sir." He remains standing straight, resisting the temptation to lean on the counter again. "I've been posted here since shortly after I walked the tables, sir. It's been about two months."

"So I can see," Th'ero replies again, almost sounding amused but that couldn't be, right? The Weyrleader still remains aloof and a little reserved, no smiles save for the slightest of curving to his mouth. As Fellan discloses the time from which he walked the tables and was posted, the bronzerider quickly does the calculations in his head and he glances long and studiously towards the Journeyman. "I see," he drawls. "A belated welcome then and I only hope that your stay so far in Fort has been as easy going as a new posting can be." A slight pause then, a little beat of awkward silence as Th'ero weighs his options before continuing again. "No one you would consider strange or suspicious been placing commissions?" he asks, leveling the young man now with a serious glance. It could be a logical question for a Weyrleader to ask or perhaps not.

Fellan thinks for a moment on the question, frowning just slightly. "… No sir." He says, after some hesitation. "There was a… rather unpleasant woman who displayed a knife in the living caverns a few sevendays ago. I believe a dutiful member of the guard was required to subdue her. But her blade certainly wasn't my work, and I have had no suspicious or strange requests for commissioned weapons. All guards, riders, and known hunters."

Well this is certainly news to the Weyrleader! Th'ero's shoulders stiffen and his chin lifts ever so slightly as his frown grows heavy, glance focused entirely on Fellan now at the Journeyman's reported it. "I am glad to hear this woman was subdued before any damage could be done. And even if it were your work, I would not lay the blame on you for the cause of her actions…" Now his mind is at work, likely already factoring in a quick visit to the Guard barracks now when time permits. "I am also glad to hear that no one suspicious has approached the forges." Another pause, as Th'ero turns deeply thoughtful, glancing away and down for a moment. It lasts only a heartbeat, before the Weyrleader is reaching for the packed knives as well. "I would like to know more of this incident in the caverns, however. Would you have time to talk?" And walk apparently, as he gestures slightly with a tilt of his head to indicate they step outside again.

"I will certainly keep an eye out and make reports if there is any further suspicious activity that follows." Fellan says with a quick nod of his head. The nod is repeated at the request to talk outside. "Certainly, sir." He removes his soot-covered apron, hanging it on a peg on the wall before following outside the forge. "I'd be glad to assist in any way I can, though I believe the guard handled the situation quite well. She seems a very commendable and capable young woman."

Th'ero looks mildly surprised at Fellan's offer, but it quickly changes to a look of approval and followed by a brisk nod. "It would be appreciated," he replies, without going into further details as to why. Given the rumors and gossip, it wouldn't be hard enough to assume… but the Weyrleader is never clear with his motives. Waiting until the Journeyman is ready, he will then step outside and wait until Fellan has joined him again before moving on. Their path veers away from the road leading up towards the Weyr itself and without a word otherwise. "I am merely curious to know the details, if you can recall much of them," Th'ero does explain, glancing sidelong to the Smithcrafter. Slowly, their path seems directed towards the rocky foothills and yet nothing seems amiss. Folk pass them by with hardly a glance and the skies remain clear, the temperature quite chill compared to the warmth of the forges. Perhaps he is seeking some quiet spot to converse? "She?" he echoes, "The guard was a woman then? And the only one to subdue this knife wielding woman?"

Mountain Pass /^\^\ Fort Weyr - Rocky Foothills

The sounds of a forest grow quieter as the tree line starts to thin and lower, while the plants grow in sparse clumps of shrubbery. Audible now is the silence of the mountain terrain or the rush of wind sliding over the landscape. With the low lying valley of forest below, where a tavern, shops, and a camp have been built, there is a noticeable but gradual incline to the earth; felt here by those who walk the beaten path.
Rugged flowers dot the hills between the rocks and boulders which have fallen loose of the towering precipitous mountain sides. A mixture of tough vegetation roots itself in the stony ground, from long browning grasses to plants that sprawl over the surface of rock staying low to avoid the full force of the harsh winds which often blow.
There is a pathway cutting though the vegetation, obviously having been traversed greatly to make a thin trail of dirt where nothing grows. The path itself meanders itself through the rocky foothills toward the promises of the mountains. Stretching out ahead, are those looming castles of rock with their sharp pinnacles poised like regal crowns, hiding many wonders out of sight.

Fellan follows close behind the Weyrleader, not making any comment or question about the odd chosen path. He just continues to answer the questions put to him. "Yes sir. I hope I did not give you the impression that the situation was unduly serious. Allow me to explain, if I may." He clears his throat. "This… woman, the one with the knife… she showed up and made some very hostile, insulting remarks about the weight of a young man I was drinking klah with. I took offense and suggested she should have her breakfast elsewhere if she was going to be so rude. At that point she drew the knife, made a claim that she used to travel with renegades, and insisted she would say what she wanted to who she wanted. The guardswoman intervened and disarmed her of the knife, at which point she left the cavern. That was the extent of the matter. Quite brave of the guardswoman, if I may say so. Her name is Abbey."

Th'ero nods his head and allows Fellan to speak his part uninterrupted, listening closely even though his attention remains focused ahead. Their path winds up further past the Gemstone and towards the gradual incline where fewer venture at this time of day. "Abbey. Abigail?" The Weyrleader queries, though his tone is a little terse. The Journeyman's recount of the event has tipped off a few alarms in his mind and slowly the bronzerider is beginning to piece together who this mysterious knife wielding woman may be. Though by now the incident is long done and resolved and likely the main source of his anger and frustration. Mentioning the courage of the guard has Th'ero snorting softly in open amusement. "It is part of their duty. A guard has to be brave. She acted swift and promptly, as she ought to have done." Now he does peer over his shoulder towards Fellan, curiously perhaps or to gauge his reaction. As they step around the winding corner of the path, it broadens into a makeshift clearing, barely wide enough to house one or two dragons. Regardless, Velokraeth has settled himself there, fully strapped and even stunted as he is for a bronze, the quarters are cozy for his tastes. As the pair come into view, his oversized head swivels to regard them with a pointed look, mismatched eyes seeming to fixate on them with an unsettling steadiness that Th'ero pointedly ignores. "It unsettles me to know that such threats were made. I hope your companion wasn't too fazed by the whole ordeal?" he continues to press Fellan for a few more details, though their steps are noticeably slowing.

Fellan is keeping his expression rather carefully neutral when The'ro looks back. Still, he certainly seems to agree with his comments regarding Abigail. "Absolutely. To tell the truth, I think the woman with the knife was… well, she seemed all talk. I'm glad Abbey did what she did, but I wouldn't think the woman was a serious threat to Weyr security. Just a rude loudmouth with a high opinion of herself, if you don't mind me saying." When the bronze comes into view he pauses for a moment, greeting the dragon with the same salute he gave the rider.

"Most of the time, when folk are so openly threatening, especially with claims of being with the renegades, they are all bluster and no true threat. It's the quiet and subtle ones you have to be cautious of," Th'ero intoned gravely and with a faint smirk as he keeps Fellan pinned under his gaze for a few seconds more and then glances away to where Velokraeth rests. The pale bronze rumbles towards the Journeyman for the salute, oversized head dipping a bit. Shaking his head, the Weyrleader approaches his lifemate and carefully stores the packaged knives in one of the lower pouches on the straps. Even with this idle task, he has missed little of what Fellan has shared and turns again to face the young Smithcrafter, "No, she is not a serious threat. As you said, she was mostly rude and troublesome. However, I've heard no other reports, so perhaps her encounter with Abigail has dissuaded her from repeat offences." Another smirk and a low exhale. More work to do, it seems! "I hope this hasn't tarnished your view on most Fortian weyrfolk either. We're normally a respectful lot." he says slowly. All the while, Velokraeth remains focused on them too, though his head tilts a bit more towards Fellan then his own rider. Another rumble and this time Th'ero drops his gaze and subtly looks back at the bronze, before glancing back to the young man. "He wishes to know if you've ever yielded the weapons you fabricated, not necessarily in combat but in practice or if you are simply the artist?" Whatever that could mean. The bronzerider looks as puzzled as anything for the translated message.

Fellan shakes his head quickly at the question about his opinion of Fortian Weyrfolk. "No sir. I've had the good fortune to become acquainted with a good many members of your fine weyr. They have been friendly, kind, courteous, and pleasant. My opinion of your people couldn't be higher." He says with a quick nod. "I believe Abigail handled the situation effectively and there is no cause for further alarm. I hope my initial remarks didn't causr you undue worry." He considers the question relayed from the dragon for a moment before he replies. "My father taught me to use a blade, and I have regularly sparred and practice. To make a great blade, one needs firsthand experience in their use. But I have never employed one in actual combat."

Th'ero does smile this time, a very small and bare one towards Fellan's compliments. "Good." he replies simply and then promptly shakes his head. "No undue worry was caused but I do offer my thanks for your sharing of that situation. I wish I could have known it had ocurred… Regardless, Abigail acted accordingly and now that I know of this abrasive woman as well, I will speak with the Captain." he murmurs, thoughtful again near the end before drifting off into silence. It's broken by Velokraeth's low rumble, the bronze shifting a little where he rests as his stunted forearms uncross, stretch and then resettle themselves in the same manner. His gaze never wavers from the Journeyman until the pale bronze makes a strange chuffing sound, amused and laugh-like. Th'ero blinks for a moment, roused from his distracted state and giving Fellan a long, heavy and obvious once over with his eyes. "Well said and of course logically makes sense that you would have to have some knowledge. And be thankful if you never do," he says grimly, hand once again brushing up against the sword at his side. But rather then drop back to his side, he's reaching into his pocket instead and when it withdraws, there is a white knot held within it. "It would seem that you have stirred some interest not only in my opinion but his," And there's a nod given to a rather smug looking Velokraeth, "As well. It's refreshing to see a young man such as yourself with obvious respect and a sense of honor and a passion for their craft and work. So I'd like to formally extend the offer to Stand for Zuvaleyuth and Velokraeth's clutch." The knot is then held out slightly, the offer given and now the expectant pause.

Fellan looks rather surprised by the offer, taking a moment to process it. A small smile appears on his face briefly before he returns to the more composed expression he otherwise wears. "Sir, it would be an honor to stand. Your weyr is a lovely place full of wonderful people, and I have nothing but respect for the riders here. Yes, I will gladly accept." He reaches out to carefully take the knot before he stands rigid and salutes again. "I shall do my best to be a credit to the weyr during candidacy, sir."

Th'ero allows the knot to be taken with no protest, looking pleased and satisfied by Fellan's answer. "I am very glad to hear this," he says, not beyond accepting the compliments even if it leaves him a touch unsettled. A Weyrleader must have pride in his Weyr and there's no doubt that the bronzerider has much of it. But he has always been awkward in such situations. Clearing his throat, he gives another nod and a vague, lopsided smile. "That is one of the many things we ask of our Candidates. Now, you are free to finish the rest of your day with your duties of your position as it is now. I'd recommend informing your superior as well of your change in rank. As I have offered this to another Crafter, we do not discourage you from continuing your Craft when you can. So long as your duties as a Candidate are not shirked, you may resume work as a Smith as time permits." he explains, while Velokraeth continues to look as smug as a dragon can be behind him. "Any questions…" Here Th'ero falters and with a bit of a sheepish look, realizes he never once asked the poor man's name. "Ah, forgive me. We never went through greetings it seems…" Oops.

Fellan can't help but chuckle a little at that last point. "It's Fellan, sir. Very pleased to make your acquaintance." He spends a moment fumbling to remove his old knot, replacing it with the new white one. "I will inform my superior straight away, and I will make arrangements to continue my duties as a smith while also tending to my responsibilities as a candidate. I grew up in a Weyr, I am familiar with what will be expected of me. Shall I move my belongings into the barracks at the day's end, sir?"

"Well met, Fellan," Th'ero replies in turn while the knot exchanging takes place. There is a long look given then, when he mentions having been Weyrborn. "I see. Then I won't go into details of what to expect in adjusting then to life in a Weyr. And yes, that is the requirement. Once that is completed, you are to report to the Headwoman or one of her assistants. Tomorrow you will begin your new duties." Velokraeth has roused himself to his feet then, the bronze's wings rustling a little and his rumble now toned with impatience as he glances back towards Fort. The Weyrleader grimaces, something relayed privately. "It would seem I am needed elsewhere, so I will leave you to your tasks. Congratulations and clear skies," The farewells are a little hurried, Th'ero lingering long enough to give one final salute before turning to mount up with surprising swiftness. "If you need anything," he calls down, hand lifting in salute, "You need only ask. Good luck to you!" Then Velokraeth is kicking aloft, doing his best not to shower Fellan with too much loose dirt and grass as his wings sweep out and down in powerful strokes to bare them airborne and away.

'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.