[Note, if you think you'll have a chance to run across this spot, PM me. I just felt like I needed to have some sort of solid backstory for Thomas' arrival, so I'm prepared to run solo here for a while.]
Far outside of town, ten minutes' walk through dense forest from the nearest road.
Thomas arrived on his plot of land exhausted and more than a little infuriated, hauling a backpack piled high with supplies, "Three days from Londium’s Reach, my ass." He stumbled over a half-buried rock, "Nutter's probably laughing his ass off now." His benefactor had described the path to this plot as a fraction of the distance away that the young man had traveled, though at least with accurate landmarks. There was no mistaking it for another as Thomas climbed over the ridge and laid his eyes upon the shack he was promised.
Tattered by time and the elements, the half-collapsed shack had the good fortune to keep the placard side of the front door-frame standing to label the three-room pile as the former Winsboro Manor. There was no mistaking it for another, this was the land Thomas was given. The remaining half of the damaged building looked unstable and far less than water-tight, as several small plants had grown their roots into the softened clay roof-tiles and assorted leaf-litter that had become thick upon the structure's roof.
Thomas took grasp of a young tree on the edge of the ridge and used it as a support to climb down to more level ground a bit safer. Walking up to the strongest wall of the structure, he looked into the window in time to see a red fox scurry out of sight into a hole in the floorboards, "Well... balls." He leaned on the windowsill, frowning and trying to make the best of the situation. Life had handed him lemons yet again. He closed his eyes and sighed. It was a good site at least, set on solid stone and within line of sight of a quick-running though muddy stream which disappeared into an overgrown thicket. That area would have to be cleared out, but there wasn't anything here a bit of hard work wouldn't fix.
"Sorted." He stood up straight and dusted the rotting wood fragments from the front of his tunic and set his over-sized bag on the ground, muttering to himself, "Nothin' to do but to do it." He pulled the hammer from his side and stepped through the glassless window. The floorboards cracked and splintered under Thomas' boots, threatening to give way and leave the man wading shin-deep in the cross-boards that made up the structure's remaining floor framework. Balancing precariously on the strongest bits of wood he could find, he made his way through the building’s most intact room. Rope mostly rotted away, a few rusted metal fittings that may have at one point been used for hanging trophies or tools on the wall, the remains of a bed that had collapsed the floor it once stood upon and a few bits of moldy leather that might’ve once been boots, not much was left of the previous owner’s belongings. Thomas grabbed the rope and appraised the condition of the weather-bleached wood that made up the tattered bedframe, “Junk.” He muttered to himself as he poured over the rest of the room, flipping over a few boards to reveal new types of fungus and insects he couldn’t name.
The chest of drawers in the corner had long since ceased to be a chest so much as a heap, its contents coated with a fine layer of moss and shelflike fungus. Thomas frowned at the mess and poked at it with his foot. A buzzing noise queued him to back up as a few hornets buzzed about angrily, searching for the intruder to their home. Thomas skirted back, not wanting to get stung, but in the process found a soft patch of floor which swallowed his foot and twisted his ankle awkwardly, “Shit! Motherf-RRRRR!” he gritted his teeth from the pain and stood still for a moment to catch himself from making the situation worse. A few deep breaths later, he took a seat on the damp, spongy floor and took a minute to pry his foot free from the structure’s wooden grasp. His thick pants had saved him from the worst of the damage, but he had a good set of red lines all the way up to his shin and his weak ankle was twisted.
“Okay.” He rubbed the now swelling ankle, deciding to take it easy until he’d gotten some rest. With a sigh, he focused the pulse of his body towards his ankle, pushing the magic that flowed freely through his veins to heal the minor injury. The shelter of the room would be fine for the night if not for the wild animals that had obviously, he’d have to build something temporary as soon as he could. Some of the inner walls here could be reused to protect against the elements for a while at least. The bed had some metal bits that could be pried off and reused as well, but Thomas would need tools to start building anything. The trees in the area were good for timber and there was a clay deposit Thomas could sense somewhere nearby, likely washed here by the stream that cut through the property. He could also sense a shadow in the earth that might indicate a sinkhole danger or a cave system that merited investigation before he started building.
Standing up and brushing himself off, he went over to the window and climbed over the windowsill to exit the crumbling structure, careful to not re-injure his still tender ankle. He grabbed the hatchet from his bag and started looking for good, sturdy saplings or branches close to the ground that would make for a decent framework for a temporary shelter. He lopped a few good selections off and between those, the usable bits of rope, a few borrowed planks from the fallen building and few salvageable nails, he put together a respectable lean-to shelter in the shadow of the ridge.
The Fire Muse Forge
-
TheForgewright
- Outsider
- Posts: 8
- Joined: Sun Aug 21, 2011 8:42 pm
- Name: Thomas Forgewright
- Race: Human
-
TheForgewright
- Outsider
- Posts: 8
- Joined: Sun Aug 21, 2011 8:42 pm
- Name: Thomas Forgewright
- Race: Human
Re: The Fire Muse Forge
[And with this post, I begin my hunt for a RP to hop into. If anyone’s interested, let me know.]
With a decent shelter free of wildlife built, Thomas faced a debate of whether or not to build a fire. He didn’t have much as far as food on him, so he didn’t need to worry too much about wild animals, but there were other, less natural creatures that might be kept at bay by the fire, and yet more that might be attracted by it. Taking a seat to think it over, he pulled out one of his last bean-filled pastries; filling and cheap travel food that he had encountered on his travel to the thar. Grazing on the bit of food, he looked at the pile of rotted wood and earthwork that was at one time a modest cottage. There were spots already chiseled out of the solid rock for support beams, though the original beams would have to be replaced, and it looked like part of the structure had collapsed into something, maybe a stairwell that led to a cellar? He felt the ground in that direction and noticed a small shadow. If it was a cellar it was small, perhaps the size of a large coat-closet and deep to boot, chiseled at least ten feet into solid stone.
Thomas licked his fingers to get the last bit of buttery-flavor from the pastry’s crust off of them, no doubt tasting more dirt from his hands than anything else. He took a drink from his waterskin and cleaned his hands on his pant-legs which almost assuredly made his hands dirtier than they already were, “Awright, lessee.” He decided that a fire would be a good idea. If something troublesome found him he’d have to rely on a show of force to drive it off, but his chances of having to deal with mundane dangers would be minimized. Leaving his bag in the lean-to structure, he took his hatchet and went back towards the cottage. Most of the boards that made the outer structure were dry and bleached to a point of brittleness that a single swing each splintered most of them to the point that they could be pried loose. Firewood was about all that the cottage was worth now, anyway and it’d have to be disposed of otherwise.
With a decent number of planks, Thomas needed something more substantial to be able to burn the whole night. In the middle of the collapsed main room, a support beam was propped up, partially supported and partially buried in the rubbish. Nearly a foot thick, Thomas couldn’t use the hatchet to easily break through the beam, but there was a cracked part at the end which looked like it could be pried free from its structure. Climbing carefully over the ruins, Thomas took his hammer from his side, reared back and struck the exposed side of the beam. The whole thing bucked from the impact, making the boards Thomas stood upon shift dangerously, “Whoa-bugger all!” He barely kept himself from falling onto sharp bits of wood by propping himself up on the support-beam’s lower portion. The piece that Thomas was after was held now only by splinters. With a firm tug, the piece of released itself. It was a decent log and would burn most of the night.
Turning around prize in hand, he went back towards his shelter with a grin. That smile faded quickly when he saw his arch-nemesis. The red-furred bandit sat there by his bag, a bean-pastry in its greedy maw and the contents of the container scattered about, “Freaking fox!” with a mighty heave, Thomas chucked the log at the critter but the hunk of wood fell a few feet short and rolled slowly enough that the fox easily skittered out of danger, leaving the pastry with a sizable bite taken out of it. Thomas walked up and grabbed the bean bun, “Fine, okay. Let’s do this.” He grabbed a plank from the pile he had collected and looked around. There were no sizable rocks to create a deadfall trap near the cottage, so he grabbed a few more planks and the coat hooks from the bedroom. With a muttered curse, he turned his magic on the metal bits in his hands, taking care to conceal the actual change from anyone that might be watching by placing his hands in his bag as if digging around. He focused his magic on the steel, forcing it to re-arrange itself into a short coil of fine annealed wire. He twists the end to create a loop and threads the end of the wire through it, making a tiny noose. With a bit of work on a section of the fallen house, he made a little cubby-hole whose only entrance had the noose about it. With the partially gnawed upon bean bun in place, any disturbance would set the pile of rubbish tumbling. If Thomas’ plan worked as planned, the fox would be caught in the noose by having to reach in and then get crushed by the falling wood. For good measure, he carefully balanced a decent sized rock on top of it all, “Sorted.” He nodded at his crude but hopefully effective craftsmanship. Now out of food, Thomas was hoping for a fox dinner tomorrow.
Thomas shaped his fire pit just downwind of his lean-to. He placed stones around its perimeter and built a decent starting structure out of the planks in a sort of teepee with scraps in the middle. He looked about to be sure no one could see his work before lighting it. The heart of the pile of wood started without aid of flint and steel, quickly turning the timber into a decent fire. With the sun fading, Thomas took his bedroll off his pack and spread it out and hung his bag on a tree branch out of reach of most animals that might scatter its contents about in hunt for the smell of food that still likely lingered on the material of the bag. In the morning, he planned to head out to town for supplies. His mentor had left him with enough gold to scrape out a start for himself, but only just.
Lying down and starting a mental checklist, Thomas held his hammer close. He’d need a bit of scrap plate to get his forge started, a good working set of hammers, some bricks, a hundred pounds of coal would work to start out, a lantern and some oil, food of course… he started wondering if he’d have enough time to stop by a pub and meet the locals, as well. After all, he’d be relying on their business to survive once his coin ran slim. Thoughts of building and beer cycling in his head, Thomas shoved the large log onto the fire and fell asleep.
With a decent shelter free of wildlife built, Thomas faced a debate of whether or not to build a fire. He didn’t have much as far as food on him, so he didn’t need to worry too much about wild animals, but there were other, less natural creatures that might be kept at bay by the fire, and yet more that might be attracted by it. Taking a seat to think it over, he pulled out one of his last bean-filled pastries; filling and cheap travel food that he had encountered on his travel to the thar. Grazing on the bit of food, he looked at the pile of rotted wood and earthwork that was at one time a modest cottage. There were spots already chiseled out of the solid rock for support beams, though the original beams would have to be replaced, and it looked like part of the structure had collapsed into something, maybe a stairwell that led to a cellar? He felt the ground in that direction and noticed a small shadow. If it was a cellar it was small, perhaps the size of a large coat-closet and deep to boot, chiseled at least ten feet into solid stone.
Thomas licked his fingers to get the last bit of buttery-flavor from the pastry’s crust off of them, no doubt tasting more dirt from his hands than anything else. He took a drink from his waterskin and cleaned his hands on his pant-legs which almost assuredly made his hands dirtier than they already were, “Awright, lessee.” He decided that a fire would be a good idea. If something troublesome found him he’d have to rely on a show of force to drive it off, but his chances of having to deal with mundane dangers would be minimized. Leaving his bag in the lean-to structure, he took his hatchet and went back towards the cottage. Most of the boards that made the outer structure were dry and bleached to a point of brittleness that a single swing each splintered most of them to the point that they could be pried loose. Firewood was about all that the cottage was worth now, anyway and it’d have to be disposed of otherwise.
With a decent number of planks, Thomas needed something more substantial to be able to burn the whole night. In the middle of the collapsed main room, a support beam was propped up, partially supported and partially buried in the rubbish. Nearly a foot thick, Thomas couldn’t use the hatchet to easily break through the beam, but there was a cracked part at the end which looked like it could be pried free from its structure. Climbing carefully over the ruins, Thomas took his hammer from his side, reared back and struck the exposed side of the beam. The whole thing bucked from the impact, making the boards Thomas stood upon shift dangerously, “Whoa-bugger all!” He barely kept himself from falling onto sharp bits of wood by propping himself up on the support-beam’s lower portion. The piece that Thomas was after was held now only by splinters. With a firm tug, the piece of released itself. It was a decent log and would burn most of the night.
Turning around prize in hand, he went back towards his shelter with a grin. That smile faded quickly when he saw his arch-nemesis. The red-furred bandit sat there by his bag, a bean-pastry in its greedy maw and the contents of the container scattered about, “Freaking fox!” with a mighty heave, Thomas chucked the log at the critter but the hunk of wood fell a few feet short and rolled slowly enough that the fox easily skittered out of danger, leaving the pastry with a sizable bite taken out of it. Thomas walked up and grabbed the bean bun, “Fine, okay. Let’s do this.” He grabbed a plank from the pile he had collected and looked around. There were no sizable rocks to create a deadfall trap near the cottage, so he grabbed a few more planks and the coat hooks from the bedroom. With a muttered curse, he turned his magic on the metal bits in his hands, taking care to conceal the actual change from anyone that might be watching by placing his hands in his bag as if digging around. He focused his magic on the steel, forcing it to re-arrange itself into a short coil of fine annealed wire. He twists the end to create a loop and threads the end of the wire through it, making a tiny noose. With a bit of work on a section of the fallen house, he made a little cubby-hole whose only entrance had the noose about it. With the partially gnawed upon bean bun in place, any disturbance would set the pile of rubbish tumbling. If Thomas’ plan worked as planned, the fox would be caught in the noose by having to reach in and then get crushed by the falling wood. For good measure, he carefully balanced a decent sized rock on top of it all, “Sorted.” He nodded at his crude but hopefully effective craftsmanship. Now out of food, Thomas was hoping for a fox dinner tomorrow.
Thomas shaped his fire pit just downwind of his lean-to. He placed stones around its perimeter and built a decent starting structure out of the planks in a sort of teepee with scraps in the middle. He looked about to be sure no one could see his work before lighting it. The heart of the pile of wood started without aid of flint and steel, quickly turning the timber into a decent fire. With the sun fading, Thomas took his bedroll off his pack and spread it out and hung his bag on a tree branch out of reach of most animals that might scatter its contents about in hunt for the smell of food that still likely lingered on the material of the bag. In the morning, he planned to head out to town for supplies. His mentor had left him with enough gold to scrape out a start for himself, but only just.
Lying down and starting a mental checklist, Thomas held his hammer close. He’d need a bit of scrap plate to get his forge started, a good working set of hammers, some bricks, a hundred pounds of coal would work to start out, a lantern and some oil, food of course… he started wondering if he’d have enough time to stop by a pub and meet the locals, as well. After all, he’d be relying on their business to survive once his coin ran slim. Thoughts of building and beer cycling in his head, Thomas shoved the large log onto the fire and fell asleep.
-
TheForgewright
- Outsider
- Posts: 8
- Joined: Sun Aug 21, 2011 8:42 pm
- Name: Thomas Forgewright
- Race: Human
Re: The Fire Muse Forge
[And I return from school kicking my rear! Didn't want to get halfway into a thread and drop out due to insanity, but I'm free now so I'm starting my search]
Thomas woke periodically to noises in the darkness, taking a moment here or there to prod and toss a few sticks onto the fire. By morning he had gotten a few solid hours sleep, and that was a fair bit more than he'd gotten over the last night. Still tired, he shook his head to rouse himself, "Ruddy 'ell." He rose to his feet, scraping his arm on the roof of his small lean-to. With a grumble, he dug out his waterskin, taking a long drink, noting that the deadfall trap he had placed the night before had not caught a fox, though the bean-filled pastry he had used as bait was still present. He walked around the house once more and spotted a half-buried footlocker that had somehow escaped the worst of the elemental exposure. Shoving a pile of debris aside, he hauled out the heavy wooden and metal case. He kicked the lid open to find old moldy papers plastered to the bottom of the chest. Heaving it over, Thomas dumped the contents of the footlocker and put his few valuables that would remain here inside. With a mutter and a touch to the clasp of the box, the lack of a lock became a moot point as the metal fused, sealing the chest to anyone not willing to break it open. He shoved the footlocker back into the rubble, placing a few large pieces of debris over it.
Picking up his bag, Thomas walked down to the small stream to wash his face. Scrubbing his beard free of the dirt that had found its way there over the course of the night, he spotted something moving its way slowly against the current. Refilling his waterskin, he squinted his still sleep-addled eyes to focus, "Well... the hell's that?" The river-crab was not making fast progress and found itself abruptly grabbed and lifted out of the water. Thomas held the creature up, ignoring the pincers that were desperately clawing at his hand for the crayfish's release. Noting the presence of life in this stream, Thomas held the creature under the water and let it loose a little closer to its goal than it had started.
Putting out his fire and with a quick look over his camp, Thomas set out towards town. He had enough gold to get tools and supplies, but only just. He had a feeling that since his situation was not as favorable as had been told him, he may run shy of his mark. Running numbers in his head of necessities and approximate costs, he promptly disregarded the thought process in favor of other more favorable ones such as wondering if the pubs served decent food and whether he'd take a night's rest in an inn, seeing as he'd have so many nights of resting on the forest floor in the future. Finding the road between Shim and Marn, he headed towards the city, humming to himself.
Thomas woke periodically to noises in the darkness, taking a moment here or there to prod and toss a few sticks onto the fire. By morning he had gotten a few solid hours sleep, and that was a fair bit more than he'd gotten over the last night. Still tired, he shook his head to rouse himself, "Ruddy 'ell." He rose to his feet, scraping his arm on the roof of his small lean-to. With a grumble, he dug out his waterskin, taking a long drink, noting that the deadfall trap he had placed the night before had not caught a fox, though the bean-filled pastry he had used as bait was still present. He walked around the house once more and spotted a half-buried footlocker that had somehow escaped the worst of the elemental exposure. Shoving a pile of debris aside, he hauled out the heavy wooden and metal case. He kicked the lid open to find old moldy papers plastered to the bottom of the chest. Heaving it over, Thomas dumped the contents of the footlocker and put his few valuables that would remain here inside. With a mutter and a touch to the clasp of the box, the lack of a lock became a moot point as the metal fused, sealing the chest to anyone not willing to break it open. He shoved the footlocker back into the rubble, placing a few large pieces of debris over it.
Picking up his bag, Thomas walked down to the small stream to wash his face. Scrubbing his beard free of the dirt that had found its way there over the course of the night, he spotted something moving its way slowly against the current. Refilling his waterskin, he squinted his still sleep-addled eyes to focus, "Well... the hell's that?" The river-crab was not making fast progress and found itself abruptly grabbed and lifted out of the water. Thomas held the creature up, ignoring the pincers that were desperately clawing at his hand for the crayfish's release. Noting the presence of life in this stream, Thomas held the creature under the water and let it loose a little closer to its goal than it had started.
Putting out his fire and with a quick look over his camp, Thomas set out towards town. He had enough gold to get tools and supplies, but only just. He had a feeling that since his situation was not as favorable as had been told him, he may run shy of his mark. Running numbers in his head of necessities and approximate costs, he promptly disregarded the thought process in favor of other more favorable ones such as wondering if the pubs served decent food and whether he'd take a night's rest in an inn, seeing as he'd have so many nights of resting on the forest floor in the future. Finding the road between Shim and Marn, he headed towards the city, humming to himself.