Considering a Blade

Areka

Just a tiddlebit of forging nonsense inbetween OOC discussions on stats and random whacking-of-the-self to test balance times.

Within a large armory. (Enorian.) (29408)
This large, stone-walled building is well ventilated and looks out on the southern square with large panel-hinged doors, opening up the bustling space for air, light and access. Forges and work stations are spread throughout the structure, a-glow and bustling with the reparation and construction of armour and weapons, or various shoes and nails and tacks needed to maintain steeds and the nearby structure. Thick-skinned, muscular farriers and smiths work within the space, their practiced movements taking on a near steady rhythm of the industry of arms. A scattering of benches give room for those soldiers, guards and squires alike, to wait for fittings or finished goods. A sturdy iron forge stands here, cold and dark.

Serrice pokes her head in and peeks around before stepping into the armory proper, her steps soft and silent. Hands clasped behind her back, she makes her way slowly through the chamber, red-lit eyes sweeping her surroundings appraisingly.

Hunched over one of the work benches, Areka frowns as she skives a recently tanned sheet of leather, slicing away some of its thickness along an edge for seaming. Despite Serrice's silence, the hot fire-thickened air shifts, drawing your attention away from her work for a moment. "Welcome." The Azudim roughly states, side-stepping to finish a pass of her blade over the hide. "Pull up a crate and have a seat."

Serrice obligingly draws up a (heavier than expected) crate and takes a seat near the forge, though distant enough to not be in the way. "I wished to discuss the specific peculiarities of the blade I was ordering," she states, her tone crisp and formal.

You have emoted: Horned head bobbing in a slight nod, Areka straightens to stand at her full height and begins to fold the leather and set it and the blade aside. That done, the woman withdraws a sheet of paper from a stack and a narrow stick of charcoal from one of the little bins within reach. A grating scooting noise follows as the woman moves up her own crate, testing it for a few moments to make certain it will hold her weight before sitting in full. "Now, you said you wished for one of the narrow ones but with a guard. First let us discuss the build, then any aesthetic preferences."

Her coarse alto more animated than the norm, you say, "Do you wish for something fast, or damaging, or in between? Do you wish a two-handed sword or something more easily used with one?"

Using a pair of tongs, Katshkele, the Ogress blacksmith transfers a cooling piece of metal from the anvil to the heart of her forge.

"Two hands," Serrice replies firstly, raising her own before her and feigning a grip on lengthy hilt, hands spaced at least one hands-width apart from one another. They subsequently lower back into her lap, and she continues. "I require a balance," she shares. "A bit exacting - I believe I do have something to serve as a reference..."

Katshkele, the Ogress blacksmith pauses to mop her brow before continuing to labor over the anvil, her hammer rising and falling on a glowing piece of metal.

Serrice rummages about beneath her crate, in her kimono, at her waist, producing (from /somewhere/) a long sword, not grossly over-sized, but with a distinctively longer hilt. "Here we are," she states.

You say, "A reference would be useful. Do you wish for an exact balance, or the sort that Templar utilize when double-swinging? Such is a bit heavier than it is quick."

Serrice holds the sword, sheathed in a plain leather scabbard, by the blade and hilt and presents it to you. "I'd like it such as this, but heavier," she explains.

You have emoted: Wood creaks as the woman shifts upon her crate, protesting beneath her weight which draws a more reserved caution as Areka leans forward, setting writing implements aside to take the offered blade between her broad, calloused palms. The Azudim's lips draw into a tense line as she weighs the sword, slowly tilting it one-way or another and then examining it in the light to assess its quality. "Very well, that is doable." She concludes with a nod.

Areka adjusts her hold upon a Delosian bastard sword as she returns it to Serrice, soon reclaiming the paper and narrow bit of charcoal dwarfed by her large hands. "Now the form - single cutting edge, yes? Particular aesthetic you wish for?"

Serrice settles back on her own seat once the blade's passed over, demurely crossing one leg over the other and setting her hands atop one another in her lap, her lithe, svelte figure casting a long and slender shadow. "Single edged," she confirms, head dipping incrementally in acknowledgement. "I imagine you'll need to introduce some curvature into the blade, and such -- I'd prefer it could a suitable tip for thrusting, as well."

After a beat, Serrice, Black Fox says to you, "Nothing ornate. If you must decorate, something subdued and simple is preferable."

Smoke-marred and rich, Areka s alto raises again. "Very well. Are there any other constraints you wish placed? I will need to take some measurements before I begin."

"A guard would also be preferred," Serrice quips, lips twisting into a wry expression for a brief split second, before fading a way. She uncrosses her legs and rises, hands smoothing out her kimono.

As she in turn rises and withdraws a length of knotted twine from a pocket, you say, "Noted."

You have emoted: Areka leans to push her crate back under a work surface before approaching Serrice, saying, "Arms out." The twine is uncoiled and spread between both her hands, though one retains the piece of charcoal. "Unlike smaller blades which are more adaptable, larger ones need to be fitted to the bearer, as your reach and movements define its applied balance."

Once risen, Serrice stands straight and erect and lifts her arms, holding them parallel to the ground at her sides. "What if I were to change my size or shape?" she poses.

Beginning with the length of the arms from pit to wrist, then elbow to palm, you say, "Then it will cease being in balance, depending upon how drastic the change is. Such are the limitations of steel, though you could reasonably change the pommel to re-balance to a degree, with a greater or lesser weight."

You say, "So, I would advise not suddenly becoming an imp or terribly shorter than your present height."

Serrice waits for you to finish with the measurements to her arms before deftly slipping one into her kimono, fingers visibly manipulating something beneath the emerald hued fabric. A ripple of energy washes over her, leaving her... changed. Subtly.

As Serrice lays her hand upon a gem of transmutation, a ripple of energy washes over her, rapidly morphing her body into a male.

Voice a touch lower, a touch deeper, Serrice, Black Fox says, "What if like so?"

You have emoted: Areka's lips purse for a moment, sharp golden gaze passing over Serrice in a moment's assessment. "Such should be fine, so long as you stay within general proportion. It is not about bulk of muscle but reach of the blade in comparison with your body so that it does not become unwieldy or too difficult to control. Many only look to a blade's size and forget that they do not have the build to work it."

You say, "Though I would advise different armour if you find yourself in plate."

With something of a wince, you say, "Things just don't fit the same way."

"I'll keep that in consideration," Serrice replies, keeping still apart from the movement of her lips. "A two-handed sword is not similar enough like a dhurive or a rapier for me to properly extrapolate what the effects of this transformation might be," she goes on to explain.

You say, "Two-handed blades are much more momentum based and require..hmm...more from your whole form's synergy than a rapier at least - rapiers require footwork and balance but not the same harmony. I cannot speak to dhurives having never used one."

You have emoted: Areka marks her twine with a few smudges of charcoal before stepping forward again to measure further - this time for where Serrice's arms end in relation to his legs, and general width of the shoulders, though this bears two markers.

"A dhurive is a much lighter weapon overall, for one," Serrice begins to explain. "The gripping area is longer, the cutting surfaces shorter. The precision necessary is greater in my opinion - I would consider it a hybrid, necessitating exacting footwork and a firm understanding of balance and how to utilize your momentum."

You have emoted: Measurements made, Areka steps away from Serrice to her work table and draws out a stretch of muslin from a roll mounted under the counter, weighing it down on the table so that she can begin to trace out the needed dimensions for the proposed blade. "Though I remember a different aspect of momentum - larger blades can easily carry you if you are not careful." The woman muses. "Center of rotation, I think, is the different. Dhurive center is the center of the weapon, while a bastard's center is you."

"It would be rare for that to happen," Serrice concurs. "And if it would, you would be using your weapon in an appallingly inefficient manner." She relaxes and lowers her arms when you steps away, resuming her seat on the crate. She opts not to fold her legs over one another this time around, and her hands find purchases at the edges of the crate instead of her lap.

You have emoted: Areka offers Katshkele a nod as she steps past the ogre to prepare steel to form the crude base of a blade, enough to make several at once. Returning to her sketching, she nods. "Which is why I so strongly push for people to find blades that fit their build and ability. Too many think about what would look impressive versus what is really feasible or effective." A disapproving grunt follows the woman's words, emphasizing the the Trollish set of her jaw and how her lower canines just peak above her lip.

A noncommittal 'mmm' is all that Serrice offers in response from her place on the crate, the woman lapsing into silence once you begins working the steel in earnest. The woman earns her attention for a couple of minutes, but when it becomes clear that the forging process is necessarily repetitive, her focus shifts away. She idly studies her surroundings once more, as she did when she first walked into the armory.

Areka wipes the back of her hand against her brow as she steps away from the forge, offering Serrice the tangs of two tempered, but unfinished blades.

You say, "Feel these out and see which is close to what you wish for?"

Serrice takes one blade after another in her hands, the metal still warm to the touch. She gives one, then the other, an experimental swing, the steel whistling as it slices crisply through the air under her practiced hands. "This second one," she says, tapping the unhilted blade. "Something like this one."

-/The Azudim delves her attention back to the blades, utilizing the one selected as a starting point for another round of tempering. Finally she settles upon a naked blade and offers it to Serrice for a final examination./-

Handing back the tang, Serrice, Black Fox says to you, "That is satisfactory."

You have emoted: Areka bends over the forge as she alternates between cooling, refining, oiling, and polishing the blade, then working through the steps of securing the collar, a round disc-like guard, spacers, pegs and hilt into place, before finally finishing with a neat braided grip and simple endcap.

----
a single-edged, narrow bastard sword

Built for two-handed combat and precise, sweeping strikes, this weapon is deadly and elegant. Long and narrow, the blade holds a subtle curve and an angled tip for piercing, with the broader curve sharpened and honed to a keen edge. The folded steel's quality is read in the rippling lines of its tempering, down through the full tang which is encased in a $(dye$)-braided hilt. A round disc-like guard protects the hand from catching blades, its size easily fitting within the palm of a hand. The guard is a dark, sooty black with golden hues polished upon the raised images on its faces, depicting a stylized rendition of flourishing smoke or steam or air with particles of dust or ember filtering between.
----

You have emoted: Lifting the blade into the air to give it a final go-over, Areka turns to offer the weapon to Serrice. "Will this do?" She inquires.

You say, "I can adjust the dye in the braiding to whichever shade you prefer."

Serrice turns the blade over and over in her hands, examining it from all angles, before offering a reply to you. She searches out the center of balance of the weapon with a finger, runs her palm along the flat of the blade, and peers closely at both pommel and guard. "Black, if you would," she states as her inspection finishes, the woman passing back the weapon with due respect, bearing a look of satisfaction.