Let’s Make a Sword
Perseus(Inks) & Kincaid(Hare)
WC: 2,955
Perseus(Inks) & Kincaid(Hare)
WC: 2,955
The greatest thing about the Ruby Jewel, was not that it was the closest market to the Elatus Spiritus docks, or the constant traffic of foreigners with their business and imported good. No. What made the Ruby Jewel such a wonderful place to shop, and visit, was diversity.
From wares to services, the Ruby Jewel had a plethora of people hawking both. Their skills all ranged from poor to exceptional, and their goods more or less the same. But if you needed something, and had the exa to spare, you could find it in the Ruby Jewel. If not, it was said that no one in all of Araevis would be able to help you.
Thankfully, Kincaid roamed the market place with a very specific set of criteria. A few nights ago, while he celebrated his success at a local tavern, he had managed to get himself properly drunk. So much so, that he regaled the tavern with a story he brought over from Aridus. The story was completely made-up, but he had managed to be his usual charming self, and with a little help from the tavern entertainment, he’d woven together a heartfelt story of a tragic hero and his mighty sword.
The hero was forgetful, one of the many archetypes he’d read of while studying for the Society, but the sword... the sword he’d created was one of some practical use. In the story Kincaid wove, he had claimed the sword had the magical ability to blind the enemies of the true and righteous.
The next morning as he recovered, Kincaid thought over the story once again, and found himself enthralled with the idea of a sword so shiny, it blinded his foes. Though he didn’t particularly care for the whole true and righteous bit.
So taking what money he had, the thief had hunted down every smith he could find. Most of which turned him down, explaining to him that his designs were too gaudy to be made with their names attached.
Thankfully, as he’d moved closer and closer to the heart of the Ruby Jewel, the smiths began pointing him in the direction of someone who might be more inclined to help.
Perseus Artifex.
Kincaid had heard the Artifex name before, in passing, but he hadn’t realized there was an Artifex so close to his own business. The family was well known for their crafting, and Kincaid wondered if the man was indeed a member of the same proclaimed family.
After all, how could a member of a well known family be here in Terminus, and Kincaid only now have found out about them? So close to Semper Mihi.
There was only one way to find out.
Raising a hand to the door, Kincaid rapped his knuckles against the door’s face three times and waited.
While no answer seemed eminently forthcoming, the overly-large windows which framed the door had been thrown wide open, and someone could be heard moving about the building interior. Something – wooden, by the sound – clattered inside.
Silence dragged itself out for a moment, before a head of wild black hair appeared in the window, accompanied by a pale, freckled face and a set of mismatched eyes. The day was grey and overcast, and yet the young man in the window blinked owlishly at Kincaid.
The man’s left eye was a flat shade of dark grey or black, but the left was a vibrant blue, and if the thin white optic fibers and reticle in place of a proper pupil didn’t give it away, the eye’s faint glow left no doubt that it was a cybernetic enhancement or replacement of some sort. Aside from several pins holding his bangs out of his eyes, the man’s curly hair was completely unkempt and black as jet, curling around his ears and off the back of his neck. The young man had dark circles under his eyes, yet his gaze, as it fell on Kincaid, was wide and intense.
Perseus stared at the man for a long, long moment.
“...Yes?” he finally offered, his voice quiet and as blank as his stare.
Kincaid wore his usual attire, a plain button-up shirt with some extra around the cuff, a forest green vest that he wore over the shirt along with plain pants that had been dyed black and tucked into his turned-down boots. It was a rather dull look that made him forgettable in a crowd.
What was not so forgettable about the man, however, was the smile that spread from one side of his face to the other. He was so used to smiling that it might as well have been sewn onto his face.
A lot of people might prefer that.
“Perseus Artifex, I presume?” he asked. Even his words seemed to smile. A quality that might have been welcoming in most other people, but with Kincaid who knew? “My name is Duilius Fortis, and I’m looking to commision a smith. I’ve heard several people speak highly of you and your skill, and was wondering if you might not be interested?”
Perseus was every bit as blank as Kincaid was charming, and after Kincaid had finished speaking, the background chatter from the ever-bustling crowd moving through the Ruby Jewel moved into the silence left between them. The artisan tilted his head.
“Hm,” said Perseus, after a bit. Then, “No.”
He withdrew from the window, leaving the Fortis man to himself. He got halfway across his workshop, back to the potions he’d been mixing, when curiosity stopped him.
Before Kincaid had a chance to leave, Perseus’s face reappeared at the open window. “...What...sort of commission?” he asked. “Wait. You should be...inside. ...I should invite you inside.” the young man spoke in a strange manner – distracted, and halting – as though putting out words before he’d fully decided what he wanted to say. He turned away from the window, surveying his studio for a moment, and turned back to Kincaid to add, “You may come inside. If you’d like.”
Kincaid didn’t miss a beat, smiling a winning smile as he stepped past Perseus and into the other man’s abode. “So glad I piqued your interest,” he went on to say. Rather than waiting on the smith, Kincaid reached down into the satchel at his hip and pulled out a scroll.
Inside, the scroll detailed specifications for an enchanted cutlass. Kincaid held out the scroll for Perseus to take.
“Recently,” he began to explain, “I require protection, but simple armor and a hired hand won’t do. You see, I dabble in enchanting. Nothing to start making a living, but enough that I’ve grabbed the attention of some less than reputable people.
“I dislike fighting, but nonetheless I am versed in battuentis. In order to ensure my personal safety, I need a weapon that can help me. Something that will dissuade others from attacking me.”
If Perseus heard a word Kincaid had said, it didn’t show on his face as he approached the man and stared at the scroll he’d been offered. He looked at it for a moment, reached up, hesitated, then plucked it from the other man’s fingers. “Hm,” he said vaguely, turning his mismatched gaze on Kincaid for another uncomfortable handful of seconds. Then he turned the entirety of his attention to the scroll, moving off to one side and perching on a stool as he did so.
Unlike the building’s unassuming brick exterior, the inside of Perseus’s workshop stood as a testament to his own mercurial nature. Numerous ‘work stations’ comprised the entire ground floor of the shop – turning the space into a strange kaleidoscope of tradecrafts.
A makeshift smithy loomed in the far corner of the shop, marked by a massive furnace, several tables loaded heavy with half-finished metalworks, and rows of tools hung from the walls. A power hammer had been set up next to a traditional smith’s anvil. An engineering station dominated the corner of the room opposite the door, spanning several more tables; messes of circuitry and wires peered out from metal casements, and blueprints of varying projects had been pinned to the walls. Yet another table, tucked behind the tight spiral staircase leading up to a second-story loft, was covered in disassembled guns and unfinished gun mechanisms.
Perseus had set up an alchemy lab near one of the open windows, recognizable by the shelves and shelves of bottles and containers, all labeled in an illegible scrawl. One section of wall had been transformed into a makeshift herbal garden – a variety of plants, roots, herbs, and mushrooms grew out of glass jars and other planters which had been neatly affixed to the wall in careful rows.
The mid-room tables had been dedicated to cloth and leather-works, and the table nearest the door seemed to be entirely devoted to brainstorming; rulers, compasses, pens, pencils, inking quills and other tools cluttered three shelves that had been affixed above the table, and stacks of paper had been tucked beneath the table. A misshapen clay mug stood at the table’s edge, forming a coffee ring on a half-finished idea for some sort of compact audio recording device. Gas lanterns hung above every work station, although none were currently lit.
“No,” Perseus decided, even as he ducked beneath his table for a fresh sheet of parchment. He took a pencil in-hand and began scribbling, glancing from his own parchment to the scroll Kincaid had provided. “This won’t work. As is. There are...”
Perseus trailed off, intent on sketching out a rough approximation of Kincaid’s cutlass.
Eventually, he concluded with, “...You aren’t a smith.”
And with that said, returned to his writing.
“So glad you noticed,” the thief replied.
Folding his arms across his chest, Kincaid waited patiently as Perseus scribbled over his rough draft. As he waited, his dull grass green eyes began scanning the room and taking in the odd bits here or there. He was a mixture of curious and impressed as he noticed how many different crafting stations he saw crammed into the house.
Without looking from the different stations, Kincaid went on to say, “As I said, I dabble in enchanting. Most of my guesswork was done through very minimal research, and mostly tailored to my tastes.
“I have gone ahead and stated the base requirements needed for the enhancement process. Specifically the guard, though we are enchanting the blade, the guard’s design and the crystal at the center of the sunburst is quite important.”
Perseus quirked his head, but otherwise gave no indication that he’d heard Kincaid at all. He worked for another minute or two in silence.
Then, reluctantly, he asked, “Is this... ‘wire bucket guard’ referring to a basket-style hilt?” Pers paused, sketched a rough outline of the guard on another bit of paper, and held it up for Kincaid to see. “It is most...most suited for your design. I believe.
“I don’t know about the enchanting requisites, as...I...don’t. Enchant. It isn’t something I do, currently.” He struggled awkwardly through the explanation, turning his focus back down to the familiar comfort of his desk. “I will be relying on your specifications, in that regard.”
“Please,” Kincaid told the artisan, “put your mind at ease then. While I may not be the greatest mind where smithing is involved, I assure you my talent with Cantantus is sufficient.”
Stepping away from Perseus, and closer to the different stations (was this what an alchemy bench looked like?) Kincaid began browsing to see if his would-be smith had anything interesting lying around.
“The spell I will be attempting to enchant is known as Sunrise, and is particularly effective at blinding individuals as well as dispelling unnatural darkness. Normally, casting the spell would require,” the thief paused long enough to go through the motions of the spell’s glyph in the air, “that I write the symbol in a specific order. Additionally it would also require auritium pulveris.”
Standing up straight, and looking back at Perseus, Kincaid casually waved his hand through the air, as if dismissing these requirements. “However, I theorized that by incorporating the glyph somehow into a weapon I would be able to get similar results.
“An associate of mine confirmed this, but pointed out I would still require a gem and the glyph would have to meet two criteria. Firstly, it would have to be big. Noticeably so. Secondly, since I would not be using auritium to fuel the spell I would need a sufficient quantity of bigatium -- hence why the whole thing must be made of the same terra regia.”
“Hm,” said Perseus, tracking Kincaid with newfound interest, eyes unblinking.
“...I have bigatium,” he added, distractedly. “Enough. Enough for this project, at least. Provided your design is accurate, I should be able to...incorporate the symbol into the hilt, once I...” The craftsman’s gaze drifted, a far-off look in his eyes. Eventually, he blinked. “...once I get to that point,” he finished.
There was a stack of papers, sketches to not-yet-made items, sprawled across one table that Kincaid’s eye. He took it upon himself to move closer to the drawings (Outlines. Perseus was still working on some by the looks of it.) and started rifling through them. One stuck out to him amongst the pile.
Raising one eyebrow, Kincaid looked up from the papers when the craftsman finished and smiled, “Excellent. If you have any pulveris on hand, I can use that and repay you upon completion, along with a service charge as is only appropriate for this commission -- it’ll include labor, and compensation for me using up some of your space while we make the cutlass. Otherwise I can leave for the day and gather my materials while you begin on your end.”
Pausing here, Kincaid shifted his focus to the ceiling, and thought out-loud, “Hm. While the spell glyph is on the handle, along with the focus, the blade would be the outlet. That means treating the blade in volantis as well.”
He eventually brought his attention back to Perseus, saying, “I don’t suppose you have that on hand either?” Setting down the sketches, Kincaid reached for a blank leaf and found a pencil, before running through his own calculations. “Normally an enchantment like this would require only pulveris, but because I want to avoid having to recharge the spell and wasting pulveris every time, it means I have to make the binding a bit stronger... which might have interesting results.
“As for the design, it should be accurate. Any bigger and I’d be equipping it to some two-handed monstrosity. Any smaller and it wouldn’t draw enough attention from the spirits.”
Perseus watched the man paw through his belongings and write out figures with a blank, unreadable stare. Once he was sure Fortis was done talking, Perseus looked away. Back down at his own rough reworking of Kincaid’s sword design.
“Spirits,” he repeated, vacantly. Then, “...Yes. You can leave. If you need to. My stock of pulveris is...” gone; used when he was fixing PIA’s response systems, “...low. And the only volantis I have left. Is. Ah. Dahlitium.” The rest was currently simmering in various beakers and sitting in vials strewn across his alchemy table, the products of many, many failed attempts at recreating spellwork potions without the ability to work magic himself. “I’ll need...time to...time to create a proper blueprint before I start. So. I will expect you again...tomorrow.”
That said, Perseus turned back to his desk, took up a sheet of large, blueprint paper, and began to sketch, leaving Kincaid to find his own way out.
The thief made a courteous bow, but it was wasted on Perseus’s back.
Dull green eyes darted to the pile of papers, lingering just a little too long as he stood there, contemplating. Finally, Kinciad seemed to have made a decision, and turned to leave.
Presumably he would go out and buy all the materials that he needed. Certainly some of those materials would be bought in exchange for honest exa, but things tend to go missing from shelves of stores when no one is around at night. Stores that belonged to fat merchants, who sold their goods to men with too much exa.
But no one would know until the next day.