Sandaren Zisiene


Zisiene ventures out to a new location in search of her favorite obsession. Sandaren gets a dose of Isie's sarcasm.


It is noon of the seventh day of the eleventh month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass. It is the thirty-seventh day of Autumn and 69 degrees. It is hot. Hot, hot, hot. Rukbat bakes the desert. Temperatures soar.


Vtol Swamp Hold

OOC Date 31 Dec 2017 05:00



Vtol Swamp Hold

This small hold is a solid bastion of stone in the midst of the murky wetlands of the Igen River. However, the constant moisture and verdant crawl of insidious mosses, vines, and clinging plants gives the place a distinctly decrepit and even creepy feel. Stone and dirt paths wind between trees and buildings with a seemingly permanent seep of water emerging between rocks and gravel, pooling stagnantly in any low spots along the way. Living fully up to it's name, the population of vtols in this swamp settlement is annoyingly high in the warmer months, and the hold Healers have made something of a specialty out of repellant salves, soothing lotions, and bite and sting treatments made from local flora. This is not a locale anyone voluntarily lingers at on a regular basis - unless one was born here. Or nearby.

It's a humdrum day in Vtol Swamp hold. The hot temperatures of the desert mix with the oppressive humidity of the swamp and together they're making life a living hell for all of the individuals who must suffer through it. Sandaren is suffering more than most, because in addition to the natural warmth, he's got a forge set up and is pounding away at iron that is happily cherry red. Sweat beads off of his skin to sizzle on the fires of the forge.

The play of shadows through the small hold gives the small figure plenty of cover as she slips quietly through the place. The humidity doesn't seem to bother Zisiene as she finally reaches a point where she has to walk in the open. The forge, and the man working it is her destination. The young woman has a weakness for blades, and she's wanting to see what this smith has to offer?

A good bang (but not that kind) is all that Sandaren has at this point. He's got a pile of metal rods on the forge and once they're in a squareish shape the larger hammer gets set aside. Instead he pulls out a different clamp. This snips through the metal (with a great deal of muscle help from Sandaren, and a blow from a smaller hammer give it a nice head before he tosses it into a bucket. Nails shadow, Sandaren's got nails.

Nails? Is that all? Zisiene steps closer, and peers at the man at his work. A moment passes, and then she gives a soft cough that may or may not be heard over the bang of hammer against anvil and metal, "I wonder, would you know who I would speak to about aquiring a new blade?" as though she doesn't have enough already.

Sandaren hears a few of the words and it's enough to bring his attention up for a moment from the sparks.A woman. Glancing at his rods a mental decision is made that they've cooled enough to need more heating and so they're set aside for a moment and he beings to peel off the heavy leather gloves that have protected him. Before answering there is thirst to be quenched and he snags a bucket set off to one side just for that purpose. Guzzling happens and then with water still dripping from his beard he looks down at the woman. "What was that you said?"

A deep sigh is given as Zisiene repeats, "I'm looking for a new blade," almost repeats. She almost repeats her previous statement. The woman starts to look as though she's ready to smack something, but she'll keep her frustration in check, "You wouldn't know who I should talk to would you?" well maybe him?

"Good for you." Sandaren wipes his mouth with a bare arm and folds his arms across his chest. There's an upraised eyebrow that hints that he doesn't follow what she is saying until she adds the final question. "Probably a trader. I've seen a few of them about. In particular this really short blond one with blue-green eyes." Now he's just shitting her and has zero problem with it.

Zisiene's eyes narrow as she looks up at Sandaren, "If I wanted that kind of non-sense I'd have stayed at the Weyr," she's accustomed to people not taking her seriously. She is, however, now tempted to drop one of her hidden blades into her hand, "I've a throwing knife or two that need replaced," no. No she doesn't. Zisiene just likes blades, and has quite a collection of them.

"Wonder, then I will not see you around." Sandaren is matching Zisiene's pertness with his own. Arms don't bend though he does glance at the iron on his forge. A few more minutes until it was a bight cherry again. "Are you lost trader? This is Vtol Swamp Hold. Not some sharding knife show. Only knives we've got are in the kitchen."

"Oh. So you aren't the best bladesmith in the area. My apologies," Zisiene says at her driest, and sarcastic best, "Though I've some skill at throwing kitchen knives as well," Isie's had practice at that. She starts to turn away, "Sorry to have bothered you."

"Not a very good trader are you?" Sandaren manages to lounge while standing up. Standing full days at the forge has given him quite a nice center of balance. Or maybe it's the heaving heavy things that does it? Regardless of that he'll keep needling the woman. This is the most fun he's had in a while~ "You got sold a bill of goods if someone told you there was a smith able to make a blade around here."

Zisiene spins, dropping a blade with a practiced twist of wrist. This is flung with deadly accuracy to thunk precisely into a tree not too far from Sandaren, "Keep it," said as she slips back into the shadows, and disappears.

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