Brokkrid felt tired and sore after working on the airship all the way here. She had traded a passage from New Haven all the way to Halo for working in the engine room, and had departed the ship with aching muscles and a pouch with two thin coins in it. Not even enough for a room for the night, she knew that she would have to barter for a room. As she traversed the taverns, each one turned her away until one, which was already bursting at the seams took her in, two coins for a hot meal, a scrub up in the morning, and she could have a spot in front of the hearth for the night. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was a far cry from freezing to death.
Brokkrid opened her bleary eyes to the prodding of the hearth-keeper and hostess that was trying to get to the dying fire. She moved her muzzy and sore muscles over and slept for a good solid half hour afterward, listening to the crackling mutterings of the fire until she finally awoke, took the hostess up on her offer of a bath, which she sorely needed, and worked for her breakfast waiting tables as their waiter had not shown up for his morning duties. He arrived a bit late, complaining that his mother was ill and received a sound thumping with the readily available wooden mugs that used to be filled with beer by the hostess of the inn.
Feeling that she had overstayed her welcome, Brokkrid bowed to the hostess for her generosity and made her way out into the mid-morning bite of Halo. She rubbed her hands together and set about setting up her makeshift and mobile forge. She petitioned for and bartered for some fuel and set up the shop with a piece of fire that she also borrowed from another smith. He said that she was just borrowing it, and to return the fire when she was done with it.
Looking strangely at him, she thought it was a joke, laughing until she saw the look on his face. The laugh turned into a rather awkward cough as she looked at the deadpan expression of the other smith.
“How in the gods’ names am I to return your piece of fire?” She asked, frowning at him. He took out an iron box with holes in it, and two handles and pointed to it, “Put the heart of the fire in here and return it to me when you’re done. No fire may ever be put out here.” He was so serious she dared not take him at his word, especially when he handed her the fire gently and carefully using the contraption and set her on her way. She returned to the makeshift forge, fanning the flame and feeding it the food that he had given her to keep it alive before beating her hammer on her small portable anvil.
She always used a form of this poem to bring in customers, and she hoped that it would bring some today, “Fire and forge is up for a day, edges honed razor fine, gone tomorrow but here today, a bit of your coin for a bit of my time. Worker of blades, hammer and flame, fine wares to sell for coin and fame, Brokkrid’s smithy is taking orders! Come one come all, before the day’s over!” She then went back to tend to her flame in her little forge, keeping it just hot enough that she would be able to work anything that came her way which needed mending. She had less wares on hand to sell, but would be trying to make custom orders here. Looking at the architecture, she expected that the more southern designs with their sensuous curls would fetch higher prices than the northern ones, rigid with hard and sturdy lines. Now all she had to do was wait for her first customer of the day.
Brokkrid opened her bleary eyes to the prodding of the hearth-keeper and hostess that was trying to get to the dying fire. She moved her muzzy and sore muscles over and slept for a good solid half hour afterward, listening to the crackling mutterings of the fire until she finally awoke, took the hostess up on her offer of a bath, which she sorely needed, and worked for her breakfast waiting tables as their waiter had not shown up for his morning duties. He arrived a bit late, complaining that his mother was ill and received a sound thumping with the readily available wooden mugs that used to be filled with beer by the hostess of the inn.
Feeling that she had overstayed her welcome, Brokkrid bowed to the hostess for her generosity and made her way out into the mid-morning bite of Halo. She rubbed her hands together and set about setting up her makeshift and mobile forge. She petitioned for and bartered for some fuel and set up the shop with a piece of fire that she also borrowed from another smith. He said that she was just borrowing it, and to return the fire when she was done with it.
Looking strangely at him, she thought it was a joke, laughing until she saw the look on his face. The laugh turned into a rather awkward cough as she looked at the deadpan expression of the other smith.
“How in the gods’ names am I to return your piece of fire?” She asked, frowning at him. He took out an iron box with holes in it, and two handles and pointed to it, “Put the heart of the fire in here and return it to me when you’re done. No fire may ever be put out here.” He was so serious she dared not take him at his word, especially when he handed her the fire gently and carefully using the contraption and set her on her way. She returned to the makeshift forge, fanning the flame and feeding it the food that he had given her to keep it alive before beating her hammer on her small portable anvil.
She always used a form of this poem to bring in customers, and she hoped that it would bring some today, “Fire and forge is up for a day, edges honed razor fine, gone tomorrow but here today, a bit of your coin for a bit of my time. Worker of blades, hammer and flame, fine wares to sell for coin and fame, Brokkrid’s smithy is taking orders! Come one come all, before the day’s over!” She then went back to tend to her flame in her little forge, keeping it just hot enough that she would be able to work anything that came her way which needed mending. She had less wares on hand to sell, but would be trying to make custom orders here. Looking at the architecture, she expected that the more southern designs with their sensuous curls would fetch higher prices than the northern ones, rigid with hard and sturdy lines. Now all she had to do was wait for her first customer of the day.
