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ViverFever

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  1. When Tirkas had posed his question, Demi had first taken it to be a slight; as if he doubted her as a warrior. It had been a knee-jerk reaction, as if she thought she had to prove herself to a stranger but if he had been a soldier too… Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge the intentions behind his question. Ducking underneath a branch, Demi moved her gaze from the path ahead to Tirkas, the gentle downturn of her lips and the slight furrow of her brow softening slightly. “Tirkas..?” She called after a small moment of travel. Quickening her step so that she was walking next to him, she turned her gaze to peer at the profile of his face. “I want to… apologize for earlier. My reaction, that is,” She stepped over a particularly dangerous dip in the earth as she looked to the path ahead of them. “When I was a soldier, I had many question my abilities because I am a woman. When I lost my arm, some said that I would not be able to do the things I do now without it. When you posed your question…” Demi paused, eyebrows furrowed. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, “I was the one to assume that you thought the same. I see now that I was wrong and I want to apologize for my earlier and quite wrongfully directed irritation.” Demi went quiet for a few moments as she walked alongside Tirkas, lips set in a thin line as she tried to think of what else to say. “Back in Coth,” She began, her tone one of curiosity. “Father Constans said you were a swordsman of considerable skill. Do you work for him, or for the church?” @Spooky Mittens @Ghorroj
  2. Whether it was working in her forge or taking a hunting contract from one of the Coth citizens, Demi had always been alone in her various adventures. To go from that to now traveling with a companion was a strange, but not entirely unwelcome one. Perhaps it was because his silence coupled well with Demi’s own quiet nature. Whatever it was, Demi found herself in a mood that was not as foul as she had initially thought as the miles stretched out between them and the village. Where Tirkas lead, she followed and the dirt road soon transitioned to the forest floor. She was not as quiet as the elven man, but her steps pressed down quietly enough to pass; she’d hunted in the forest before, with some success. Demi pressed branches out of the way, remaining mindful of where her feet stepped down as she walked. When Tirkas spoke, She looked up in his direction, an eyebrow raised, though when silence lapsed between them once more, she stayed silent. Demi stopped when he did, taking the moment to gently press the water skin to her lips for a small sip. She wondered if, by his questions, that he doubted her skills. Perhaps the father had not told him much of her, or her past, Demi wondered as she screwed the cap to her water skin back on, connecting it back to the side of her pack. “Could you take a life?” The question furrowed Demi’s eyebrows as she locked her gaze onto Tirkas’ own, her hand pressing thoughtfully to the hilt of her sword. It was a few long moments before Demi answered, straightening her posture and drawing her shoulders back. “In a past life, Sir Tirkas, I was a soldier. I enlisted into the army of a neighboring country; I served in their basic training, their advanced training. I served with a unit of whom I thought were good men and women at the time.” Her jaw clenched briefly as she talked, an old resentment flaring to life in her eyes. “But when war graced our doorstep, we were ordered to flee. I refused and helped those I could. “So when you ask if I can take a life…” She turned her gaze away from Tirkas to the treelines, her hard gaze softening. After a brief second of silence, she looked back to him. “Just because I am a monster hunter and a blacksmith now, does not mean that’s all I ever was. I am just as apt at forging armor and weapons as I am with taking lives. I just prefer it if those lives needed to be taken.” @Spooky Mittens @Ghorroj
  3. Demi couldn’t stop the small smile that graced her features, eyes turning to the Father with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She truly enjoyed the discipline that Constans showed in his station. Most men, were they in a similar position as Constans, would have shown little restraint in abusing that power but the Father showed no such inclination. “Tirkas?” Demi questioned, more to herself than to Constans. “The name is unfamiliar to me but if you can vouch for his skill…” She shrugged and curled her hand against her stomach as she leaned back against the workbench, “... then I have no complaints.” Her eyes shifted behind her to the pieces laid out and her shoulders raised in a soft shrug. “Something to replace what was lost.” She wiggled her amputated limb in emphasis and turned fully, grabbing one of the larger pieces. She held it out towards Constans for him to look at before she continued, “I’ve been fiddling with the schematics of it for a while. The pieces are easy enough to make and put together but I can’t quite come up with a method of how to get it to function like a replacement limb. Something I shall have to consult a physician for, no doubt.” Demi soon took the piece back from Constans and set it in it’s proper place on the workbench as a shadow passed through the door of her work shed. Looking up, she gazed to the owner of the shadow then to Constans. “I suppose this is the individual you spoke of, Father?” She questioned then looked up to the aforementioned man. She raised her hand in greeting, a soft smile on her face. “Greetings. No doubt Constans had already mentioned me but I am Demi. Apologies that I do not shake your hand.” She tucked her hand at the small of her back and gave the elf a small bow. “If you’ll give me a few moments to pack, we can head out.” @Vansin @Spooky Mittens
  4. With a singular nod of her head and a soft smile, Demi exited the shed. It only took her a matter of a few minutes to gather one of her better goblets and fill it with water before returning to the shed. She held the goblet gently in her singular hand, curving around the room to position herself on a chair close to the Father. When he lifted his hand, she handed the drink to him then held up her hand alongside his own. Her hands were the hands of a worker, of a warrior, with a mottled assortment of old, barely visible scars and rough skin. Curling her fingers, she lowered her hand to her thigh and shifted as Constans spoke, listening to his words with rapt attention. She had done jobs for the Father before, as she had done with the various towns people. To her, it was a way to pay them back for their kindness, among other minor reasons. Demi released a soft sigh and turned her eyes away from the father, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I can’t begin to imagine what the meaning is behind your dreams, Father.” Demi turned her eyes back to Constans then rose from her chair. Wandering over to where all the pieces of her newest project were laid out, she picked up a screw and looked at it, seemingly scrutinizing it. Twisting it in her fingers, she laid it back down after a few long seconds and picked up the piece she’d been working on before. She laid it out among the other pieces then turned, hand lingering on the surface of the worktable as she looked to the father. “You should know by now, Father, that you don’t have to ask if you need my help.” A soft smile graced her face. “Just point me in a direction and bide me farewell. I don’t know if you have in mind who this ‘one other’ person will be but I’ll help you, Father.” Her eyes turned down to her project, then back to Constans. “How soon do you want me to leave?”
  5. When Demi had been a child, the noise of the forge had always seemed so loud, from the roaring of the flames to the constant clang and grind of metal and stone. She had always been able to tell when her father was working by the various noises; she had been roused from sleep more than once by them but the older she became, the more the noises shifted. They became softer, easier for her to ignore and to dismiss entirely. She barely heard the noises at all now, in fact. It was like background music to her, something she heard but never really acknowledged. The forge was still loud enough to block the obvious commotion that collected outside of her home, however. Normally, had she not been surrounded by the loud noises of the forge, the fact that both the window shutters and the door stood open would be enough for the noise to filter into the shed. She’d be able to then hear the pluck of bard strings and happy chatting and would grow curious enough to put down her hammer and venture outside to see what all the activity was about. Instead, all Demi heard was the repeated clangs of her hammer in her ears and her own thoughts that circulated in her head. They were thoughts of measurement, idle mental tracings of the design pattern for her recent project. It was easy enough for her to get lost in the inches of metal and bits that lay in an organized position on the workbench, to focus entirely on curving the strip of metal she worked on now. Pulling on her lower lip with her teeth, Demi bent back with a soft sigh and looked at the metal strip, parts of it now curved. Getting the shape of it exactly right was the hard part, Demi thought as she twirled the hammer idly in her hand. A lot of her pieces were never this delicate, this precise. Given the design of it and its intended use however, it had to be perfect. Closing her eyes against the cool breeze against her neck, Demi released another sigh then went back to work, her hammer coming down on the heated metal with a clench of her jaw. Her hammer had come down a few mores times, the red metal slowly beginning to fade and cool, before she’d noticed a body had walked into her shed. Grey eyes raised from her work bench as she saw a shadow move from the door. Her hammer stopped when she saw who it was, eyebrows raising. She had met the prophet before, of course. She sometimes took jobs from him, sometimes ridding the countryside of some monster or villain that posed a threat to his little community. He and his followers had done much to help her in the past; the least she could do was pay that in kind in whatever way she could. Parting her lips to speak, she stopped when he motioned to her and smiled, turning back to her work. When he neared, she paused again, hammer laying flat against the half-curved metal strip. Her eyes watched his movements and at the flicker of green fire from his palm, her eyebrow raised in a silent question. The green fire washed cool over her hand, the glove only glistening with a green light as the fading red metal began to brighten and glow, silver turning white. The green flames were familiar to her and her eyes softened as she struck the metal. With the renewed heat, it was easier to curve the strip, to mold it into the half-curve she saw in her mind. By the time she had struck her hammer down for the final time and slid the metal into water to cool, half an hour had passed. A sigh echoed from her throat as Demi laid her hammer down, using her other arm to pull off the heavy leather glove she wore to protect her arm and hand. Turning to the father, she smiled softly and leaned gently against the anvil she'd been working on. “Apologies for the delay, Father, and I appreciate the help,” Grey eyes turned to the forge fires near her, hand wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead. “Made my project easier to finish.” Her eyes slid back to her and she bowed her head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Father? May I offer you something to drink? Had I known you were coming, I might have stopped to make my workshop a bit more presentable and less,” Her eyes turned to the stray bits of her project laid out on the workbench, "...like a disorganized mess."
  6. The metallic sounds of the forge echoed through the air, the sounds of hammering and fire accenting the occasional passing of breath as the woman within worked. She would occasionally pause to rest, to walk away from the fiery heat that filled the air and grab something to drink or snatch a slice of meat from the decently-sized hunk positioned over the open fire pit in the middle of the shed. She would place some meat over the fire at the beginning of the day and it would roast slowly, serving as her meals as the hours passed. Whatever her rest consisted of, it would only last for few seconds, enough to regain her strength before she set about working again. The building itself was situated at the edge of town, far enough away from local residences so that the sounds of metalwork wouldn't disturb the occupants but near enough that people could walk by and watch the dance of orange flames that flickered with green light. It was a small building with the largest part being the attached 'shed' that the noises echoed from. A sign listing the building as a blacksmith's workshop hung on the open door outside of the shed, swaying slowly in the gentle breeze. Demi had been around the forge and heat that accompanied it all her life. Raised by her father, Demi had begun learning the art of blacksmithing from an early age. She had always found a certain… beauty in the metal work, from the smelting of ingots, to the casting, to the forging of various equipment and had strove to be as skilled at it as her father. It hadn’t helped that, as a little girl, she’d been mesmerized by the flames that would spout from the forge whenever her father worked. Although it didn't do so now, the dance of orange flames tinged by green light had done wonders to excite the fantasies of her then child-like imagination, as if her father were taming a giant, metal dragon that spewed out green and orange flames... Blacksmithing wasn’t the only thing Demi had ever done in her life. It was a passion, to be sure, and one that she followed to honor the life and passion of her father, but it wasn’t the only thing she did. At one time she had been a soldier of another province’s army and her body showed it, from the tone of her arms and legs to the flat of her abdomen. While she was no longer a soldier her current ‘occupation’, along with her artistic talents, helped her maintain that same muscular tone. As a soldier, her hair had been once been cut short, shorn to a small buzz on her skull. Now however, the thick, jet-black tresses trailed down to just below her shoulders, typically styled into a low tail or a braid, as it was now. Her eyes were grey and her skin was pale and accented with scars, both from swords, teeth, and claws alike. Demi was a warrior and if the scars didn’t show it, it would be that her right arm ended at the elbow. Straightening from her hunched position over the anvil, Demi removed her glove and wiped the back of her hand across her brow, lips pursed slightly in a sigh of mild exhaustion. She’d been at the forge since early in the morning and had it not been for the fact that she had naught else to do that day, she might have stopped for the day. For Demi, it was either work or do nothing… and Demi had always had a rather hard time doing ‘nothing’. In this case, it wasn’t so much her making something just for the fun of it as it was something she’d had the mindset of making for a while now. Right now it was just a mess of leather straps, metal gears, screws, and other bits of miscellaneous metal bits but she hoped that soon she might see the piece in life as she saw it in her imagination.
  7. Hi, there! Please accept a complimentary snake. 🐍

  8. Welcome! 

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