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Tristan Black, Kastalian Blacksmith


NameTristan Black
SpeciesHuman
ClassSal
Age29
GenderMale (He/Him/His)
PlayerSparrow
TimezoneWestern U.S. UTC -6
#1

I’ll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell should bar the way




It was a musty morning in Kastali City. The streets were damp from the rainfall that had rolled in during the night prior and even though the steady drizzle had ceased before dawn, the morning sunrise had done nothing but make the air thick and muggy. Despite the humidity that plagued the city people were still determined to go about their business, the streets of the market district already bustling with a considerable amount of moving bodies and conversational din. It would only grow busier as the day wore on, the noon hour a terrible rush for the locals hoping to catch the last dredges of a sale or two.

For his part, Tristan wanted absolutely nothing to do with the crowds on that particular day yet he still found himself out and about that stifling air regardless. He’d definitely given it some thought of remaining back within the mediocre silence of the tavern he’d been staying at, preferring the quiet rented room to the ridiculous throng that could be Kastali City, but staying cooped up wouldn’t help him. It wouldn’t let him cope. Hiding from the world didn’t solve problems, as much as he wished it did.

Dressing with the eventual warmth of the day in mind, the brunette departed the tavern after breakfast wearing a threadbare cotton shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a pair of well-fitting trousers, and an equally worn pair of leather boots. The burnished silver feather pendant rested against his chest beneath the fabric of his shirt, safe from the view of prying eyes. A dagger was secure upon the belt at his hip, and a satchel was slung over one shoulder, its contents rather abysmal at best.

Walking the streets and dodging pedestrians, Tristan simply ambled for awhile with no destination in mind. Instead he only glanced down the occasional alleyway, browsed various vendor wares, stared longingly at the items he couldn’t even hope of affording while passing by a number of shops, and made small lists of things he occasionally remembered to pick up.

In reality, he was stalling, avoiding the far side of the market district. There was something that he desperately needed to do, but something was holding him back. Or it was more like someone, and that person was himself.

It’s what Marthul would have wanted.

No matter how many times those words repeated themselves in his head, over and over until they began to sound funny, Tristan had a terrible time believing them. It was a foolish doubt, if he were being honest. When the man passed away he hadn’t made anything ‘official’, hadn’t listed Tristan as his ‘next of kin’ or whatever the process was. The smithy had gone up for sale and he had been booted out onto the street. Since the smithy had gone up for sale, the young man had wandered by it almost every day, or at least every other day, fighting with himself if he should go for it, and every single time his mind reminded him of that same fact;

It’s what Marthul would have wanted.

Without knowing it his feet took him across the district and to the doors of the smithy. The stone structure was just as he remembered, the overhang to the left of the shop dark and cold without the burning smelter and forge itself to keep it bright and warm. Tristan knew that the interior was surely the same as he had last seen it; surprisingly barren, for Marthul was the furthest thing from materialistic. Every tool was probably in its place, every ingot or scrap of leather remaining for the next individual who would pick up the hammer and serve the community as one of Kastali City’s blacksmiths.

His heart jumped. ’I want that’,’ he realized quite suddenly, the doubts still remaining, the anxiety that he wouldn’t be good enough, that he would besmirch Marthul’s memory and legacy almost enough to make him back down and return to the tavern with his tail between his legs. Yet he didn’t. Not this time. Glancing left and right down the stone road and watching as people passed him by, the young man had no doubts of what we wanted.

For so long he had lived with nothing. With no memory of who he was before last Spretta, Tristan had spent so very long living as though he were floating. No name, no belongings, no home, what did he have? And then a cantankerous old coot had given him a chance, had taken him under his proverbial wing and offered him warm meals, a home, an occupation, and advice. Memory or not, didn’t he deserve a future? Didn’t he deserve happiness?

In the back of his head, the familiar female voice spoke soothingly to him. Her voice was like a balm to his very soul, matronly and kind, running a gentle hand over the ridges of his anxiety and self-ridicule to smooth those sharp, cutting edges. ’You do.’

He did.

Taking one last look at the stone smithy, the young man heaved a breath and turned on his heel. While he didn’t’ know where he was going it would be easy enough to find the place in charge for buying and selling homesteads and shops within the city. Or so hoped. It took a little bit of time, and more often than not the brunette would have to stop and ask for more directions, resorting to even pulling out his journal and scribbling down the few details that were provided before pressing on.

The landlord’s office was strangely grand and elaborate and Tristan had the distinct impression that they were attempting to make up for something, the decor somewhat ostentatious and gaudy. However, the woman he spoke with was a gem. An eldery human with a messy silver bun and thick-rimmed spectacles offered him the warmest of smiles that he could remember receiving in a long time from the moment he stepped foot through the front door.

’How can I help you, dear?’ With a polite smile pulling at his lips, Tristan took a seat in front of her and explained.

“Yes, I, ah… I was wanting to inquire about purchasing the smithy that recently came up for sale. The previous blacksmith, Marthul, he was…” A friend, a father, someone who had believed in him. I wish you the world. Drawing a steadying breath, Tristan went on, offering the kindly old woman a charming smile. “He was a friend of mine. I actually spent a number of seasons apprenticing under him and I’m familiar with the craft, as well as the location.”

The older woman gave a nod and reached with a weather-spotted hand to adjust her glasses. She began sorting through a number of papers before hopping off of her chair, and it was only then that Tristan realized how very short she was. Well, most of the people were short compared to him, but that was beside the point. ’Come along, dear. Let’s go visit that smithy and we can talk more along the way.' Standing from the rickety chair, Tristan followed, and together they left the office to cross the distance between where they were and the empty smithy.

Along the way he learned that her name was Thyra, and even though it garnered him a curious look behind thick-rimmed glasses, the young man pulled out the journal from his satchel and scribbled her name in it as well as who she was. With someone he might be doing business with in regards to purchasing the smithy, he didn't want to take any chances.

Arriving to the old stone smithy well after the noon hour, both woman and man stopped to admire the structure from the road. Nothing had changed. The overhang where the forge itself was located was just as cold and dark as it had been that morning. The shutters on the windows were closed and locked and it looked so incredibly sad.

Thyra cleared her throat before croaking out a few words. ’This is the one? Needs a bit of work and cleaning up, but I suppose it hasn’t been sitting for too long. Everything’s surely in fine form as far the structure itself goes, and no one removed the smithing tools. Most of them were too heavy to carry, anyway.’ She laughed softly at her own joke, hands resting against her portly belly. ’You’re sure?’

The brunette gave a minute nod, only half listening. This had been the start of his new life, and the only memories he had were of this place, locked and barred within those mason and wood walls. Acceptance. Warmth. Kindness. Everything he hadn’t known that he needed, Marthul had provided. The old coot didn’t have to, but he did, taking Tristan in without a second thought.

I wish you the world. He swallowed, tears springing to his eyes. This was his world.

Turning his head to focus on the petite, grey-haired woman at his side, Tristan smiled. “I’ve no doubts. I’ll take it.”

And that was that.



Tristan Black
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Tristan Black, Kastalian Blacksmith


NameTristan Black
SpeciesHuman
ClassSal
Age29
GenderMale (He/Him/His)
PlayerSparrow
TimezoneWestern U.S. UTC -6
#2

I'll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell shall bar the way





The smithy was his but Tristan knew that the hard work had just begun. The joy and elation of obtaining the property was quickly squandered beneath the overwhelming amount of work that still needed to be done to the place, but he prepared with fervent energy and optimism. While most of the main tools were still where Marthul had left them, albeit dust covered and in need of a good washing, without continuous maintenance a number of issues had reared their ugly heads. He’d already made a list in his journal of things to be done and after pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, he got to work.

”Dust, replace broken floorboards, fix leak in the roof tiles, purchase new linens, clean  forge/smelter/slack tub.” It was a daunting list but at the moment he had all the time in the world to complete it.

Facing the counter from the doorway, Tristan let out a breath and glanced around, wondering where would be the best place to start. It had seemed so much simpler back when Marthul was running things, but the man wasn’t there, and simply standing around staring would do nothing for the old coot’s memory. Stepping over to the windows that were firmly shut, the brunette struggled for a moment to open them, grunting with the sheer effort before it finally gave way with a sharp squeal. One by one he opened each window and fought with some more than others, hoping that the fresh Spretta air would clear away the stagnant, stale smell and help bring new life into the shop.

First order of business on the list was to dust. Taking a rag, the young man started with the shop counter. He dusted off the top of it then knelt down behind it, wiping down each of the cubbies behind the counter. The metal safe was still there yet open, and he went ahead and wiped down the top of that as well as inside, prepping it for use. Straightening up he turned his attention to the rest of the small portion of the shop. There wasn’t a lot up here; the counter in the center of the room that patrons saw as soon as they walked in, an incredibly small hearth off to the left side of the room and counter to keep the area warm during Ventra, and a display case behind the counter itself to show off workpieces that were for sale. A door behind the counter lead to the small living quarters of the smithy; a small kitchen and a room for sleeping, as well as other simple amenities. Right now his main focus was the shop, however; everything else could be cleaned up in his own time.

Finishing a quick dust of the remainder of the room, Tristan pulled out his journal and crossed off the ‘dust’ chore before tucking it away. Next were the floorboards. At the far end of the room near the display two floorboards had begun to rot from a leaky roof. Having already picked up the required lumber from a fellow near the port while also informing another shopkeeper that he had spoken to prior about setting up trade for smithing materials now that he had taken ownership of the smithy, the brunette pulled on a pair of thick gloves over his calloused hands and knelt down. He used a hammer to bust a hole in the first board, the damp wood giving way without fuss, and then slid his fingers beneath the board and pulled it back. It came way with a splintering crack and he tossed the ruined flooring aside to pull free the second, revealing the foundation beneath.

A quick glance told him that everything was sound and he stood up, fetching the required lumber before returning and taking measurements. The Sal hummed as he worked, singing one of the gentle tunes that the female voice always seemed to croon late at night when he had trouble sleeping. Nailing each floorboard into place took a little bit of time, but Tristan wasn’t in a rush. He needed to make sure this was perfect, and so found no reason to hurry through it. Eventually the final board was in place and he smiled, examining his handiwork before standing up to stretch, his body already beginning to ache.

“One more done,” he murmured to no one, and pulling out his journal he crossed off the completed item on the list. All that was left was to replace the leaking section of the roof, clean the smelter, the forge, and the slack tub, and then fetch new linens for the living portion of the shop. Everything was stale and musty and in desperate need of replacing, from the sheets on the bed to the drapes hanging over the windows. A frown pulled at the young man’s lips, marring his tanned face. Repairing the roof and cleaning the smithy equipment would take some time. Perhaps it would be best to shop for new linens and quilts and then pick back up with the more strenuous jobs tomorrow.

After taking one last look around the shop, Tristan departed, locking the door behind him and mixing into the crowds easily enough. It took the remainder of the evening to find everything that he needed, picking out some new sheets and covers, a quilt, and new drapery for the windows. On his way back home he paused to pick up a small pouch of produce, offering the young woman behind the stall a charming grin as he paid and then took the food to return back to the smithy. When he arrived it was nearing the evening hour, and by the time he finished replacing all of the linens and drapery and tossing the musty fabrics outside to be dealt with in the morning, night had fallen. Stoking a fire in the hearth, the young Sal ate a simple dinner, wrote in his journal about the day’s events and his aspirations for the coming days, and then went to bed.

It was the best sleep he had gotten in months, his fatigue soothed by a familiar, matronly song.

The next morning found Tristan elbows deep in water and soap, scrubbing the inside of the slack tub free from dried, flaking algae and caked grime. It didn’t need to be cleaned, not really, but Marthul would probably crawl out of his grave to yell at him if he found out that Tristan just let it stay dirty. For a glorified metal trough that you tossed weapons in to cool, maintenance and upkeep of it was surprisingly rigorous. It took nearly the entire morning to scrub and scrutinize every piece of the smith yard, making notes in his journal of pieces that would soon need to be replaced.

With the slack tub cleaned, the anvil polished and secured next to the forge, the forge and smelter both freed from old coal, coke, and ash and rinsed to the best of his abilities, every hammer, chisel, tong, hardy, and set of fuller tools inspected and then cataloged, the noon hour had arrived. By now the morning humidity had given way to a rather pleasant Spretta day, perfect for repairing the roof. Rinsing the black soot that caked his arms, hands, and even stuck under his fingernails, Tristan paused long enough to take a quick lunch before getting started on repairing the roof.

This was not something he was comfortable or familiar with. There was a sense of trepidation as he climbed the ladder with a bucket in one hand and crawled up onto the roof, swaying a little bit once his feet had found purchase. Heights didn’t bother him, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable repairing a roof. It wasn’t like he knew what he was doing, after all. He made weapons, not roof tiles. “It’s fine. It’s fine, I just need to do my best. Right? Just need to fix the crack and then we’re good. Simple.” The meek words were accompanied by a small laugh that tried to brush away his anxiety but failed, but he had already come this far. The least he could do was try.

Finding the crack in the roof was easy enough, as it was a tear that was nearly the size of his forearm. Grateful that he had the foresight to premix the clay, water, and ground stone before climbing up onto the roof, he stuck his hand into the bucket, scooped up a handful of the mixture, and then plopped it down onto the roof with a loud ’smack!’

Once more he found himself humming that tune, finding that it relaxed him as he worked. Just as well it also helped him focus, and in less than an hour he had finished caking the mixture into the crack to effectively plug it. Hopefully the frequent rainstorms that Spretta brought would hold off long enough for it to dry… Rubbing his hands together to try and rub off as much of the dried muck as he could manage, he descended the ladder once more with the bucket in hand, immensely proud and pleased with his work.

Crossing off the final task to his journal, the brunette grinned broadly, his eyes sparking in excitement. Now it was time to make an entirely new list…

The following few days saw a complete change in the previously vacated smithy. The windows were open and at night a warm, welcoming glow shone through the windows from the crackling hearth inside. During the days the budding blacksmith busied himself in working the forge from dawn until dusk, preparing a number of items and goods to offer for sale to the general public once he had officially opened. The steady sound of the hammer echoing through the shop garnered more than a few curious glances, and Tristan spotted one or two individuals lingering as though trying to gauge just when he would be open. The thought thrilled him. His first work, however, had been making a brand new sign for the smithy. It took nearly an entire day, Tristan’s eye for perfection demanding nothing less when crafting something so intrinsic and important to the smithy as this.

That evening, by the dying light of the setting sun, Tristan stepped back a ways from the front of the shop to admire his work. Hanging above the door was an iron sign in the shape of the fox, and chiseled out beneath the fox were the words, ’The Iron Fox.’

Tristan smiled and then chuckled to himself, feeling as carefree and proud as he had ever felt before. Before returning inside for the evening, he spoke softly to the phantoms of the incoming night. “I wish you the world, Marthul.” And he did.



Tristan Black
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Tristan Black, Kastalian Blacksmith


NameTristan Black
SpeciesHuman
ClassSal
Age29
GenderMale (He/Him/His)
PlayerSparrow
TimezoneWestern U.S. UTC -6
#3

welcome to
the iron fox smithy





Layout of the Iron Fox:
**Floor Plans to come soon!**
Stepping into the Iron Fox you are immediately greeted with the smell of polishing oil and soot.  In the center of the room is a large wooden counter where most business and sales is conducted. To the left of the room is a stone hearth pressed against the wall, lit only when the weather requires it. All around the shop are various weapons hung up to be seen where curious children can’t reach them, sets of armor displayed on wood mannequins, and an assorted amount of household items tucked in shelves along the walls. The more exotic or expensive weapons and goods are locked in a number of display cases secured against the far wall behind the sales counter. Atop the central counter itself are small glass cases exhibiting beautifully crafted jewelry that shine in the lantern light.

There is a door across the room that leads to the private living quarters where customers are not permitted to enter.

Attached to the outside wall of the Iron Fox is the actual workyard, protected from the elements by a lean-to extending off of the roof. An anvil is stationed next to a blazing forge and smelter, two workbenches nearby for easy reach. An assortment of tools are hung neatly in their places upon custom built shelves stuck into the mortar wall of the Iron Fox itself.



The Iron Fox prides itself on dependable weapons or gear that can endure almost any situation. From our swords down to our signet rings, every workpiece is forged with masterful craftsmanship, precise symmetry and balance, and exquisite detail. Should the item purchased wear down or be broken, the Iron Fox will mend or repair said piece, free of charge.

Hours of Operation: mid-morning to evening, actual hours may vary

RULES:

- Payment for goods and services crafted by the Iron Fox is to be made immediately before obtaining said item or service, with the exception of custom orders. Custom orders will require half of the total agreed upon payment up front, and then the other half will be paid upon completion of the designated workpiece.
- In the instance where the custom piece requires material not found in the smithy, the owner and patron will agree upon means to obtain said items and proceed with the order. Certain situations will vary in estimated time, price, etc.
- Patrons have forty-eight hours to claim their completed workpiece and fulfill payment after receiving proper notification. Failure to do so will result in the piece being offered for sale to the public.
- Returns and exchanges of certain goods are negotiable, with the exception of custom orders.
- Barter and trade is entertained, but never guaranteed.
- Children are not allowed in/and or near the forge and must be accompanied by an adult at all times when on premises of the Iron Fox.
- Patrons are not permitted entry into the back room, nor are they to handle/operate any tool within the smithy.
- Thievery of any sort is strictly prohibited and will be handled swiftly at the shop owner’s discretion. Bodily harm or forfeit of life may occur.

Failure to comply with any of the rules listed above will result in lawful action taken against the offender and permanent expulsion from the business and surrounding property.



EXPECTATIONS:
Every patron (IC/OOC) is encouraged to visit the smithy, even if it’s just passing through or to check in! Everyone is more than welcome to come and chat, perhaps sit down for a cup of tea or some mead when the workload isn’t too busy, and fill Tristan in on the latest town gossip.

Patrons inquiring about sales or custom commission work may be asked to provide materials, depending on the workpiece in question. A simple chain necklace won’t be near as difficult to create as a dragonscale set of armor, for example. These types of interactions are encouraged for character development, resource gathering, and possible relation building!



INVENTORY:
Purchasing items from the Iron Fox is simple and painless! Simple items that are pre-made and available at the smithy have a set price. The price increases depending on the material used.

Custom orders or more refined/difficult pieces will require a number of posts/and or threads in which Tristan and the patron will discuss options of the workpiece, gather materials (this could take some time depending on the difficulty level of the resources needed for whatever is being crafted), and then finally the crafting process. Due to the complexity of some items the terms of ‘price’ will be determined on a case-by-case basis.

Listed below is the typical inventory of weapons, armor, jewelry, and other miscellaneous goods. *Please note that the inventory is subject to change depending on current stock. Don’t see what you’re looking for? Don’t hesitate to inquire! Custom orders available now!*

Weapons:
   - Dagger: 5∀
   - Handaxe: 5∀
   - Battleaxe: 40∀
   - Greataxe: 50∀
   - Sword: 30∀
   - Longsword: 40∀
   - Greatsword: 50∀
   - Mace: 30∀
   - Morningstar: 30∀
   - Spear: 10∀
   - Lance: 15∀
   - Halberd: 20∀
   - Warhammer: 50∀

Armor:
   - Chainshirt: 30∀
   - Breastplate: 50∀
   - Half-Plate: 75∀
   - Chain Mail: 100∀
   - Plate: 150∀
   - Shield: 30∀

**The following items vary on price. Please consult Tristan should you be interested in anything listed below!**

Jewelry:
   - Rings
   - Broaches
   - Necklaces
   - Earrings
   - Circlets
   - Hairpin
   - Buckles

Misc. Goods:
   - Nails
   - Locks
   - Hinges
   - Hammer
   - Tongs
   - Farm Implements
   - Lock Box/Safe
   - Jewelry Boxes
   - Fixings



Grand Opening Sale!


***All items are 50% off for a short period of time, including custom orders! Don’t wait; this opportunity will pass before you know it! Inquire within!***

The first five threads with Tristan in the Iron Fox Smithy are eligible for the Grand Opening Discount!



now open!
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