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Mirri: Fixing a pole where the pain sets in

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Mirri followed the sounds of the smith.  As she entered the workshop, she glanced warily around, taking note of the number of people as well as noting the location of visible exits.

She held the spearhead in her paws, looking at the individuals here, searching for an elf.

This thread takes place during the 25th day of the Sprouting Grass/Egg moon.

The smithery was small indeed, and there were but two people in it. While Mirri was pleased to see that one was an elf, she was disappointed to see that this elf was very young...barely a century old, by her estimation.

The elven youth appeared to be taking lessons from an aged, portly human.

"Ya see heer," The human was saying. "Once th' met'l be hard enuff, ye haf ta put it back in th' forge fer ta heat it an' sof'n it agin."

The small anvil that the smith was beating a length of metal upon looked very new, bearing only a few signs of use. Likewise the forge, which stood nearby, had barely any signs of soot upon it.

Mirri stared in wide-eyed dumb surprise.  An elf...learning the craft of weaponsmithing  from a human?  This was wrong.  Wrong wrong wrong.  So wrong.

Mirri started fidgeting, unsure of what to do next.  She turned to leave when she suddenly hesitated, realizing that a human weaponsmith was not necessarily wrong: it was unfamiliar.  She turned back to face the room.  But the spear she had was elven -- no human could possibly repair an elvish weapon as an elf could repair it!  She turned again to leave.  But it was only the haft that was broken -- surely a human could replace a pole of wood?  She turned back to face the room.  But this human dealt with metal -- what would he know of wood!  She turned again to leave.  But maybe the elf knew how to shape wood for a spear?  She turned again to face the room.


[OOC] Phineas, that was true comedy, thanks for the chuckle.


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