a rustic evening melody [zeke]

[CECILIA S.]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top] It was…quaint, small and picturesque against the mellow, early evening sun. Dark, narrow eyes scanned the district as it gradually came into view. Defenses were, of course, minimal, frighteningly minimal, but Cecilia supposed she really shouldn’t have expected much more. Her town, with its walls and militias, was an oddity when it came to that kind of stuff. Her small suitcase, delicately packed with what little possessions she had felt necessary to bring and held in a gloved hand, swung back and forward as she walked, betraying her status of a newcomer. Upon reaching the district, she calmly placed the suitcase down to study the map she had held in her other hand. Her lips slightly pursed and her eyebrows furrowed intently as she began to compare the small drawn figures to their life-size counter-parts. It didn’t take long for Cecilia to find her place of destination, the blacksmith shop, and she soon picked up her suitcase, following the path until she reached the quaint little building. Its owner had the keys to her place of residence, after all. And she wanted to check in, the night was still young and Cecilia supposed it better to learn the quirks of her new forge before customer’s depended on her craftsmanship. She stepped up on the wood patio before setting the suitcase down once more, sheathed sword jingling as she shifted her weight to readjust herself. She, not at all immune human’s desire to make a decent first impression, then gingerly brushed some of the traveler’s dust from her clothes and brought a small gloved hand to primly knock on the door in front of her. tags zeke words 274 notes let the awks begin credits ★MEULK OF BTN AND GS

[EZEKIEL L.]

[cs=2][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width:400px; background-color:#ffffff; border: 2px solid #000000,bTable] Lets walk through the fire together, disappear in the golden sand

[cs=2]   The somber crags of Lillium Mountain shone like polished silver under the luminosity of the evening sun, a lone spire above the countryside. It was a silent, omnipresent protector of the peninsula, maintaining a solitary vigil through the eternal cycle of seasons. If romantic enough, one could even go as far to say that it was a dedication to the farmland found in it's shadows; its single, facile peak an incessant reminder of the lifestyle of the settlers nestled at it's roots: earthy, solid, and uncomplicated. It was an endearing sentiment, engaging in a profession where one transformed the very salts of the earth into functional materials and household prizes. For Ezekiel, there existed a particular sense of pride in that consideration, a lingering sense of satisfaction that fueled his work as much as his deeply rooted aggression. Aside from the cultivators of the soil - of the miners and farmers themselves - none could be closer to the land than he, he thought. None could be so intertwined with nature. But, he supposed, such a value applied to the majority of the cape's population - it was a farming community, after all. Still, it seemed those that trickled down into the quiet of their town from the bustle and flashing of city lights could never truly appreciate this small corner of Sepalum for what it was; there would always linger a dedication to the fast life, never a whole and heartfelt, sensitive devotion to the nature of the harvest. The red-haired man supposed that he felt such an attachment to his current customs because any previous attachment he might have had before this time in his life was simply nonexistent. Towns, places, people, names, faces - they all were just concepts that floated through his mind, never taking root. This quaint corner of the world had awoken something natural within him, a mindset that misted from the extremities of the trees and soaked him through his skin. Ezekiel had finally firmly planted himself somewhere he thought he belonged, instead of fleeting on the wind like a weightless seed. It wasn't just the land that aroused such growth in him, no. So nurturing were the people of Sepalum that they, despite his wariness and isolation, watered his very soul. This night, he wasn't without such a pastoral disposition as he meandered through the darkening forge, organizing the tools of the trade, assisted only by the light of smoldering coals in the hearth on the far wall. The day's work hadn't been extraordinarily demanding, but living in an agricultural community certainly left the man with much to do, regardless. Aside from the normal requests and commissions, he'd received vague word that another fellow metal-worker would be joining him in the shop within the week. To be true, Ezekiel wasn't quite certain how the news made him feel. He took pride in being the only seasoned employer, the distant face that the residents of Primula recognized and sought after when they desired any repairs. But he could admit, too, that the heat he called home grew tiresome and lonely. It didn't seem to him too deplorable an idea, sharing the quarters with another strong blacksmith. Ezekiel was wiping his hands with a smoked washcloth, fancying the crackling of the fire and the lulling sound of summer cicadas when there came the unmistakable sound of a knock on the shop door. The man turned towards the sound, and slightly perplexed, then flickered his gaze towards the clock on the wall. Customers were rare at this hour - most were presumably with their families, eating their meals and exchanging the events of the day. Maybe it's the new employee, he mused, pursing his lips curiously, dropping the rag onto the counter behind him before sauntering towards the door. Ezekiel paused before the barrier, exhausting a moment to push the rolled sleeves of his plaid button-up farther over his elbows and fan his bangs from his face, then opened the door with a characteristic, squeaking moan. He wasn't quite sure what he expected to be waiting beyond they door, but the sight before him baffled him in more ways than one. Before him stood a woman, which wasn't something he was unfamiliar to. Many of the town's independent females sought his services and commissioned him for manual labor around their farms, if they were unable to handle the work themselves. But what confused him most about these circumstances were her unusual... accessories. A modest suitcase flanked an ankle, and on her hip hung an unmistakable sword, nestled in a carbon sheath. Ezekiel blinked at her momentarily, confusing apparent in his visage, his eyes looking her once over before shifting erratically between her face and the setting sun. "I, uh- Sorry, I'm just about to close up for the night, uhm- How can I- how can I help you?" The man subtly moved closer towards the threshold, closing the door over the empty space between himself and the open air of the shop, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he waited for an answer.

words 843 tagged sai & cecilia! notes I'm so sorry that this has taken me a month, please forgive me!

made by turtle of gs

[CECILIA S.]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top] The patio was old, the wooden floor-boards creaking under her feet. The building itself was also old, Cecelia mused. It was in decent enough shape, of course, but the peeling paint and crooked window-panes betrayed were vivid against the humble building. Not that Cecelia minded, such cosmetics bore no effect on the usefulness of the house and money needed for new paint or wood would, in her opinion, be much better go to buying ores, gear or items that held actual importance to the usefulness of the shop. The door was no younger than the house, apparently, as the knotted piece of wood opened with long, singing creak to reveal a man, probably a good head or two taller than her, with bright messy red hair and bangs slightly damp from the day’s labors. He wore a surprised, confused expression; an expression wore by those who would be easily killed by the monsters and thieves lurking in the woods and took a few painful moments, moments Cecelia contemplated introducing herself instead of simply standing there with a deadpan yet expectant expression on her face, before finally beginning to speak. "I, uh-” Cecelia’s eyebrows cocked up slightly as he nervously shifted his eyes to her face and to the skyline behind her, ”Sorry, I'm just about to close up for the night, uhm- How can I- how can I help you?" ”Yes, I’m here to speak with the owner of this establishment?” She said in her rich alto voice. She picked up her suitcase once more, her gloved hand tightening around the handle as she got ready to walk inside the blacksmith’s shop the moment such an entry would become vaguely possible in terms of social acceptance. ”I have been commissioned to work as blacksmith here for the next two years.” tags zeke words 288 notes it's alright, I totes understand~ credits ★MEULK OF BTN AND GS