!!+P4/1vde8np 04/04/12(Wed)18:22 No.18576780|
For the next few months, you practice endlessly in Roriks forge, learning the ins and outs of the trade. The work hardens you, developing muscle and shedding the pudge you had developed. Alongside smithing, you use the glands in your mouth to produce all manner of clothing. While without a teacher, you become...passable in the craft, and make some extra coin selling the incredibly soft cloth to merchants.
Searching for a teacher in the trade of battle, you find that the only one willing to show you how to swing a sword and block a blow is a retired adventurer, a grey-haired, brown skinned Elf. The drunken sod eats up most of your spare change, having you pay for his tab often. However, he does teach you whatever he learned as an adventurer. However, most of his training is in the practical. When to run, when to hide, what to eat and what to leave behind.
You gain a few more inches, and realize that you are now taller than most of the men you know, and having the rigors of blacksmithing and the Elven training, stronger as well. You're no muscle-bound barbarian, but you do have to account for your biceps when sewing sleeves for yourself.
You've been checking in with Keiths mother every week, buying an Apple tart every time. She never knows anything.
6 months later, as fall begins to set in, you wander into the bakery to see a familiar face.
There's the beginnings of a beard there, and a few scars, and the expression harder but...
He turns to you, and a smile crosses his face. He's no longer looking down at you, but in your eyes, you notice.
"Arelia? By the Gods, you've grown quite a bit! How have you been?"
He holds out his arms for a hug.