Rii) Fire, steel, and innovation

[dragon]

An idea had occurred to him, and now he was going to see how practical it was. More of a general worker and not much of an inventor, this was a really odd kick for C'oar to be getting on. But this idea was so intriguing that he really couldn't let it alone. He had to tinker with it. As such, he had hunted around for the Weyr's forge. This idea would not do with a cold forging method. Especially since he was going to need to make flexible metals to pull it off. Once he'd found the place, he'd made sure Frosstyth stuck around outside while he got the thing up and running. Thankfully it had not been cold for too terrible long, and it was easy enough to get heated up. Supplies were on hand and readily available as well. All the fuel he could wish for and plenty of raw stock iron as well as pre-smelted metals in barstock form. It shouldn't take too long to get it rolling and in the right direction.

Fire roaring and blazing away, C'oar started stuffing metal in the coals to get it heating up. While it got started going that way, he started fishing out all the appropriate hammers he was going to need. He also muscled the anvil around to a better position that he preferred. Granted, that took nearly every ounce of strength and determination he owned, but in the end he got it done. With lots of help from fixed locations and heavy duty levers, no less. But he was not one for giving up lightly.

Between the summer's heat outside and the forge's heat inside, it was not long before C'oar had broken into a hefty sweat. Which surprised him remarkably … had it really been that long since he'd worked a forge? That he'd gotten away from the heat acclimation? Maybe so … it had been some two turns or so. Maybe more. Shards. He needed to practice his craft more often than that! And more than just cold forging stuff. Wiping the sweat from his brow with one forearm, C'oar promptly shucked his shirt before donning the leather apron that was required to keep from getting roasted by flying sparks of superheated metal. Grasping the first hammer, he weighted it a bit in his hand before looking over at the heating metal.

Alright. Now it was time to get to work. He heaved the metal from the forge with a pair of giant forging tongs, and laid it across the anvil and started beating on it with a steady rhythm that was as much the beat of any smith's heart as anything else. When it cooled too much he crammed it back into the coals and stirred the coals with it before yanking out the next piece. Then he resumed the process all over again, beating on that one too, until it started to take a similar, if opposite, shape to the first one.

What are you doing? Frosstyth asked, boredly, after the first candlemark. And why must I stay here? There are better places to lay and sun. It's too shady here. He grumped, flopping over on his side and flicking his tail idly far out behind him as one wing slid down over his side to dribble toward the ground in a very lazy fashion.

"Because." C'oar stated, between clangs of the hammer on metal. "I'm making. Something. That has to fit. You." He thrust the cooled bit back into the coals again, before pulling out yet another piece that he started beating into a totally different shape, the metal bending and giving like putty to his hammer. C'oar grunted, observing that maybe he had the fire too hot. Just a bit. "And I need you here to make sure it works right."

And how long is it going to take you to get it finished? Frosstyth asked, rolling his head over backward to peer into the forge itself where his rider was working.

"A while. Be patient." C'oar answered, adjusting the bellows.

[rii]

"Hm, someone is using the forge.."

Rulven stated this to no one in particular–almost a quirk of the weyr. Except when other people talked to themselves they were actually talking to the their dragons, or salamandyr. He could feign that he had been talking to the lone firelizard circling around his head. The blue had been stealing bits and pieces of his mid-morning second breakfast. Rather, it thought it was stealing when really Rulven left chunks aside for the flit to 'sneak'.

Dorava had said something about the Weyr already housing a smith from Hyphen. Rulven eyed the smoke rising from the building before turning his feet in that direction. Might as well go and meet the man. Rulven was feeling homesick enough he was beginning to hope he knew the other smith just to have a small connection with his homehold.

"Hello.." An uncertain greeting went to the brown lounging outside the enclosed forge. The steady beat of hammer against metal drew Rulven close, unworried as he strolled past the dragon and in through the door. The heat was the first thing he noticed; a warm embrace if anything. Oh how he missed his uncle's forge. For a moment Rulven just stood there, soaking in the heat and the rythmic clanging. Strange how such seemingly meaningless things could, in fact, count for so much.

"I hope you don't mind company," Rulven spoke up when C'oar went to adjust the fire. He didn't want to interrupt the man's concentration.. and he looked a bit familiar. Rulven edged a few steps closer. "I saw the smoke. Someone told me a smith from Hyphen stayed here at the Weyr." A short pause as Rulven squinted at the figure lighted by the dim orange glow of hot coals. His memory wasn't the best of Rulven's qualities, but living in Hyphen for years made him more familiar with the people. Especially other smiths they met either through shared work or trips to the halls. "Cloar, isn't it?"

[dragon]

Frosstyth grunted in reply to the greeting, and flailed his legs just a moment as he rolled back upright with an effort, lifting his head from the ground and arching his neck. Folding his lightening-cracked wings back up onto his back, the muddy lightening-storm colored dragon stretched his front legs out in front of him before peeking into the forge again after the other smith went it, this time even more curious. There must really be something going on that he had to have missed, if it was garnering this much attention. And it was something that he was supposed to wear? Puzzled but interested, Frosstyth paid attention.

C'oar looked up when he heard someone start talking, startled. He hadn't known anyone was anywhere in the vicinity at all, and hadn't heard Rulven walking up for the noise of the fire and bellows. He wasn't as jumpy as he might have been otherwise, though, as the only way in was through the doors - which had to be gotten to by passing Frosstyth. On a subconscious level, C'oar knew that Frosstyth would never allow malicious people in. "Uh ... not really." C'oar answered, not minding company at all. Truth be told, he spent far too much of his time on his own and by himself. It really wasn't healthy. But - it just seemed odd to him that everyone he'd ever known since coming to the Weyr had either mysteriously vanished, or plain outright died. It made him leery of staying near people anymore.

"That's an odd thing to say." He commented, at the from-Hyphen remark. "There are quite a few Smiths at Selenitas, but I don't know how many are from Hyphen." C'oar answered, sifting through a few tools before coming up with one that he wanted - a hammer with a broader face that wouldn't leave quite the same divot when smacked into hot, soft metal. Useful when working broader pieces of flat metal - which he happened to be doing at the moment. "Is from Hyphen important for some reason?" C'oar asked, going back around to where his current pieces were heating.

But when his name - more specifically his original name - was used, C'oar's attention was really grabbed. Metal forgotten for the moment, he took a closer look at the fellow that had wandered in. Did he know this person? How did they know who he was? It wasn't just someone telling him - because he didn't go by that name anymore. So it had to be from farther back. Either Candidacy, or ... from Hyphen. C'oar's brows creeped together just a bit, but he couldn't place the face to a name. After a moment he did manage to place Rulven from Hyphen, though. Which, in turn answered his from-Hyphen question. "Not anymore." He answered, going back to pulling the first piece of metal out of the coals. "Folk call me C'oar these days." A few swift touch-up beats from the hammer and he stuffed it back into the coals with his tongs. He gestured at the doorway, through which a giant snout could be seen. "That's Frosstyth. I recognize you - but I don't recall your name." C'oar commented, truthfully, as he waited for the steel to soften properly.

You know this one? Frosstyth asked, of his rider. This one is taller than you are! He marveled. Which elicited a crooked grin from C'oar. I've met him before, yes. From long before you were hatched.

[rii]

Rulven scratched the back of his head, the confusion there but not exactly clear on his otherwise blank expression. He didn't find it odd to inquire about a smith that hailed from Hyphen. "Are there? I haven't really noticed any other smiths.. " Rulven found a spot out of the way and leaned the small of his back against the counter. Both arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched the other move around the forge. He seemed familiar enough with the place.

C'oar. Right, names changed once impressing to a dragon. Politely Rulven gave an acknowledging nod toward Frosstyth. "Name's Rulven. My uncle ran a forge in Hyphen hold. But you didn't do work in the hold though, right? Somewhere on the outskirts or in a cothold?" It had been one of the better known place, and part of their reputation had come from the fact that.. his five sisters dealt with the customers. There was something about a pretty smiling face that was definitely good for business. "My memory isn't that great, but I've met you a couple of times in passing." His voice spoke loud, firm, easily slipping back into the habit of voicing over the pound of metal. It had been hard not to take some notice of Cloar–C'oar then, a man of similar age and build.

Hazel eyes examine the metal work going on, but unable to know the design in C'oar's mind, Rulven was unable to imagine the purpose. Metal was a precious substance, so he assumed it wasn't going to be put to waste–or at least into a state that would be unable to recycle into other projects. "First time I even stepped into the forge since coming here." He eyed the room. Not the best of arrangements, but he doubted much work was done at the Weyr. Most goods likely came in the tithes.

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you working on, C'oar?" The question doubled as an offer to help out. Rulven had not grown up around his Uncle, a mastersmith, and working under the man without learning his stuff, and learning it well. It was one of the things that Rulven could do.

[dragon]

C'oar grunted, and dropped his tool aside, ceasing on beating on the metal for a moment. It was hard to talk past, after all. Much less hear past. It could wait a moment, anyway. It wasn't like he was in any hurry or had a timeline to keep up with. Though the forge was still burning coal happily regardless what the smiths within were doing. "The people within a Weyr come from all walks of life. There are quite a few smiths in the ranks ... whether or not they have time to practice the craft is a whole other matter. I can't even begin to guess how many are from where." He explained, simply, before that confusion turned into a misunderstanding. It wasn't as if C'oar was trying to be cryptic or cold or anything of the sort ... he just found the question odd. Very odd. But now that he knew where Rulven was coming from, he understood. And all was good.

"Rulven. Right." C'oar answered, as the name sparked true in memory once it was said. "I remember you." He agreed. "It's been a long time, though ... a long, harried time..." He trailed off for a moment, before shrugging and starting anew. "Yeah, our forge was in a cothold. I was the one that usually ran loads to Hyphen itself." It was part of what had gotten him found by the searchdragon, too. C'oar looked over at Rulven again, and then grunted. "You got here fast, then. This is the first time I have stepped foot inside a forge since I got here ... and that was two turns ago." He was silent a moment after that, and then he laughed at the irony of it. "Yeah ... it's good to be back in the swing..."

To keep his pieces from melting to slag he stirred them around quickly in the coals before moving them to a spot slightly cooler. "I am working on something that I've never built one of before ... it was an idea that came to me." C'oar mentioned, actually glad for the unsaid offer of help. And in explaining the idea, accepted the offer. "A lot of dragonwarfare is basically dragon talon on dragonhide. And that's about it. Fire, too, if the dragons are loaded with stone. But it's basically dragon on dragon and that's it. And truth be told, Selenitas keeps getting its ass kicked royally. Having the riders armed is pretty much useless. Even with toadstickers like that one." He gestured at his sword, which was leaning against a surface with arm's reach of where C'oar was working. He'd taken it off at the same time he'd removed his shirt ... it was kind of silly to wear a piece of metal on one's back when working in a forge after all. "Those are only useful when standing on the ground." Which did happen on occasion. The express reason why he'd bought the thing.

"So." He continued, now pointing at various pieces of metal. "Thought I'd change the tide of the battle, if you will. I'm going to make a crossbow. Only, big." He gestured, but it seemed that even as far as he could reach, it didn't quite encompass 'big'. "It's going to use spears instead of quarrels. And I plan to mount it on my dragon's back. See how well that works." He shrugged a bit. "Never know until I try." C'oar said, pulling out a piece of metal and laying it on the anvil. With his free hand, he pointed along the curve of the thing. "This is the left hand arc. The righthand one is still in there. That, is supposed to be the main base support. The rest of it will be wood if I can manage - makes it lighter."

You're making a what? Frosstyth interjected, but C'oar ignored him for the moment.

"I just got started, so this is about all the far I've gotten, so far. These pieces are not done yet. I still have to make a catch, reel, and trigger mechanism. Not to mention figure out what would make a suitable string. Obviously bow string will not cut it... I need something non-flammable. Hrm." He stopped talking for a moment, looking at what he had, before continuing. "You know what ... I better make that core solid metal. Wood is flammable..."

And branded my back becomes. Frosstyth grumped. You better make that contraption small enough to be movable. You're not exactly light yourself. the brown remarked, settling down and resting his chin on the ground in the doorway where he could watch.

Zooming in through the space over his head, Storm zipped in before making a flourish of a turn, to land marvelously well ... on something hot. With a sudden and startled scream, the bronze flitter took off again and flew away, squalling the whole way. C'oar just watched him go, and then shrugged. "He shoulda known better than that." There was no catching the creature now, so C'oar didn't even try. Storm would come back around when he saw good and fit to do so.

"So ... what do you think?" C'oar asked, looking for Rulven's input, ideas, or anything else he might come up with.

[rii]

An eyebrow arched at C'oars launching into what struck Rulven too much like a lecture. He had just been commenting on the lack of profession-driven lives at the Weyr. There seemed to be only two groups, drudges and dragonriders. Sure, they could pick apart the tiers in those groups, but in the end that was it. Drudges and dragonriders. Crafts learn in a former life were discarded, turned into a hobby instead of a means of making a living. Rulven coolly eyed C'oar for a moment. No, instead the weyr expected those crafters from holds large and small alike to hand over their hard work for what – a promise of protection; if thread fell. Otherwise the Weyr was given whatever they wanted so they could play around on their damn dragons all day. Them and their pointless war..

"I see you've been here a while." Rulven slowly let his head nod. In his mind it had not been that long ago since he had last seen C'oar, but it apparently had been time enough to change a person. Rulven casually shifted one ankle in front of the other, never moving from the table he leaned against. The intense heat should have bothered him, but he was far away enough from the coals and not the one hammering about, so it came as little surprise he had not broken out into a sweat.

"You didn't draw it out first?" Rulven inquired while craning his neck around to see if there were any plans laying aside. Even a childish scribble seemed practical to do, in Rulven's opinion, just to make sure all parts were thought of. Didn't they have to get permission for these kind of things? C'oar probably already got it – if he was working already. Hm, maybe C'oar was one to keep all those details in his head.

Oh. Rulven stopped his visual search as C'oar further explained. Weapons. The muscle in Rulven's jaw jumped, but he did well to not comment – not a point of disagreement he wanted to quarrel over. And whatever unfriendly expression he may have been wearing quickly vanished with the appearance–and quick disappearance–of the firelizard. Poor thing, it would those burns treated. Rulven shot a stern glance at C'oar. "You said this is your first time in the forge, how could he know any better? He'll need those burns treated as soon as possible.

"We didn't specialize in weapons," Rulven stated in an even tone. There was little business to be had making anything more than a few daggers to sell to the people. Other weapons were made for the weyrs – and those were free. "You might as well keep it wood. It doesn't catch fire and turn to ash in a single instant. And if another dragon gets close enough to flame you, I don't think it will matter whether it's wood or metal, I'm pretty sure you'd be seared beyond repair."

[dragon]

"A little while." C'oar agreed. He knew that in time it would seem like no time at all, two turns. But, considering how radically those two turns had changed his life so drastically ... and the things that had happened in them ... it was not likely to be a two turns he'd ever forget. He was marked by it, and he knew it. Dragged from a stance where if left alone he'd be completely happy to leave alone, to one of stoic defensive-mindedness. He'd learned - the hard way - that the rest of the world wasn't going to ignore him because he ignored it. It was certainly different from life in the Holds, that was for sure.

"No, I didn't draw it out first." C'oar answered, patiently. "I didn't expect anyone else to be interested in working out the prototype with me, so I didn't see any point in drawing out plans." He explained. That, and in his experience, parchment had a nasty habit of either burning up, or getting so completely soiled it was unreadable anyway. He just wasn't very talented when it came to papers, even if he had a neat hand. "It's not terrible complex."

C'oar looked out the door after where Storm had flown, and then at Rulven again upon his comment. "He's not hurt - just startled. Those things flame just like dragons do, after all. Takes more than a moment to hurt them with heat. He's been inside the kitchens, forge or no forge." Any twitching Rulven's face might have done was missed by C'oar, as he didn't spend an awful lot of time looking at the other smith. Under normal circumstances that sort of thing could be construed as a challenge, and considering the mindset C'oar had been more or less forced into - he was more sensitive to such nuances than he used to be. They had enough outside problems of people picking fights, without bickering amongst themselves - or staring one another down for that matter. "Flitters ... are a lot like dragons. Not quite as closely tied, but very similar. If he was actually hurt - I'd know it. And Storm ... if he'd actually been hurt, he wouldn't have flown away like that. He's not entirely stupid." Actually, more often than not, C'oar was quite happy and somewhat proud of his bronze flitter. He personally thought that Storm was the best flitter in the place (and it didn't help Storm thought that too). But why Storm had landed on something hot, he had no idea. Maybe he'd been concentrating too hard on showing off?

"I don't think anyone specialized in weapons." C'oar answered. Sure, every forge made a few. But they were always simple - usually knives. The occasional hunting tool. But most made the practical stuff. Wheels for wagons, hardware for harnesses and construction, axle bands, springs, hinges, spikes to hole stone construction in place, pots, pans, flatware (what wasn't wooden), nails, all kinds of things that ever day people used to make productivity go on. Most forges were far to busy with the everyday part of life to bother to even think about specializing in weaponry. Especially since the war didn't really use any. Dragons, and daggers. That was ... about it. But C'oar was just sick of being preyed upon, having his home - such as it was - preyed upon. So he decided it was time to mount a defense. One that would pack enough punch to make the other Weyrs think twice before invading again. Lives would then be saved.

C'oar considered what Rulven said about the wood, and then nodded a bit. "Good point." Indeed, if a dragon's back was strafed with fire, the last thing on anyone's mind was whether or not the armament caught fire. Which it might, or might not do, as Rulven had pointed out. However, on the flip side - once said flamed dragon was down, if the tool in question was not damaged, it could be stripped off (which it would be anyway) and mounted on a new dragon to go back up.

This was assuming of course that the whole scheme even worked. That remained to be seen. C'oar had no idea how much time and training it would take to be able to strike a fast moving object with the thing, while on a fast moving object, in a three dimensional battleground. Or even how much torsion would be inflicted on the dragon carrying the thing when it was fired. There were still a lot of ifs surrounding the thing, which is why C'oar was going to work on it first, and see what Frosstyth thought of it. The brown was a big, sturdy creature and not at all fragile, with plenty of gung-ho piled on top. So, first things first: prototype.

This was certainly unlike any other project that C'oar had taken on since coming to the Weyr. Before he'd been only coldforging, and that was still things like insulated buckets for meat storage and pots and pans and things. Never before had he attempted something on this scale - or with this intent. Much less entirely by himself.

[rii]

Rulven glanced out the doorway to the brown dragon laying outside. As a mere candidate he knew his position on the totem pole was at the bottom. But Rulven had been assigned there first as a smith and had only taken up candidacy as a means to fully involve himself with weyrlife. Rulven ran his bottom lip through his teeth, trying to keep this idea of hierarchy in mind. It didn't work.

"Instead it may as well be a waste of materials. You didn't plan it out, and you didn't even try to discuss your ideas with someone. It may have already been attempted and it might not work. You are treating these materials as if it were a child's clay, roll and twist it about and if it doesn't work, toss it aside." Rulven stated his all in a firm tone, only taking his eyes off C'oar to inspect the worked pieces of metal. The reason weapons were not a high priority to a smith was because the mined ore was a very precious substance, better used for more.. practical things. Rulven did not agree to such impulsive use of resources.

The comments concerning flitters were ignored. Rulven knew well enough what fire lizards were like, he dealth with them on a daily basis. They were still creatures incapable of speech, and like any other animal when they got hurt they screamed and ran. It was an instinctual thing. That was sign enough of injury to Rulven.

"All the more reason you should have talked this out with someone who might know about crafting weapons. I doubt you have the experiece making something this large, or to be mounted on a dragon's back." Rulven had thought he might meet with this other smith, born of Hyphen, but he had put his expectations too high. "You should have at least taken your ideas to the Weyrleader before deciding to use the Weyr's resources for a whim."

Standing up, Rulven dusted the seat of his pants before heading for the door..

[dragon]

"You might think differently after you've been here a few turns." C'oar answered, not really caring if Rulven stayed or not. He spent the majority of his time alone, anyway. And being alone to work alone was far preferable to having someone hang around and smash everything he tried to build. Either literally or figuratively.

"I have a pretty detailed idea what I am doing, I did get it approved by rank, and it's not a waste. Even if it fails, you know it can always be reshaped into anything else. Metal doesn't go away for being shaped." C'oar answered gruffly, rather unimpressed with Rulven's take on things. Not only was he extremely naive, but he also had some rather unpractical, wasteful, and utterly strange ideas on what happened to metal when it was worked. Just what kind of craftsman was he, anyway?

"So far as I could determine, no one has ever tried it before, so there is no knowing until it is tried." C'oar added, before hauling out a chunk of steel from the forge and laying it out on the anvil, going back to hammering on it, turning and shaping it as it cooled, until he crammed it back into the coals and hauled out the next piece. C'oar was nothing, if not efficient. Time, materials ... he wasted nothing if he could help it. And arguing with Rulven was a huge waste of time in his book - especially since the forge was already lit and running. He had things to do, things to build, and try to see if they worked.

One never knew when dragons would darken the skies again, and riders would be murdering one another. Especially given the recent developments in the diplomatic situation. C'oar didn't know what to expect, other than something bad. Either it was a strong ploy by Benden to get Selenitas' guard down, or it was legit, in which case Fort would be flying down their throats soon. Whatever the case might be, C'oar intended to be prepared, and intended to do more than merely survive the incident.