northclifflogs | [Open!] I'm New In Town!

WHO: Fíadh and whoever wants to meet her.
WHAT: Fíadh has arrived and taken over the blacksmith shoppe. Hope no one has issues with that.
WHEN: A few days after the Shepherds' fun.
WHERE: The Smithy
NOTES: Let's have a doozy!

Maybe it's the sound of clanging metal, or the plume of inky black smoke billowing from the chimney-top, but if someone was to come and take a look they'd find the blacksmith back open for business. But if they were expecting a different proprietor, they were about to get a shock. A shock in the form of a very tall woman with choppy blonde hair, currently scrubbing aggressively at a nasty rust stain spread across her anvil. Teeth gritted and eyes narrowed, it's a pure look of concentration and determination scrunched into her face.

At her feet is a decent-sized pack on its side, a few clothes and baubles spilling out to the floor. One might think she simply tossed it to the floor before immediately getting to work. But the second Fíadh saw this shop, and this rusted anvil, she knew she has to be the one to take care of it. That's just how she operates. Of course just barging in and taking over has never been the best way to ingratiate yourself upon a community, but Fíadh has never been very good at that. With any luck it will go over better here than the last few towns, but if not ... well, she'd burn that bridge when she crossed it.

Besides, when it comes down to it, she knows she won't stay here for long. She never does.

Threaded | Flat

It's been some time since there's been a proper blacksmith in town, which is why smoke rising from the chimney is enough to snare the Watch Captain's attention as soon as he's awake. Of course, no one has come running to inform him of a fire or trespassing or any similar shenanigans, so it's with confusion and not suspicion that he approaches.

"...hello," he greets in a rasp, leaning around to see the face of the stranger occupying the smithy.

Sometime later in the day, Detlef drops by the smithy. There was smoke and he's curious and if something was amiss the Watch would have dealt with it already, he's sure. For a few minutes he watches her scrubbing the anvil. Is this a part of blacksmithing? After a time he clears his throat.

"Welcome? I'd think, at least. Unless you're fixing up the place for someone else before you move on." He smiles then, and holds out a hand. "I'm Detlef. Stablemaster."

Keeping his needles sharp is fairly easy. All he has to do is wet his whetstone then press the needle to it and kinda rub and turn until it's sharp enough to prick his finger. Farogil's shears and blades, on the other hand, need proper work at a grindstone. With the smithy empty when he moved in, he accepted that he'd just have to take monthly trips to the nearest smith.

Thus, he's delighted when he overhears that there's a new smith in residence. Farogil packs everything he needs sharpened into a basket and heads over around midday. He loiters nearby for a few minutes, idly watching as people pass while waiting for her to seem to be between tasks. Then he approaches, giving a little wave of greeting and to get her attention.

"Excuse me, can you ssharpen sssh-" He cuts himself off with a frown. Instead of forcing himself to stammer it out, he holds one pair of shears up, brows raised in hopeful question.

Early Evening

no subject

A couple days after she moved in