RP:Arm the Lonely

Summary: Encara hasn't lugged this severed arm all the way back from Venturil for nothing. Having come up with a good use for it — and a way to spite every other wraith at the same time — she brings her strange burden to the Towers in search of a blacksmith, seeking someone who can craft new bow limbs from the malevolent bone and weave a powerful enchantment into the weapon. Alvina, though plagued by numerous doubts and fears, has returned to her place of work for the first time in many months and agrees to take on the challenging job for the drow. In return, Encara offers the blacksmith her own skills before leaving her to consider what's on the table.

Frostmaw Towers

Alvina had been gone from work for quite a long time. As such, she takes her time crunching snow through the uniform courtyard of cobblestone walkways and concrete benches. Frostmaw Towers was a relatively new construct, though it still bore no decoration or drapery. Much like its motherland, the Towers were strictly function over form. From the outside, it appears to be roughly four stories with no sign of life in higher floors. Alvina’s steps are slower still as she passes through the security gates and obtains her identification. Of the four flights, all visible from the entrance of the barebones building, her sparse office occupied the third. The entirety of the third floor, if anyone should inquire, belonged to blacksmiths and their workshops. Specialized tools occupied their own rooms for easy access. Though spartan, as most of Frostmaw’s buildings, it has a life blood of busy workers where once before it was...ironically, sparse. Helen, the front desk clerk, greets Alvina with a knowing look. No smile traces her old lips. The woman has no time for games, but the bard holds a soft spot in her strict heart. On the third floor, Alvina opens the door to her office, dark without the shades unfurled, and immediately turns back around. Back through security. Back past Helen and the other clerks on the front lines to catch greeters and the like. Helen’s furrowed brow follows Alvina as she moves out the front door, navy cloak fluttering in a sudden breeze. It isn’t until Alvina’s a good clip out the front door that she stops and gathers her breath, signature golden metallic digits lifting to brush trademark crimson hair from her face.

Encara is tired. Long journeys tend to drain even a ranger, especially those where half the trip was spent with her scouts begging her to let them visit Frostmaw ("I've always wanted to see snow," Kren had complained multiple times, only for Encara to tell him it definitely won't live up to his expectations). Before she gives in to the temptation of her nearby room and soft bed, however, the drow's path through Fort Frostmaw's compound takes her to the right instead of the left, toward a section of high stone buildings rising up through the frigid mist. Though she's never visited the Towers before, Encara knows the area to be a hub of activity and industry - surely she'll find what she's looking for here. Dressed in travelling leathers under a thick winter-green cloak, her bow slung across her body and a long package carried under one arm, the tall drow is clearly here on business. As she steps up and makes her way through the front door, Encara almost bumps into a woman leaving the building at a brisk pace - there is something familiar about her that draws her eye, as though Encara once glimpsed her from across a crowded room, but she doesn't stop to inquire. Inside, she approaches the elderly lady at the front desk, receives a stone-cold look, wonders if it's simply the usual greeting or one specifically for her kind - drow, suspicious, probably a troublemaker. Prejudice at its finest. Encara keeps both her expression and tone of voice perfectly neutral in response. "I'm looking for a blacksmith— preferably one who specialises in weapons, but any who know what they're doing will do."

Alvina only spares the ranger an apologetic but rushed glance as they bump into each other on the way out. Helen stares at Encara - not in a special manner, just in the no-nonsense way she stares at everyone. Even people she likes. Her usual routine of speech was short and blunt, so she pulls no punches with Encara’s inquiry. “You just ran into one.” The old woman states plainly, under the ledge of her lifted gray brows. She doesn’t bother mincing words with the drow. “If you have a package for someone here, we will deliver it.” Alvina, for her part, has regained control of her breathing and has taken up residence of one of the many concrete benches right outside. She’s visible through the glass entrance doors, sifting through her worn leather bag. A few workers, also employed by Frostmaw, offer her kind smiles and familiar waves. She’s known here, another reason to rush her composure. Can’t have word getting around that Alvina Landon look frazzled. It’s not a good look for Cenril that she should ever be panicked outside of typical (and reasonable) panic inducing situations. All of which include; Hostile takeover of the building or vessel you happen to be inhabiting, the abduction of friends, family members, or yourself - murder attempts via secret flower bombs, etc etc. The thin layer of dust that lined her desk haunts her still. Had she been gone so long? Would Hildegarde understand? Had the Queen called for her at any point during her absence? While questions whirl through her mind, Helen tips her head towards the exit with an expectant stare. If blacksmiths are what you’re looking for honey, one is just in reach outside.

Encara thinks she would like Helen were she capable of liking anyone (okay, she is, but it takes time). She can appreciate the woman's no-nonsense attitude and her short, straight answer is refreshingly pleasant in a place where people are very fond of rambling and riddles— at least so far as Encara has found. "Thank you." Gratitude from a drow is rare, more so when it's genuine, but there's no lie in Encara's voice. She flashes Helen a faint smile before she nods and turns, still carrying that strange package as she makes her way back out of the building and into the cold. A gust of wind smacks her in the face, blasting silver hair back out of her eyes and stinging her cheeks with tiny flecks of ice, and the drow's nose wrinkles with disgruntlement. Frostmaw is as welcoming as ever. Encara did not miss the weather during her time in Venturil and finds herself longing for the mist and dry heat, just for a moment. The woman Helen had pointed out has found a seat on a nearby bench and Encara wastes no time in her approach, eager to get back inside or find herself another blacksmith if this one is unavailable. Either way, it means getting out of the wind. "Hey," she begins, the slight furrow of her brow the only indication she's aware of Alvina's current state, "the desk lady told me you're a blacksmith. You wouldn't happen to be free to take a job, would you?" A short pause follows, equal parts thoughtful and hesitant, before Encara flicks a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and asks, "…Have I met you somewhere before?"

Helen does what she always does and keeps a level expression. If Encara had looked back, she might see the -faintest- of nods. That’s as close as the clerk came to emotion. Alvina hasn’t moved from the bench. Encara’s abrupt greeting mixed with her silvered hair give Alvina pause. Cautious emerald eyes drift over the ranger’s face, searching for something. The engineer’s features eventually lax into a polite smile while she flicks through the possible responses to ‘Hey’ as Encara goes on without her. The mention of a job perks her posture, her right fleshed arm is still elbow deep in her satchel is recovered. “I am indeed a Royal Blacksmith in Frostmaw’s employ and have no current projects in the works.” - Because I’ve been gone for a while, she finishes internally while guilt pumps through her veins. It’s abundantly clear that the drow’s question catches Alvina off guard. Surely, she’d remember a drow. They aren’t common in these parts of the wilds. “I...don’t think so?” comes her confused but earnest reply. “But I’m Alvina. Alvina Landon.” She rises off the bench and extends her fleshed hand to Encara, should she wish to shake it. Never offer the metal one first, it weirds people out. Her left hand twitches; a physical reaction to her line of thinking. There's no real deceit in her. “Tell me about this job. Who sent you? Who is it for?”

"Ah. Landon." That's a name she knows. There's a small smirk curving Encara's lips as she shakes Alvina's hand with her own uncovered one - her left arm, gauntleted to the elbow in black steel, is not for pleasant greetings. "Cenril," she continues conversationally, perhaps thinking aloud. "I've been to two meetings there where I might've caught sight of you, but I doubt you attended one of them… you don't feel like a witch." Relinquishing her grip, she shakes her head, a certain calculating sharpness in the drow's scarlet eyes as she meets Alvina's gaze. "The mansion, then. A few months ago, Uma Abelin called upon people to seek out ancient crystal skulls - I was there. You must have been, too. But—" With a wave of the hand Encara brings a halt to that particular topic, smoothly moving on to business as though the weight of Cenril's recent unrest, of Valrae's resurrection and the betrayal that almost resulted in its failure, means nothing at all. "—That's neither here or there. I am Encara Val'thyrion, a ranger and scout of the Alliance. The job is for me; I'm in need of a new bow, or an upgrade at the very least, and acquired some special materials I'd like you to use for it. I have them with me." This answers half of the mystery surrounding the package she carries, though -what- she's brought is still unclear - a very faint aura of dark magic escapes the heavy tarp Encara wrapped it in. "It would be best if I unwrap this somewhere safer though," the drow adds, ominously.

Alvina isn’t surprised Encara knows her last name. What does surprise her is the talk of Uma’s meetings, a subject that is so tightly wound with the woman Alvina knows. Valrae. Though she doesn’t speak on the subject of the witch directly, guilt rolls through her eyes like a passing storm. Soon, her husband’s ex-paramour would be dead. Or so Hudson has told her. “I only attended one.” She offers, a tight lipped smile until the move on to better topics. “A bow,” She repeats, tilting her head towards the box in question. Her sharp eyes examine the weapon on Encara’s person, as much as she’s able. Her sense of magic detection is limited, so the menacing aura does not reach her (or if it does, Alvina just believes the feeling to be linked to the topic of witches). The title she offers doesn’t sound familiar. What was the Alliance? “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Encara.” The bard’s tongue is slow to pick up the syllables, stumbles at the start. With a smirk, Alvina nods. “I haven’t done a bow since Khitti’s…" she says aloud, though her attention is on the Tower’s glass doors and not her companion. After a sigh, she gestures back towards the Entrance. “My office should be sufficient.” Here she swallows nervously, hoping the mess won’t deter the request. Should Encara accept, Alvina will nod and start in that direction. A short man exiting the building holds the door open for them. Helen follows the sight of them as they move through security and up the snaking stone stairs to the third floor. It’s quiet, no activity on this end of things. Alvina silently leads the way to her office’s door and opens it casually, as if she’d not - moments before- dashed away from this very spot like a frightened rabbit. “Forgive the mess…” Inside, a small desk with scattered charcoal pencils and dusty blueprints resides. In the space between the desk’s front and the doorway, two chairs with extravagantly vibrant cushions (clearly an addition) wait to receive any clients or visitors. The rest of the room is sparse, bare and uniform with the rest of the countless rooms in this complex. Alvina’s golden arm extends towards the chairs, “Please have a seat.” Her offering is quiet. She shuts the door behind them and moves to the other side of the desk to take up her own chair, tucking stray crimson curls behind her ears before continuing.. “Tell me about this bow.”

Encara's brows raise at mention of Khitti, the drow's expression close to impressed. "I have seen the power of that bow. You made it?" This lifts her tired spirits some - if Alvina is capable of a weapon like Diamond Dust then Encara is confident the smith will be able to achieve something suitable for her, too. As they re-enter the building and Alvina leads the way up deserted stairs and quiet floors, Encara follows just behind, close enough that she'll be felt more as an accompanying presence than a stalking foe. Alvina's office is fairly small, dark, and as spartan as the rest of the Towers but for those smart chairs, though the drow's sharp eyes note the slight disorder in the room even before its owner apologises for the mess. The dust is an unexpected sight. Encara eyes the thin film of it coating Alvina's desk as she approaches the empty seat, but does not sit. "I'm looking for something particular - something that can imbue my arrows with a weakness to magic so that my own enchantments are all the more devastating. It's fine if you can't enchant it yourself and it's fine if it's plain. I want a weapon that will kill my enemies - if I wanted an ornament to show off on my wall, I'd find a sculptor. It should be strong, yet flexible, and accurate."

Shucking the strap of the long package off of her shoulder, the drow sets her burden down and flips the tarp open. A rather gruesome sight lies within, pale planes of mottled bone catching what little light makes it past the shutters before a sudden gust of chill wind rises from nowhere. Stray papers flutter to the ground and Encara's cloak whirls around her. Frowning, she finally accepts the offered chair while speaking to Alvina. "Wraith bones." An entire arm, in fact, severed at the shoulder and missing the hand, but the elbow joint remains intact. "The dark magic lingering upon them isn't something I can do much about. I wouldn't recommend touching it without gloves though. But I took the liberty of cleaning it up for you, removing all the ragged flesh and gristle." It hadn't been the most pleasant job - Encara's nose wrinkles faintly at the memory. "Here," she continues, placing her bow on the table beside the bones. A large recurve, it boasts a riser of dark, durable Val'thyrion ironwood shaped at each end into the head of a sharp-eyed hawk, and several black-steel blades embedded into the limbs allow the drow to wield her bow with deadly efficiency even in close combat. "This is a fairly standard bow of my House… strip it down and remove these birds." Her fingertips brush along the curve of an engraved beak. "Replace the limbs with the wraith bones but keep the riser if you can - it may need some adjustments to retain the bow's balance if the new limbs are much larger. I'd like new blades on the outer edge of the limbs as well."

Alvina absorbs the scene and information with narrowed but attentive eyes. Indeed she was the creator of that bow, the name of which she does not know, only it’s def power. She’d had a hand, even, in scribbling out the first chapter of the weapon’s lore with her own hand. It felt a lifetime ago. She felt so much younger then. “I can’t say Val’thyrion ironwood is my specialty but -” A pause, while she lifts a corner of the tarp to shift the wraith bones. “I’m interested to learn it’s language.” Every metal had a dialect in which it spoke and worked, and it was one of the greatest joys in her life to come to speaking terms with all sorts. Encara’s request to remove the hawks earns the drow a smirk. She flashes her golden hand, delicate roses etched into the metal without divots. “I’m not one for decoration, mostly.” She hadn’t asked for the design but.. Ranok did what he liked, as he often did in most cases anyway. Khitti’s bow was also a recurve, so she’d have no trouble with the tension or basic structure of Encara’s request. “I might make some adjustments, for the sake of accuracy, but this sounds possible. About the arrows.” She pauses, having moved to take the bow in both hands, tilting it’s weight between each open palm. “I can’t say I’m much of an enchanter -” If only Linn was here “But I can recommend a decent spell caster on the first floor. I’ll swing it by his station before it’s through.” If Alvina attempted anything with increasing magical vulnerability...each arrow would be it’s own individual work of art. Time consuming. Expensive. Not practical, in the way of archers or hunters. “Wraith bones…” She repeated, this time followed by a chuckle. “My first job since my return and already it’s off the charts, by the usual request standards.” Alvina didn’t look at all heartbroken. In fact, she looked brighter than she had before, despite the displaced papers and difficult riddle she’d have to unravel to bring this together. They could haggle prices after the product was...produced! The dimness of the room doesn’t hide the curiosity the backlit her emerald gaze as it found Encara’s face proper. “I appreciate your assistance in preparing the material. Can’t say I have any...desire to uh, experience that myself.” It’s meant to be a joke, her tone weaving in lighter notes of speech. “It’ll take some time.” She offers, “Where can I send word if I have questions or when it’s complete?”

Encara barks a laugh, amused. "I don't doubt it - you likely won't find it outside of my House. Truthfully, I've never been able to tell if the trees are natural or metal, or a mixture of both. They're quite beautiful though." Her voice softens a touch toward the end with nostalgia, maybe the tiniest hint of homesickness. It has been a long time since Encara ventured back into the Underdark, let alone to the vaunted halls of her House. Alvina's words draw her back and the drow shakes her head, absently rubbing at her neck. "I make and enchant my own arrows. I was looking to weave an enchantment into the bow itself, actually. If there's someone here who can do that, it'll help me, but if not then I can try applying one myself." Once again her gaze falls to the bones lying between them on the table, a wry little smirk twisting the corner of Encara's lips. "You've been gone a while, then." The dust told her that quite clearly, but not why. Her head tilts slightly to the side in quiet consideration before Alvina's question catches her attentions again. "I have a room at the fort. It's small, out of the way by the storage— easy to miss, but most of the guards know where it is so they should be able to point a courier in the right direction. As for the matter of payment…" The blacksmith has yet to mention it herself, but it's been on Encara's mind since she stepped outside to approach the frazzled woman. She stands while continuing to speak, leaving her bow upon the table with a measure of reluctance. "If it's gold you want, that will be no problem… but I have plenty of skills of my own to offer if you're looking for something more specific." There's something conspiratorial in the drow's voice; an edge that hints toward unpleasant things. "A woman of your standing surely has enemies, Alvina Landon. Do let me know if I can be of assistance."

Alvina’s gaze drops to the desk with Encara’s observation about the state of her office. She’s tempted, just this once, to spill secrets of house and state to this woman. Bloodletting could be therapeutic… “Time is fickle.” is all she musters before moving forward. Encara’s description of Ironwood reminds her of the Black Ice used in Khitti’s bow. It was metal but also enchanted ice. Two things woven into one. If only things in the world could fuse so cleanly and completely as weaponry. “I’ll toy with it a little and let you know for sure.” comes her reply on the topic of enchantments. The mention of payment is another jagged thing. A woman of her standing… who’d just had the pleasure of removing a bomb from her home. “Who doesn’t have enemies in times such as these…” She asks the Ranger, a sudden pensive nature clouding her formerly bright and inquisitive gaze. “I thank you, and I would be most grateful to call upon your skills as opposed to monetary reward.” Money meant little when you didn’t need to concern yourself with it. Hudson handled...just about everything in that regard. A worry she’d gladly given up. “I know the area fairly well, if I can I’ll come in person to discuss. I imagine it’s best to keep the projects specifics between us.” Gods, she feels...old. Something of note, Alvina has yet to catch her companion staring at her metallic limb. It’s a nice change of pace for a new encounter, even if they’d occupied the same space once before without her knowledge. “Forgive me for not remembering you from before.” A beat, while the bard turns to wrap the wraith arm back in it’s tarp and align the bow alongside it lengthwise on the desk. “I don’t know what brought you to Frostmaw Towers, but I’m grateful I’m the one to take your request.” When Alvina turns back to face her, she’s painted on a thin smile. “I’d be happy to walk you back to the entrance...if you don’t have any further questions.”

Encara offers a nod at Alvina's response regarding enchantments, satisfied with the answer for the time being. There are always other methods if the smith can't figure much out herself. "I suppose that's true," she agrees absently at the mention of enemies. "Though I am used to a world where everyone — or almost everyone — is my enemy, even those you'd call family. It's quite difficult to imagine one without." The smirk grows almost jagged, grim and not exactly pleasant. Moving to the door, Encara holds it open for Alvina to exit along with her, happy to have the woman accompany her to the exit. As they wind their way back down to the front desk, the drow addresses her prior apology. "There was a bit of a crowd and I can be difficult to spot, so you may not have seen me. No apology necessary. It was good to meet you now, though." The wind has picked up even more in the short time they've been inside, throwing snowflakes haphazardly around in the air - Encara breathes a sigh as she halts briefly at the main door and lifts her hood to cover her head, turning to meet Alvina's eyes. "Let me know if the ironwood gives you trouble, or simply when you complete the weapon. I'd appreciate keeping this between us but you don't need to go out of your way to come in person if you're busy. Time is fickle." A sharp smile follows before the drow nods her head in farewell and slips out into the cold, soon flickering out of view in the thickening fog of an approaching snowstorm.