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Old March 17, 2008, 06:53 PM   #16 (permalink)
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Ylva

“No measurements. I have a good eye, girl- don’t you worry, I never disappoint.” The old woman responded as she continued to rock, back and forth, back and forth, darning on her chair. “And you put those coins away. You can pay when you come back for your things, when they’ve already been made. I don’t take any payment up front.”

The woman did not lift her eyes from her work for one second whilst speaking. That was not to say she did not listen, however; Old Mother Merriam happened to listen very well. When, of course, she could actually hear what it was a person said.

“You want leather? I can make you a leather bag, but it’ll be costly. Leathers don’t come as easy in this town.” Which was true. High Peak specialised more in furs than leathers, the larger beasts needed for such things being more of a rarity in town. For some things, the village relied on imports from Frigid River, instead; this simply happened to be one of those such things.

“Another eight crowns for the bag.”

Hoskuld

“You pay when I give it to you. See if you like it or not.” The old woman replied, her tone of voice neither impatient nor enthused. Old Mother Merriam operated on a basis wherein she did not sell goods unless those she had made them for appreciated what they had. For all that she was a grumpy old soul, after all, the seamstress was something of an artist at heart, and a wily perfectionist, to boot. If someone did not like what she had made, if it did not live up to their expectations, then she simply would not sell it them, simple as that.

Ebramsom

“Yes, yes, I know why you’re here.” Old Mother Merriam replied to Ebramsom’s words, rising from her chair amid creaks. Indeed, it was difficult to tell from where the weary noises came- from the furniture, or perhaps even the old woman herself.

Moving her form over to a small table at one side, she beckoned the elf to come, and to see what it was she had made. There, folded neatly in an arrangement most precise, was Ebramsom’s order, incredibly well made that it was. The coat, the glove, and the boots, had each been trimmed in white wolf fur, darned expertly to suitably thick cloth. There was no doubt that the garments would keep the de Lylles warm, but beyond that they appeared rather fetching, to boot.

“They look good to you, boy?” The old woman queried, eyeing Ebramsom through a slightly narrowed gaze, as though she found something peculiar in his look.
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Old March 18, 2008, 09:11 AM   #17 (permalink)
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Ylva hesitated, then tucked her coin back away into its purse. If the woman would not take compensation until after a job was done, then so be it. She would not argue. "All right," she responded somewhat awkwardly, the accent thick on her tongue.

As for her request, Ylva hesitated somewhat. "Leather fine. Just so long as it white, yeah? To blend with the snows." This was an important point to the woman and she clearly felt it needed to be pressed. A white bag. That was what she needed.

"How long they take? I be back in...how many brightenings?"
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Old March 18, 2008, 12:38 PM   #18 (permalink)
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Ebramsom smiled and looked at the clothing. It was lovely, and warm, and that was the key part, it was warm. Ebrams only saving grace so far was the fact that his clothing came in like four layers, but they were clothing for the plains, not this frigid environment.

"Thank you." He said with a smile and handed over the 26 crowns. "It is lovely." He wondered why she was giving him that look, but then again he had received a lot of looks lately.
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Old March 19, 2008, 09:33 PM   #19 (permalink)
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Listening to the seamstress, Hoskuld nodded. "Alright, then. Six brightenings then. I'll see you at that time. My name is Hoskuld Coal-beard. Serale."

He put his things back on and prepared to go outside. Just before he went out the door, he paused and turned to the elf. "And Serale to you, too." He didn't want to be rude. Actually, he *did* want to be rude, but something told him that in a village as small as High Peak it wouldn't do any good to offend somebody important-looking. He might actually turn out to be important, for an elf.

Six brightenings later, Hoskuld returned. He was a quick learner -why did people always assume dwarves were slow learners?- and took his boots off this time at the door without being asked. "Serale," he said. "I'm Hoskuld Coal-beard, the dwarf who-" he paused and realized he was making an assumption, "a dwarf who came by six brightenings ago to order a coat, hat, gloves, and boots worth 30 Crowns. I came to see if my order is ready."
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Old April 1, 2008, 05:09 PM   #20 (permalink)
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Ylva

The old woman in her chair said nothing about the girl’s accent, apparently not even having acknowledged it as she continued to carry on with her work. What she did acknowledge, however, was the query voiced, and this she answered almost instantaneously, with only a moment’s pause given for slipping another thread through her weave.

“Come back in four brightenings, I’ll have it all done for you then. Four brightenings!” It had nothing to do with Ylva’s accent, but there was something to the old woman’s tone which suggested that she doubted the girl, or that anyone could understand. Perhaps she had had problems with premature arrivals in the past, or perhaps she simply wanted to avoid them in future, to ensure that she never had any at all. Whatever the reason, what was said was now said, and the younger woman could either choose to accept this, or not.

Ebramsom

Old Mother Merriam soaked up the elf’s praise like a sponge, albeit without the usual puffing out which came with the swell of water from within. She said nothing, continuing to rock back and forth on her chair, the weave still being worked in her hands as though she had not a care for anything else in this world.

She would say nothing more to the elf save if he chose to voice a question himself, place another order or some-such. It would only be polite to do so, after all, and whilst Old Mother Merriam might have been many things, impolite did not happen to be one of them.

Hoskuld

When Hoskuld returned, Merriam had already set his good out for him on a small table nearby, folded neatly, precisely- moreso, it seemed, than the dwarf could ever do. His newly made cloak had been folded and laid beneath the hat and gloves, whilst the boots stood proudly on the floor beneath, ready to take on the outside’s cold. In all they had been beautifully crafted, and more than worth the coin which Hoskuld had to give.

“You see them on the table, there? They look good to you, boy?” Was all the greeting that Old Mother Merriam had to give. It seemed her attitude had not changed much in the brightenings prior, and then there was still the matter of the price that the dwarf had yet to pay.
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Old April 3, 2008, 12:36 PM   #21 (permalink)
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2nd Cycle of Imperos, Autumn, Era XIV

Mineal was still trying to get used to the town. Most of the surroundings he could easily remember, he liked the way the town was split into tiers it reminded him of a burrow with differing floors though perhaps with less organization than the typical rodenti dwelling.

It had been on his mind for a while. As far as clothes went Mineal did not require many thanks to a nice warm layer of fat and fur of his own. Still, he was used to fitting in with his surroundings and sticking out in the majority of the empire with his tan clothes was not all that appealing. He also had a predisposition for camouflage, and against the snowy peaks of the mountains his usual attire afforded little. So it was thus that he came to Merriam's in search of more geographically correct covering. Mineal reared back up on his hinds legs and stepped into the shop.

He slipped his goggles up onto his head and looked around at the bundles of fur and cloth stacks that lined the walls constricting what small floorspace was in the log structure. Though cramped he preferred the places made of dead trees rather than the buildings of Acumin crafted of living trees. Interrupted by the old maid the mosat turned to her and nodded.

"I am interested in a cloak, white. One with a hood and arm holes instead of an open slit, a pull over. It needs to be water proof. How much would that be?" Mineal came to the point quickly and directly as he usually did. He did not have many crowns, but he felt the cloak would be a necessity for surviving and stalking out prey in the winter landscape.
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Old April 5, 2008, 10:04 AM   #22 (permalink)
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Ylva's lips pressed together to a form a thin, annoyed line. The old woman may or may not have ignored her requests. Being old, it was quite possible that her hearing was bad. She'd certainly not acknowledged any of Ylva's comments on how she wanted it done. Be back in four brightenings. That was it.

Straight-backed, Ylva nodded and thanked the woman in a gruff voice that did somewhat convey that annoyance. But she left without further comment. Come four brightenings she would discover whether or not her belongings would be tailored in the way she wished them to be.

She returned on the specified brightening, money in hand. Sixteen crowns. They clinked in a small purse-bag cradled in the curve of her palm, her fingers tight against their bulky, stiff edges. "Serale. Here to pick up clothes, yeah? Red vest, white bag," she offered...in case the woman did not remember her face. She clung on to her money. She'd see them first, approve of them, before she paid.
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Old April 7, 2008, 10:24 PM   #23 (permalink)
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Mineal

Rodenti were not exactly commonplace in this community, but then Old Mother Merriam, as her namesake suggested, was old. She had seen a lot, experienced a lot, and would witness a lot more still before her time came to an end. The weaver of furs was something of a landmark in this town; she had been here at the beginning, it seemed, and was prone to being here at the end.

The mosat received a curious, questioning look, which soon faded beneath speculation as Old Mother Merriam considered something with the space of her mind. It was an important thing- to her, at least- and one which she brought up with all her patrons, when they entered. Whether or not the thing would be pertinent with Mineal now, however, was an uncertainty. Should she ask, or shouldn’t she? Merriam remained on the proverbial fence, for a time, Hmming and Aahing within the privacy of her own thoughts before finally, the words made to come out.

“With or without fur?” The old woman ventured. In these sorts of cases, it was always best to ask.

Ylva

The woman remembered Ylva quite well, and gestured over towards a table besides her as she spoke, apparently not caring to give an answer in kind. She would wait for the young one to look over what it was she had done, the weaves of fabric and fur she had mixed.

The vest was indeed red, having been woven from what appeared to be fox fur, with small splashes of a darker black. The craftsmanship was impressive, with the seams almost impossible to see beneath the to’s and fro’s of the fleece. The leather bag was equally impressed, the white leather of a decent quality, if not exactly supreme. It was functional, and would keep Ylva’s belongings dry in the worst of weather; a useful thing to have, giving this mountain weather’s temperament.

Sat content within her chair, Old Mother Merriam continued to rock, work in hand, though she did voice a query, offering a sidelong glance besides.

“They look good to you, girl?”
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Old April 8, 2008, 02:56 PM   #24 (permalink)
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It was an odd quesiton posed to the mosat. He did not see any conflict in wearing hides and fur. Besides what would be better to warm and hide oneself than something else's skin that performed that very function? Mineal was versed well enough in killing, skinning, and pulling meat from the carcass. For him it was a method of survival, not something ugly. Anyways, there were no rodenti in the region or he doubtlessly would have known about it.

Mineal shook his head. "Whatever blends in better with snow and ice."
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Old April 9, 2008, 12:48 PM   #25 (permalink)
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Ylva was not quick in picking up her clothes and declaring them good enough for her to wear. She was somewhat picky when it came to her belongings and while she had heard that the woman did well at her profession, she'd yet to really see the proof.

She picked up the vest and turned it about in her hands, fingers running over the seams where things had been pieced together. The splash of black that went along with the red increased the appeal and Ylva resolved to switch clothing once she returned back to the barracks.

The cherhc set aside the vest and focused on the bag. This one was far more important than a vest that was more flair than useful. The bag needed to blend with the snows or else it would not be useful. It needed to withstand the dampness of the snow and hard weather. She turned it about in her hands, tugging at it a little to test the seams, fingers shifting over the leather as her nose scrunched slightly.

At length she nodded and smiled at the woman. "Yeah, look good. As the folk say, you do good work." She bundled the red vest into the bag to sling it over her shoulder. "Eighteen crowns, yes?" She had already prepared the necessary amount of coin and she held them out to the woman to take.
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Old April 9, 2008, 08:43 PM   #26 (permalink)
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Mineal

Old Mother Merriam had voiced a question which necessitated a ‘with’ or ‘without’ answer in kind. Nothing difficult, nothing dubious or tricky…simply that, and nothing more. What she was given, therefore, became something of a source of frustration, and she cringed, noticeably, her fingers tightening their grip on the needles for a moment as she glanced towards him through slit eyes, gritted teeth.

“That’s not an answer!” She snapped, though she said nothing more, huffing to herself instead as her fingers scurried with the weave she had in hand. The motions were faster now, more erratic, though the work still maintained its quality- a strange thing, perhaps, in face of how she felt.

“Twelve crowns for without.” The old woman finally muttered, after a time spent in temperamental silence. It was easy enough to see that she far from being impressed.

Ylva

The old woman nodded in response to Ylva’s praise, as though she had heard it all before and thus it was nothing new, nothing to particularly marvel or wonder at. She did, however, nod as the young woman made her absent query regarding price. Eighteen crowns was what had been agreed, and Old Mother Merriam accepted it, with good grace.

Nothing remained to be said, however- not unless the other asked her a question, and the weaver kept herself silent, working meticulously at the invention of cloth and furs on her lap. Ylva was another satisfied customer, and Old Mother Merriam’s work, it seemed, was done.
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Old April 15, 2008, 03:55 PM   #27 (permalink)
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Mineal regarded the old lady with black eyes as she snapped at him. He did not fully understand what she had meant by not an answer. It had sounded like answer, felt like an answer to the rodenti. What mattered to him was that the article would blend effortlessly with the snow and icy landscape around High Peak, not what the material was made from.

Twelve crowns sounded a little pricy to the mosat but he also was aware the shriveled little shrew had a deathgrip on the the town's supply of clothing. "All right. When will it be ready?" Mineal had no desire to impress Merriam, or even care about her. All he needed was a well-made piece of cloth, not the disgruntled opinions of a weathered hag.
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Old April 18, 2008, 04:01 PM   #28 (permalink)
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Mineal

Mineal was not looking to impress the old woman, and Merriam, she in turn remained unimpressed with him. It was a balance, of sorts, and at the least they were both content. The mosat would be getting what he wanted, in the end, and for Old Mother Merriam, business was always a boon.

“Come back in two brightenings, I’ll have it for you then.” She spoke to him, her tone not any chipper than it had been but moments before. Neither of them were making the effort, and neither of them, so it seemed, really cared.
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Old April 19, 2008, 02:29 PM   #29 (permalink)
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Mineal wondered lightly to himself that if the woman was not as needed in High Peak as she was whether she would have the same attitude. Of course it did not really matter, the rodenti was not exactly looking to make friends with the old woman he just needed her to sew. And Merriam despite all her gruff and bluster seemed willing to at least do him that small transaction.

The mosat shuffled back into the shop much the same way he had two circuits of the suns earlier. He make a quick cursory sweep of the small building with his eyes before stepping towards the woman. "Is my order ready?"
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Old April 20, 2008, 06:01 PM   #30 (permalink)
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Mineal

Merriam's mood had apparently not improved since last the rodenti had come. Her features contorted into some semblance of dismay as he re-entered her home once again, though said nothing which would indicate conflict, or hate. They were simply doing business, after all; nothing more, and nothing less.

When the mosat voiced his query, Merriam merely moved her head, chin jutting towards a small table by her side, upon which lay Mineal's purchase. The cloak was well made, and, if the ranger cared to look, examine the piece, exactly to his order and specifications, to boot. For all that some thought her a grumpy old hag, there was no doubt as to the fact that Old Mother Merriam did good work.

All that was left now, it seemed, was for the mosat ranger to pay.
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