Back again with more goodies uncovered from the long lost Word-file. Here a scene I painted about Gomrin getting back into the city of Unger for a refit. Mainly to repair though and thought why not just write an RP about it. Have fun reading!
Anvils of Unger
After days out on the tundra's, barren plainlands and far enough north, the frosty tracks of land of Lugrethen. Gomrin and his company of gruff men arrived at the gates of Unger. Marching through its impressive gatehouse and towards a smaller square nearby he was greeted with 2 men he had send on ahead. The people of Unger were used to rough warriors and these new arrivals fitted quite well into that description and thus drew no more attention than any other body of armed men would.
Several abysmally poor merchants came up to his men in an attempt to sell them goods, any goods really. They met with some success as the men did have coin to spend after being away from civilization for so long. The grins the merchants gave Gomrin's men were littered with holes were teeth had rotten away or were broken by fists. The food they sold his men was probably just as bad but hey, they hadn't had a decent meal in a while now and any ale would do at this point.
The burly form of Gomrin could be seen talking with the 2 men he had send ahead and they were indicating with their arms at a section of the town well known for its craftsmen. He nodded at them and then threw a glace at his men and saw them starting to loiter. ''Oi! drink while you walk and get a move on!'' He shouted at them and the men responded like a pack of hounds. Like a mesh of ringmail they linked together and moved to follow their leader. Gomrin had not waited to see which kind of response his words got him. He went straight towards the craftsmen district being flanked by the 2 scouts.
Truth be told however, even if his men had lost sight of Gomrin they would have little difficulty following in his wake as people parted for the dark brown maned brute. Making their way through the winding streets, crowded little markets and main roads of the city it became clear that they were headed towards the ring of metal on metal and the plumes of black smoke. The foundries and smithies. His men taking fruits or vegetables from stands and giving sneers in return. Loudly announcing their pressence with laughter, bad remarks and noisy belching. Several stand holders who objected to their foodstuffs being taken got pelted with pieces of apple for example spit back at them and were then laughed at. Gomrin didn't see any of it though as he was in the front and in the press of people traveling through the city.
A particular large foundry seemed to be their final destination. It sported 4 very large smelters and at least 9 lanes of casting 'tables', where the metal was poured into a form and then cooled down and sharpened. Off to the left there were 2 workshops full of metal workers creating ringmail, a tedious process but it created skin-like armour. As Gomrin strode into the courtyard of the foundry he was met by an immense man. Huge and broad shoulders, heavy ebony curled beard and arms that would be legs for most other men. His head was as bald as a baby's butt however and his blue eyes as clear as the summer sky.
Gomrin considered himself physically impressive but he felt a certain awe at the appearance of the Human Giant of a smith. ''You here as well for repairs?'' The giant smith all but barked at Gomrin. He in turn was visibly thrown off guard by the brisk manner of the smith. A craftsman he may be but still a commoner. Forgetting such differences in station Gomrin instinctively fell back to what had always worked for him so far. He growled back at the man and met his stare with one of his own. One that spelled pain and bloodshed. ''Only if your armour is any good..'' Gomrin's men streamed into the courtyard from behind their leader and quickly filled most of the courtyard.
The giant smith and Gomrin stared at each other for a long minute with both their men, soldiers and craftsmen, quietly watching their leaders standoff. The Giant smith's face split in half with a smile that exploded into laugher and Gomrin joined heartily in soon after. Their men perplexed for a moment but soon joined in as well. People in the vicinity of the foundry must've wondered what was going on but they never got an answer.
It seemed the two leaders had sized one another up and were satisfied to both have concluded they saw a kindred spirit. It sometimes happens, either laughter or violence ensues. Fortunately this time, it was laughter. ''I need repairs mostly but some new pieces as well.'' Gomrin said to the Giant smith as he indicated his men. Looking at the shabby state of their equipment spoke volumes to the master craftsman and he was being sympathetic towards the general state of Gomrin's men. They were a collection of battle hardened roughnecks, but still roughnecks and an odd collection of men at that. They had no uniform dress, no general equipment standards and definitely didn't all use the same weapons or even preferred the same style of fighting. They all fought the way they felt had the most chance of killing their opponent and keeping them alive.
The haggling wasn't really all that hard or long, the Giant smith named his price, Gomrin nodded and countered. The master craftsman pondered and they exchanged looks, a moment later they shook hands and that was that. That day and several that followed filled the air of Unger with the ring of hammers on anvils, the donkey's balking at their heavy loads of coal, ore and iron mixed with the roaring flames that urged the metal to bend under the skilled hands of the smiths. There was much armour made, repaired and replaced. Gomrin's men still looked like a band of misfits but misfits with good attire and with deadly intent.
Gomrin and his men, the Axethrowers of Unger were once more ready for the world beyond the gates, the world that had to face true men from Thalmarkin.
