As Freyja disembarked from the Northern Maiden after she docked in Raven Rock, the Nord woman could not help but look at the revitalized mining town in awe. She had heard that the architecture of the place had taken on a Dunmeri influence after the eruption of Red Mountain, but to actually see it was something else entirely. The blonde makes her way into the settlement, the sounds of Dark Elf merchants hawking their wares hitting her from all sides, face covered figures in strange armor walking the streets- guards, she assumes, and all the strange smells permeating the air reminded the soldier that she was definitely no longer in Windhelm anymore.
A familiar clang breaks through the calls of stall merchants- the sound of a hammer hitting a blacksmith's anvil- and Freyja couldn't help but allow the slight smile appearing on her normally stoic face. Chances are, if the smith is worth their salt, they should be able to point me in the right direction. Though...it would be even better if I could just buy what I need from them outright, instead of having to go gallivanting across Solstheim for it.
Following the sound, the soldier finds near the entrance to the docks a bald headed Breton bending over the fire pit, holding the hilt of what seemed to be a longsword in his right hand. As quiet as she tries to be, Freyja figures she must have made some sort of noise as a pair of curious topaz eyes peer up from the forge.
"Glover Mallory's the name," the man goes as his frame straightens, the light from the burning coals casting odd shadows across rugged cheekbones. "If you're looking for a smith, you've found one of the best."
"Is that so? Perhaps at another time you should put your money where your mouth is, Sera?"
"A Nord who will actually utter a word in Dunmeri, I now have heard everything. What's a girl like you doing in a damnable place like this?"
The lithe woman leans against one of the support columns opposite where the blacksmith stood, a honey colored brow arching slightly at his comment. "When you've spent most of your life growing up in Windhelm, you can not help but pick up a few things here or there. I suppose I could ask the same of you- what's a Breton doing in a settlement full of Dark Elves? Surely you could have worked a forge in a Hold on Skyrim?"
"A fine question, and the one I hear the most often from visitors to our town," Glover goes, setting the redhot blade into the the water to cool it. As steam wafts up from the liquid, he continues "I wish I had a more romantic tale to tell, but I was simply seeking my fortune and chose Raven Rock to ply my trade. Besides, knowing how to repair bonemold armor wasn't very useful in Riften."
"Bonemold armor? You mean that strange gear I see some wearing?" A bare hand gestures towards one of people in question as they walk down the street. At the nod, she continues "Who taught you that? Not something most smiths would know."
"I had a friend over there, a dark elf named Vanryth...a very talented armorsmith. Spent a lot of time with the guy swapping smithing techniques. Learned a heck of a lot, including how to repair bonemold." A smile graces the Breton's face at the memory of conversations long since past. "After he moved on to greener pastures, I decided to pack up, move out here and put those lessons to the test. Been here ever since."
"Surely there's someone back in Skyrim who misses you?"
A chuckle escapes the Breton as he pulls the sword from the water, his eyes peering at the steel critically. "Doubtful. I mean, I have a brother, but he's wrapped up in his own things back in Riften. He comes up here periodically to visit and keeps me informed of what is going on. He finds things for people, after a fashion- makes a bit of good coin doing it too. Other than that..." A noncommittal shrug tells the woman he wasn't completely keen on talking about it. "But you're not here to talk about my past. How can my forge be of service?"
"I came across in some reading I did awhile ago that Solstheim is home to a crafting material that was known at one point as enchanted ice," Freyja goes, rubbing at her face tiredly. "I have need of some so that I can forge a few things. I was hoping that you would either have some, or that you would know where I could mine the ore."
"Stalhrim." Glover looks at the woman over the thin edge of the blade, studying her as if she was an ingot to be forged into something useful. "I suppose I could help you, but only if you'd do something for me." He hears a soft sigh over the crackling of the forge and presses slightly. "Look, you need help and so do I, so why not help each other get what we want?"
She sighs softly, but the Nord knew the smith was right. Besides, Talos only knows how long I'll be here, let alone how long it will take me to find the- what did he call it? Stalhrim? "I'm listening."
"Before you came over here, did you happen to meet an old Imperial miner named Crescius Caerellius?"
"You're the first person I've spoken to since I disembarked from the Northern Maiden. Why are you looking for him?"
A livid expression appeared on the Breton's face, one that looked more at home at an angry Galmar than on the man before her, as he goes "That foolish old man's taken my pickaxe again!"
"You're...angry over...a simple pickaxe?" Blonde brows furrow in confusion as the woman continues "You're a blacksmith, you can simply make your own, can't you?"
"No, no, no!" Calloused hands wave wildly as Glover cuts Freyja off before she could say anything more. "This isn't just your run-of-the-mill pickaxe. I'm talking about an Ancient Nord Pickaxe. They don't exactly grow on trees, you know."
"What's so special about an Ancient Nord Pickaxe?"
"It's the only tool tough enough to crack Stalhrim, is what it is. That's what you'll need if you want to get the ore to craft whatever it is you plan on making. Not many of those beauties left in the world- forging them is a lost art. The one Crescius "borrowed" came from the Skaal Village up north. I, uh, traded them some goods for it. If you're looking to learn more about Stalhrim though, you should head to the village I mentioned- someone there is bound to know more about it than I do."
"Traded. Sure, let's say I believe that. How do I know you'll keep to your end of the bargain and help me?"
Glover gives Freyja a knowing smirk. "You don't, but that's the fun, isn't it- wondering if the gamble will pay off? Besides, it's not like you're doing anything else now, is there?"
The Breton had her there and they both knew it. She huffs softly, the nods her acquiescence. "Fine. Where can I find this Crescius person?"
"Try the mines- he seems to believe that the East Empire company lied about the death of some family member of his. The insane Imperial just doesn't know how to let the past stay where it belongs."
"Come to make fun of an old man and his ramblings, have you?"
Mercurial eyes blink at the accusation and all Freyja can do is shake her head. "I'm afraid not. I'm looking for a Crescius Caerellius."
A dry hand reaches up to stroke at a gray moustache as if in thought. "You've found him, Lass. How can I help you?"
"I heard you have an Ancient Nord Pickaxe in your possession... I was hoping to acquire it from you."
"Did Glover Mallory put you up to this?" The older male scowls, slamming a slightly arthritic hand against the table before him. "That damned fool doesn't even deserve it! The pickaxe was made for mining, not for selling. I bet he stole it from the Skaal in the first place."
"The blacksmith is the one who told me yes, but it's because I'm in search of Stalhrim and he said it's the only thing capable of mining it."
Crescius nods "That it is. But why would a young woman like you have need of enchanted ice anyway? You look like you'd be more at home behind a book than wielding a sword."
Orbs once a glittering silver, now blacker than a starless night, narrow in anger. "Perhaps you should not judge that which you do know or understand." Before the man could say another word, her long fingers grab at the hem of her blue tunic and lifts it just below her breastband, revealing numerous scars decorating a toned torso. "Would you say that I don't know my way around a battlefield and weapons? I've killed my home's foes, I've killed people I once called brother. I've taken blows meant for loved ones, spilled my own blood for strangers. I know plenty about wielding a sword, Imperial. Can you honestly say the same?" Lowering the material down once more, Freyja adds "And in answer to your question, I wish to craft a few things from it to give as gifts. Not to sell, not to make things and sell for profit. Some things...some things you just can't put a price on."
Brown eyes soften slightly and the miner nods. "Alright," he says quietly as the elder moves towards a drawer and, after opening it, pulls the item in question out. The man walks back towards the soldier and holds the pickaxe out, saying "Normally when Mallory is involved, there's some sort of scam hiding in the background... But your story is almost too good, and scars as old as some of those can't be faked. But know this, if you do decide to give it to him, tell the bastard I hope he drops the bloody thing on his foot."
As the blonde makes her way back to the forge, Freyja cannot help but feel slightly guilty at the half-truth she told the elderly miner. While it was true that yes she needed the tool in order to mine the Stalhrim, the only way she would able to be able to mine the stuff is if the Breton blacksmith allowed her to borrow it until her ideas came to fruition. Which means more negotiations, and I can only imagine what he would want in exchange.
"Find my pickaxe yet?"
Long fingers reach into a sack and pull the tool out by the handle. Holding out to the broad male, she goes simply "I have your Ancient Nordic Pickaxe."
A wide grin breaks out on the bald man's face. "So you finally tracked down old Crescius, eh? Quite a character, isn't he." Glover reaches up and rubs at his scruff lined chin thoughtfully, then goes, "Tell you what. Since you went through all the trouble of finding it for me and all, you keep it."
"Not that I'm grateful, but...after all that? Why?"
"I just wanted to remind that codger you can't just go around taking things from other people. Now that you've delivered the message, I'm satisfied. Besides, that pickaxe hasn't done me any good in years, and you need it more than I do right now.. Maybe you can put it to good use." Before the woman could say anything, he cuts her off. "There is...one other thing you could do for me."
I knew it. The Nord slowly puts the item back into her pack, her steely gaze never leaving amused hazel. "And what exactly would that be, Glover Mallory?"
"So distrusting, aren't you Lass," the blacksmith goes, stepping in front of her with his arms crossed. "I just figured if you're going to be spending time here in Raven Rock, and possibly using my forge, you could give me your name. Beats me calling you things like Lass, wench, woman and the like."
By the Nine, I didn't think that far. I was planning an in and out, not something that would be more than a day or two. Before she could think any further, Freyja says the first thing that comes into her head. "Skadi. You can call me Skadi."
A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't been around. We had a little bit of an RL situation at home that is slowly starting to remedy itself, so hopefully I can get back to writing sooner than I anticipated.
I always did wonder why Glover never had more of an involvement in things, even all the way up in Solstheim. Sure, there's getting the pickaxe back, and the bonemold formula, then Sapphire, but other than that, there's nothing. And why does Delvin give you jobs to steal from his own kin? I personally would have loved a small TG quest line where you can set up an Auxiliary guildhall somewhere in Solstheim...but that's just me and my not liking all the loose ends Skyrim has to offer.
Oh well, off to see if I can pull a few more updates out of my hat before I go to bed. Feel free to leave any comments or questions, even if it's to tell me I suck- but just tell me why I do!