A Drop in the Pond. [M]

[Draconian]

Grace played with her fingers while she leaned heavily against Motark. A quick glance away and she chewed on her lower lip. A chill climbed up her spine but for the usual reasons. She was cold again.

"Will that be alright?" She asked softly, looking a little worried, "I only know how to make... pretty things."

[DaGlobster]

"And you'll make pretty things," Motark said, stroking her hair.

"The artisans make the trophies for warriors and the jewelry for the villagers."

[Draconian]

Grace sighed and nodded.

It would be good to have a place here.

Even if it were fleeting. No doubt soon he would grow bored of her. Unable to give him anything other than... Fleeting lust? "I'd like... To be useful. At least in some way," Grace smiled, dipped her head down and sighed. "Maybe I'll have something nice for you when you get back?"

[DaGlobster]

"I'd like that," Motark said, looking down at her with a smile.

"Maybe I'll bring you something from the forest."

[Draconian]

A bright smile and Grace grabbed Motarks arn, pressing her cheek to it.

"I'd like that," and she looked at the door, then at Motark, "um.. should we go now?" A look away and she leaned in.

[DaGlobster]

"I'd be as good a time as ever," Motark said, and he laid a hand on Grace's hip.

"Go on, then."

[Draconian]

A deep breath and she paused for a moment, enjoying the lingering of bus touch. She felt safe, and she gave a quick nuzzle of his arm before she started to leave. "Are we going back to your tent or... To the smith?"

[DaGlobster]

"Well, your clothes are here, so unless you want to get anything, we can go to the smith," Motark said.

He stood from the water, skin glistening, knowing that the view he was giving Grace was stunning to say the least. He took his sweet time drying off and getting dressed, too.

[Draconian]

Right.

"Clothing," she nodded, watching him dry off. Standing naked still, pressing a hand to her abdomen and growing heated again at the sight of him before she turned her face away. Grace smoothed her hands over her breasts before she started to dress and nodding.

"Going to leave me with that image, huh?" She teased, voice quivering, "Making me eager for your return?"

[DaGlobster]

Motark chuckled, and he levelled his eyes at her as he fastened his fur kilt.

"That's the plan," he said, shooting her a grin.

"Do not worry. I will miss you as well."

[Draconian]

Grace nodded and quickly turned away.

Careful to tie her hair back in a braid, she fixed her clothing and made sure she was covered up. A small smile was directed to Motark when he shot her a grin and she glanced away and down, a flush on her cheeks. The cold set in quickly and she gave a shiver. Without the body contact or being near a fire, Grace returned to her natural setting of 'being cold.'

"Alright. I'm ready when you are," she huffed out, "Is it the sooner you leave the sooner you can come back?" Her voice was quiet and she swallowed, leaning in, looking up at him, "Because I'm cold without you." It scared her a little, to be ... Wanting. To not want to leave him. Because if he left she would be... What here. Meat? A plaything? Grace moved to Motark to curl her arm around his and press her cheek to it before she sighed, "Do you want a ring? Perhaps... An earring? Maybe a... Hm. What's small and that you can hide? I can make one of those."

[DaGlobster]

"Maybe... something I can hang from my helmet?" Motark said.

"Or a pin for my armor."

[Draconian]

Grace brightened at the idea, a smile and she nodded.

"I... Can do that. Something small," She paused before giving a quiet laugh, "And not cute. Hm." She pondered, "I'll have to think about it." A purse of her lips and she looked at Motark, "You're not going to bring me a loose leg, are you...?" Her voice quivered because she was fairly sure that's exactly what he would be bringing back.

[DaGlobster]

"A leg? Of course not, " Motark said, chuckling a bit deeper.

"It'll be something nice. You'll see."

[Draconian]

A curious look up at him, a purse of her lips and she gave him a gentle nudge with her fingers.

"I'm trusting you," She said, voice soft, just in case it carried out of the room. Licking her lips, Grace took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Okay, I'm ready for you to leave me with a strange so I can stuff my hands in some fire to warm up again." An expectant look up at him, eyes bright and a little smile, "And, if you leave, you'll be coming back."

[DaGlobster]

Motark smiled at her words, and he gave her cheek a gentle stroke as he stepped out of the tent.

He guided her to the artisan's hut, which was a ten-minute walk from Motark's own hut. Once they arrived, Motark opened the flap and ushered Grace inside. The interior was a fairly sized workshop, with three orcs already inside. Two were women, one young, one in her later years, and the other was a young orc boy, no older than thirteen.

The women gave Grace an odd look, before turning their eyes to their chief.

Motark spoke in orc, and he put his hand on Grace's shoulder. The older woman seemed pensive for a few moments, before she responded, and Motark smiled. He looked down to grace.

"She says she'll show you to the forge," Motark said.

"Come, softskin," said the older orc woman. Her common was passable.

"I'll show you where everything is. We have lots of work today, so I hope you're fast," she muttered as she turned about.

[Draconian]

Softskin.

Grace looked down at her hands, which she would admit, looked dainty and smooth.

Was she supposed to speak? Grace just nodded, keeping quiet, casting her eyes down. It was hard to remember that Motark was unusual in his treatment of her. Grace was a thing here. Not a person. Could they hurt her if she spoke back? Grace gave a long look to Motark, looking a little afraid but she gave him a quick smile and started to follow the older Orc woman without prompting, ready to work.

Get her mind off of extra curricular activities that would have to wait until later.

Grace gnawed on her lip and tried to smile politely before she flexed her fingers. It had been weeks since she'd done anything like this, maybe months? "I'm ready," She said simply without thinking, looking at everything and offering another little smile. Unsure of what they wanted her to do, she kept quiet and watched intently.

[DaGlobster]

Motark gave Grace a reassuring smile, and he left, leaving her in the care of the woman.

"My name Jetra, " she said as she stepped over to a small forge. It looked well tended, and while the tools at it were a bit crude, it was a fairly complete setup.

"Young girl named Toria. Unblooded boy named Hem."

She went over to a few covered baskets and opened the lid, revealing one to be full of shiny stones, jewels, and crystals, while the other had chunks of ore of all kinds, mostly copper, tin, iron, and some gold.

"Every morning, requests come in. Wedding on this day, manhood ritual another. Chief say you can shape metal. I think your hands are too soft, but the chief is wise, so maybe he knows something I don't."

She pointed to an axe that was at the forge. It was a two-handed affair with a no-frills, reliable construction.

"War end very recently. Plenty of honored warriors who want their weapons made special, to pass down to children. This one want weapon to reflect fire in soul, and heat of battle."

She turned to leave Grace to it.

"I will let you figure. If you need more things, call my name. Not too loud, we're all working here."

[Draconian]

Unblooded? Grace cast a look to Hem, eyes wide, a little worried. What did that mean?  A quick glance away, head down before she blinked rapidly. Somewhere unfamiliar and alone, Grace moved a hand to her chest as if to calm her beating heart.

It wouldnt do well to be afraid here

Grace followed Jetra, giving her a worried look. Weapons?

Deep breaths.

A moment to close her eyes and she rolled her shoulders. She could do this. Grace tied her hair back and after calming herself down, she moved to the weapon, frowning that it was so heavy. Fire of soul and heat of battle.

"Well that's vague," she muttered, displeased. It was probably odd, to see the tiny woman collect things and bring them back, watch the girl move as the rest of the world flowed away.

Watch her stuff half her arm directly into the forge.

It felt nice to be warm again and she pulled her hand out and flexed it with a sigh, eyes closed. Grace worked singlemindedly, growing fluhed and her breathing laboured while she worked. There wasn't a thought to how much time had passed.

Though she looked at the finished product and frowned. Fire in Soul and heat in battle. It was a little... ornate now. More beautiful than intimidating and she tested an edge to make sure, hissing with surprise when she cut her thumb along the edge.

A frown and she popped it into her mouth while she sat. Though, quickly enough she wandered back to the loose ore, gathered some along with a single cut sapphire she'd found in amoungst the jewels. Silver and blue, she decided, it was her favourite combination so... That's what she made Motark. A little charm, small, easily hidden. A quiet thanks for... Being him.

Grace smiled softly while she shaped the metal in her hands, staring into the fire and letting her eyes close briefly at the warmth only a fire could give her.

[DaGlobster]

When the proud owner of the axe came by to pick it up, he was expecting the usual work of the artisans. Perhaps a stone set into place in the hilt, a polish put onto the blade, and an engraving that spoke of the warrior's deeds.

But what he received from Grace left his jaw hanging.

It barely looked like the crude, orc-built thing that it had started as. The ornate decorations and gleaming edge spoke of a craftsmanship much higher in capability than any uneducated orc could hope to achieve.

Jetra and Toria stood, not in awe, but in silent approval. Jetra was impressed, to say the very least, and once the bewildered owner of the axe had left, she approached Grace and stated that she definitely would have a use for her in the future.

Not too long after, Hem, who'd gone out to fetch more wood, bounded into the artisan's hut.

"The chief is back!" he said, voice brimming with excitement. He spoke in orcish, but Motark's name stood out from the sentence.

Jetra nodded curtly, and looked to Grace.

"Did well today. Return to chief, tell how you did. Come back tomorrow for more work."