[center][h3]Wenyr Targath[/h3][/center]

Wenyr waited. And waited. And still waited...

Hadn't Na'Ri promised to be back with him in time ? The blacksmith pondered whether the girl's definition of time could be a tad different from the usual, whether his own perception had shifted or whether something entirely different had happened. Not wanting to accuse anybody of anything without further proof, his mind defaulted to the latter. Given how busy the place was right now, that wasn't implausible either.

The man's callhoused hand squeezed itself into another pocket to retrieve a somewhat worn down looking piece of parchment. Contrary to many other means of documentation, dead skin had the advantage of being recyclable as often as the color used and one's skill with a razor allowed for. Wenyr found a piece of charcoal to be perfect and maybe even some people would be surprised to see how fine his motor skills could be when it came to saving some coin. But... just what had he scribbled on there recently ? He couldn't even remember, but it looked like something mathematical. Erasing something that was written in a language as close to that of god as a mere mortal could get felt slightly sacrilegious, but he needed the drawing space right now! He tried to keep the scratching at a very mild level though for the noise tended to upset people sometimes.

Wenyr soon lost track of just how long he had already sat lonely in his corner of the inn, his mind meandering somewhere between the most practical layout of his future workshop and how much fuel he would need for it. That of course depended on how much Dawnhaven would need him and his services, which in term depended on decisions made by yet another bunch of people, possibly. He already did not look forward to the moment he'd have to confront Sunni with a painstakingly fine-tuned list of requirements in terms of raw materials. For the blacksmith it was just that, a proof of the efforts he would have made to only ask for exactly what was really needed and not any more. For the merchant however ? The man's stress level had to be somewhere between the stars by now, so Wenyr honestly anticipated his very same list to read just the following in Mr. Emberani's eyes:

[i][list][*]Metal ingots: Insanely heavy stuff nobody wants to carry across a mountain pass even in summer![*]Coal: This crispy black crap tends to cause dust explosions and cleaning all the dirt will make the demand for soap soar sky high![*]Grinding stones: Can't this bulwark of a man just use his teeth or finger nails to do the sharpening ? Really ?! Why does he even use a hammer ? Smacking his forehead against the hot steel should suffice...[/list][/i]
Another example of relativity in perception standing in his way this morning...

The blacksmith ultimately found himself running out of parchment to write and draw more stuff on. Now that he had been able to inspect Dawnhaven's most immediate surroundings over the course of the last few days, coming up with a good plan for his dwelling and working place had been surprisingly tedious still. Of course he did not plan to bother the prince with meaningless internals, but he needed to get those resources -- workforce, space, material -- allocated or at least a clear decision that those wouldn't be available for him anytime soon. Nobody in Dawnhaven should think that he'd just be sitting around with his hands idling in his lap...

What Wenyr did not know at this point however was just what kind of emotional disaster zone he'd stumble into by knocking at Flynn's door. He silently enjoyed the fact that it had turned noon even though the difference was quite theoretical, then repeated his gentle, nonverbal call for attention with blissful unawareness.

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[sub]Mentions/potential interactions: Flynn ([@The Muse]), Olivia ([@The Savant]))[/sub]