Tedium, Interrupted

Writers: Diya
Date Posted: 17th April 2011

Characters: Bryndon
Description: Tedious apprentice chores interrupted by an unwelcome visitor at the Crafthall
Location: Vintner Hall
Date: month 1, day 24 of Turn 6
Notes: In the Vinyards, Unnamed Journeyman, Mentor Approved

Bryndon wiped the sweat from his eyes, looking at the rows of grape
vines along the hill. With a handful of the other senior apprentices,
under the supervision of some of the journeymen, he was in the vineyards
today. Dressed in some of the more battered of his clothes, Bryndon was
one of many working on removing branches and weeds within the vineyard.
In the warm summer, the grapes had been expanding with leaps and bounds,
and were growing, it seemed, as fast as a weyrling.

He knelt on the ground, slender fingers working adeptly with a small
pair of almost-shears to clip away some of the vine growths, dropping
them into a small basket at his side. This was one of the jobs he took a
strange pleasure in; much of the brewing of drinks was a slow process
that required months, if not years, to see results. This was
immediate-the knowledge directly of a job well done, achievements made,
and not hoping for success only to find out you'd failed six months,
eight months, in. The names of some Mastervintners were still associated
with inferior vintages, and... Bryndon shook the thought from his head,
focusing again.

Looking behind him, the sandy-haired youth could see the rich dark earth
clean of invaders, the weeds that would seek the nutrients that the
vines required to continue to provide their prized quality and vintages.
His basket was half laden with the miscreant plants, and slowly filled
more as he moved his way down the aisle. Bubbling comments rose over the
aisles, younger apprentices joking with one another, racing to see who
could finish their aisle first. Bryndon had been one of those - who
pushed and rushed and wanted to be first, be best - but then had
received the lecture that he was certain would be delivered to these
apprentices.

"Patience," he could remember the Master of Apprentices saying, "is what
a vintner needs. You cannot rush the growing of the grapes or the
flowering of the hops; you cannot rush the aging of the wine or the
fermenting of the beer. You missed," he had said, and walked down the
row slowly with Bryndon, "these," and pointed towards the weeds and the
bits of branch and vine that should have been removed. "Now - go back
again. And do it _right_."

Bryndon had learned his lesson, and took it to heart; no matter how the
sun beat down, or how hot he was, or how tedious the work had been, the
shame of having been shepherded fingerlength by fingerlength, his errors
pointed out loudly, had made him focused on details.

Shaken again from his thoughts, Bryndon frowned. He sat back on his
heels, fingers parting the leaves, and swore quietly, invoking shards,
shells, Faranth, and a half-dozen nearly impossible references to
vinicultural implements. His commentary caught a few whistles from
impressed men, somewhere - but he only spoke one word loudly enough,
clearly enough, to be carried by the wind.

"Rot."

With slender fingers once again poking, and holding his breath, he
looked at the vine. This didn't seem to have gone to other plants, or be
too far advanced, but it was something he knew immediately. He exhaled,
and recited the instructions to himself. "Identify the extent of the
rot. Determine the nature of the rot." That he wasn't certain of, so he
straightened and called out for a journeyman. One came running, already
have been headed in his direction after hearing the string of creative
invective.

There were a few moments of consultation, the journeyman looking
critically at the vines and the grapes, before stepping back and
motioning for Bryndon to proceed. Carefully, the apprentice wielded the
small shears and clipped off the infected parts of the plant, which had
been covered with an almost powdery sort of mildew. A dusty sort of
fungus or growth on the leaves and some of the grapes themselves had
started to turn brown. Under the supervision of the journeyman, Bryndon
removed all of the affected parts of the plant, laying them separately
aside from his basket. This sort of thing could not go with the regular
vineyard waste - it might risk reproducing, and also had to be shown to
the Masters.

"Good catch," the journeyman said simply. "Nothing major - but it's
something that we can keep an eye out for." He reached down and
collected the fungus-infected bits, trotting off in the direction of the
Crafthall. Bryndon let out another breath he hadn't realised he'd been
holding, and rubbed grimy hands across his face again, and looked down
the rest of the aisle. He had plenty of work ahead of him - this gave no
reprieve.

Last updated on the April 26th 2011

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Tedium, Interrupted