Vhalar 7th 717th arc
“Crack”
“Crack”
“Crack”
“Clang”
In a monotonous pattern the Hammer fell, Striking the metal on the Anvil as the apprentice thought darkly to himself. Swords, shields, helmets, anything, but Nails? Farkin nails? Was he a child? He hated making nails. He knew it was foolish to be mad about it, the world wouldn’t have many buildings if it weren’t for nails and the like, Iron nails were one of the most common things needed of a blacksmith, it wasn’t all fancy weaponry or armor, but he’s be thrice damned if it wasn’t monotonous work. Though even with something as simple as the nail there was an art to it, and he’d be damned if he got called out for messing up a nail. Strike the Iron, turn it, strike it, turn it, rotating the long Iron rod as he hammered the end to a taper on the Horn of the anvil. Each strike of the hammer drawing sparks and bringing a nice healthy ring from the metal. Nothing quite like the sound of forging.
Once the nail was pointed to his liking the young smith looked at it before rotating it once more for the sake of inspection. Laying the wedge down on the anvil he laid the rod across it Measuring out the length he wanted the nail to be, bout as long as his middle finger he eyeballed it before giving it a little extra to form the head from and brought the hammer down again, the rod splitting as the hammer and wedge cut it in two. Striking it three, more times the Apprentice spit the hot iron creating a short tapered piece of metal, though it could not be called a nail without a few final touches. Grabbing the metal with the round ended tongs and bracing the nail against the anvil he brought the hammer down on the cut end of the nail, striking it until a head formed on the nail. It didn’t matter how sharp a nail was, if it didn’t have a flat and even head, then it wasn’t worth using. Striking it one last time for good measure the young blacksmith eyed it before deciding it was good to go and placing it on a worn table to cool. Grunting he grabbed the Iron rod again and chuckling mirthlessly to himself.
“Ninety nine more to go.”
“Crack”
“Crack”
“Crack”
“Clang”
In a monotonous pattern the Hammer fell, Striking the metal on the Anvil as the apprentice thought darkly to himself. Swords, shields, helmets, anything, but Nails? Farkin nails? Was he a child? He hated making nails. He knew it was foolish to be mad about it, the world wouldn’t have many buildings if it weren’t for nails and the like, Iron nails were one of the most common things needed of a blacksmith, it wasn’t all fancy weaponry or armor, but he’s be thrice damned if it wasn’t monotonous work. Though even with something as simple as the nail there was an art to it, and he’d be damned if he got called out for messing up a nail. Strike the Iron, turn it, strike it, turn it, rotating the long Iron rod as he hammered the end to a taper on the Horn of the anvil. Each strike of the hammer drawing sparks and bringing a nice healthy ring from the metal. Nothing quite like the sound of forging.
Once the nail was pointed to his liking the young smith looked at it before rotating it once more for the sake of inspection. Laying the wedge down on the anvil he laid the rod across it Measuring out the length he wanted the nail to be, bout as long as his middle finger he eyeballed it before giving it a little extra to form the head from and brought the hammer down again, the rod splitting as the hammer and wedge cut it in two. Striking it three, more times the Apprentice spit the hot iron creating a short tapered piece of metal, though it could not be called a nail without a few final touches. Grabbing the metal with the round ended tongs and bracing the nail against the anvil he brought the hammer down on the cut end of the nail, striking it until a head formed on the nail. It didn’t matter how sharp a nail was, if it didn’t have a flat and even head, then it wasn’t worth using. Striking it one last time for good measure the young blacksmith eyed it before deciding it was good to go and placing it on a worn table to cool. Grunting he grabbed the Iron rod again and chuckling mirthlessly to himself.
“Ninety nine more to go.”