Timestamp: 21st of Ymiden, Arc 721
Praetorum thrust his tongs into the forge, grasping the glowing cylinder of metal that sat within. Drawing it out, Prae brought the metal to his anvil, and laid it across the face, keeping hold with his tongs so it wouldn't roll off. Hefting his hammer with his other hand, Prae smiled slightly, considering a conundrum.
If it took a hammer to forge a hammer, where did the first one come from?
Prae didn't give the thought much serious consideration—presumably the first hammer had been little more than a sturdy rock one could find on the ground, or perhaps a gift granted by Aeva. Instead, he lifted his own, completed hammer, and started to forge its twin. Antonia had asked him to make a hammer for her newest apprentice, partially because she was too busy to do such a thing herself, and mostly because she wanted to see how he'd improved as a smith. A pity the poor apprentice had to get dragged into it, but Prae assumed if what he gave her was terrible, she'd just buy the young woman something that wasn't.
The first set of hammer strikes began to flatten the upper and lower sides of the cylinder, beginning the process of squaring off the material. Once he had a bit of noticeable flatness there, he shifted his grip on the tongs, and turned the metal on its side so he could continue hammering. Prae knew he had to be careful here—this was the first step in the process, and would lay the foundations for the rest of his forging. If he messed up here, he wouldn't be able to fix it later.
So he made sure he used the same number of strikes for each side, and that he was rotating the metal properly so that it wouldn't become lopsided. Every so often, he would lift the piece up to check that the sides were more or less the same length. It was slow going, repetitive work, but Prae didn't mind. In his head, he'd already set aside all distractions, letting his mind fill with nothing but the next steps in the forging process.
Partway through the process, Prae noted the corners were starting to form. He wanted a square, but sharp corners wouldn't work well for this hammer, so he carefully turned the metal half a quarter rotation, and started to hammer lightly down on the top edge, just enough to round them off. He did the same for all four corners, and then returned to flattening out the sides.
By the time he was done, Prae had a piece of metal with sides of equal length, and a height just over twice as long as the sides. It was a little shorter and thinner than the hammer he held in his hand, but this hammer was intended for human use, not ithecal, so that was more or less what he wanted.
Now came the most delicate part of the process, at least in Prae's opinion. Laying the metal lengthwise along the anvil, Prae went to fetch his calipers. He needed to find the exact center of the metal face to punch a hole through, else the hammer would be badly balanced, and much harder to use properly. With a piece of chalk, Prae marked off the center line one way, and then the other way. The place the two intersected would be the middle of the face, or so he'd been told. It made sense, but Prae had never been much for shapes and calculations. But it looked right, at least.
Once he was satisfied, he set the calipers aside, and searched his workbench for a center punch. This was little more than a small bar of metal with a pointed tip, like a large blunted nail, that would be used to put a small dent in the metal so he could mark off the center, and provide a little divot for the larger hammer eye punch to lodge on to so it wouldn't slip when he was hammering it.
Carefully setting the center punch over the place he'd marked, Prae gave it the lightest tap, just to get the position right. His first attempt was slightly off—annoying, but the incorrect divot would be pushed aside soon enough, so he didn't worry about it—so he readjusted and tried again. This time, he got it dead center. A few more taps deepened the dent, until it was easy to see, and about the right size for a larger punch to fit in. He did the same on the opposite side, and then had a moment of doubt, grabbing the calipers again to make sure that they really were centered. They were, fortunately, which meant Prae could move on to the next step.
Placing the metal back in the forge, Prae set about arranging his punch and drifts. The punch was a tool with a long, tapered end that would be used to, as the name suggested, punch a hole through the metal, with the help of a hammer, of course. But the punch itself could only do so much. Because the final hole needed to be so big, Prae was going to have to slowly increase its size—he'd do this by graduating through his drifts, starting at the smallest and slowly making his way up to the one he wanted. Each was a long, squarish rod of metal, slightly tapered, with a rounded tip and a flat top he could hammer. He arranged them by size, so he would be able to grab each one in turn relatively quickly.
Praetorum thrust his tongs into the forge, grasping the glowing cylinder of metal that sat within. Drawing it out, Prae brought the metal to his anvil, and laid it across the face, keeping hold with his tongs so it wouldn't roll off. Hefting his hammer with his other hand, Prae smiled slightly, considering a conundrum.
If it took a hammer to forge a hammer, where did the first one come from?
Prae didn't give the thought much serious consideration—presumably the first hammer had been little more than a sturdy rock one could find on the ground, or perhaps a gift granted by Aeva. Instead, he lifted his own, completed hammer, and started to forge its twin. Antonia had asked him to make a hammer for her newest apprentice, partially because she was too busy to do such a thing herself, and mostly because she wanted to see how he'd improved as a smith. A pity the poor apprentice had to get dragged into it, but Prae assumed if what he gave her was terrible, she'd just buy the young woman something that wasn't.
The first set of hammer strikes began to flatten the upper and lower sides of the cylinder, beginning the process of squaring off the material. Once he had a bit of noticeable flatness there, he shifted his grip on the tongs, and turned the metal on its side so he could continue hammering. Prae knew he had to be careful here—this was the first step in the process, and would lay the foundations for the rest of his forging. If he messed up here, he wouldn't be able to fix it later.
So he made sure he used the same number of strikes for each side, and that he was rotating the metal properly so that it wouldn't become lopsided. Every so often, he would lift the piece up to check that the sides were more or less the same length. It was slow going, repetitive work, but Prae didn't mind. In his head, he'd already set aside all distractions, letting his mind fill with nothing but the next steps in the forging process.
Partway through the process, Prae noted the corners were starting to form. He wanted a square, but sharp corners wouldn't work well for this hammer, so he carefully turned the metal half a quarter rotation, and started to hammer lightly down on the top edge, just enough to round them off. He did the same for all four corners, and then returned to flattening out the sides.
By the time he was done, Prae had a piece of metal with sides of equal length, and a height just over twice as long as the sides. It was a little shorter and thinner than the hammer he held in his hand, but this hammer was intended for human use, not ithecal, so that was more or less what he wanted.
Now came the most delicate part of the process, at least in Prae's opinion. Laying the metal lengthwise along the anvil, Prae went to fetch his calipers. He needed to find the exact center of the metal face to punch a hole through, else the hammer would be badly balanced, and much harder to use properly. With a piece of chalk, Prae marked off the center line one way, and then the other way. The place the two intersected would be the middle of the face, or so he'd been told. It made sense, but Prae had never been much for shapes and calculations. But it looked right, at least.
Once he was satisfied, he set the calipers aside, and searched his workbench for a center punch. This was little more than a small bar of metal with a pointed tip, like a large blunted nail, that would be used to put a small dent in the metal so he could mark off the center, and provide a little divot for the larger hammer eye punch to lodge on to so it wouldn't slip when he was hammering it.
Carefully setting the center punch over the place he'd marked, Prae gave it the lightest tap, just to get the position right. His first attempt was slightly off—annoying, but the incorrect divot would be pushed aside soon enough, so he didn't worry about it—so he readjusted and tried again. This time, he got it dead center. A few more taps deepened the dent, until it was easy to see, and about the right size for a larger punch to fit in. He did the same on the opposite side, and then had a moment of doubt, grabbing the calipers again to make sure that they really were centered. They were, fortunately, which meant Prae could move on to the next step.
Placing the metal back in the forge, Prae set about arranging his punch and drifts. The punch was a tool with a long, tapered end that would be used to, as the name suggested, punch a hole through the metal, with the help of a hammer, of course. But the punch itself could only do so much. Because the final hole needed to be so big, Prae was going to have to slowly increase its size—he'd do this by graduating through his drifts, starting at the smallest and slowly making his way up to the one he wanted. Each was a long, squarish rod of metal, slightly tapered, with a rounded tip and a flat top he could hammer. He arranged them by size, so he would be able to grab each one in turn relatively quickly.
