.
Ymiden 41st, 718
Ever perceptive, Will admired the many arms and armors the warriors of Yaralon wore upon their persons. “Where did you get such a thing?” he would ask, upon seeing something functional, yet fashionably ornate to the point of the mouth-droolingly divine.
“Aye worked fer it!” they’d chuff, but some would proudly proclaim “I made it ya chump!” and still others would praise the Smith’s guild, and Aeva’s name for their magnificent weapons. Will was hardly rich, saving to afford a home with what little he could get on his reputation, small stature, and relatively flimsy skills. The thought of standing in the hot heat of a forge working out his hammer arm on the side really seemed sensible, especially if it were a way to earn a side income in this rough and tough city of tumbling blades.
It’s settled! he smacked his fist into his palm. I’ll go apply at one of the guilds... His mind immediately thought about how he’d balance that with traveling. ...A Hot Cycle job maybe? Or, maybe he could find a way to make stuff on his travels? Ooh, liking the idea so far! Mind ablaze with the possibilities, he marched down the streets with a hop to his steps towards a shop he’d admired for a time.
“I’d like ta apply for an apprenticeship here!” They asked how old he was. “Eighteen Arcs, Meister.” Slam. “What the heck?” How rude! Then he tried another. Same result. “Well shit.” Frustration began to build. If I have to try every shop in the damn city, I’ll get there! Do I gotta duel someone just to apprentice? Maybe I should drag a Darstrion over... no, I’ll lose. I don’t know a thing. Ugh!
The emblem of a local guild emblazoned above a door to a small general purpose smithy seemed to leer at him. Will walked inside with a spark of fire in his eyes, literally reflecting the flames of the forge as a large man banged his hammer against the hot steel with his molten heart heavily invested in the act. Will stood there, watching for a spell before he realized, ‘Fuck Rynalism, I’m weird!’ and promptly rung the hanging bell, however rude it felt. The smith took one glance at him and kept working while the teen waited for the smith to have a moment.
Several bits later, Will set down his hat on the table, leaning against it. He also set his war hammer right next to the hat, as if to make a statement. When the smith did come over, the man snatched it off the table and looked it over. “A Rynmere smith made this,” he said, immediately recognizing the make. “Who in Aeva’s name are you, what do you want?”
“I’m looking to apprentice,” Will said calmly. The smith began to speak, but Will interrupted with a sharp inhale. “ - Won’t take no for an answer!”
The smith promptly shrugged, blinking with tired, blackened eyes. “You over eighteen Arcs?” The smith couldn’t refuse a child, but most could turn away the adults.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll pay, I’ll work. In Aeva’s name.” Will took his hammer back, and dropped it into the baldric over his shoulder. “I’m stronger than I look, I know I’ve got a pretty face, but - ”
“Don’t really like girls in my forge,” the smith replied with a sigh. “The last one was a disaster.”
“I am NOT a GIRL!” Will yelled in a spiking high-pitched yowl unlike his deeper, more baritone voice, clenching his fists.
“Oh, is that so?” the smith crossed his arms, a little reluctant to believe. “What’s your name, girly boy?” snorted the man.
“It’s William.” Will touched his own forehead to try and sap away the frustration, swallowing a fresh breath of air to think more clearly. “Look, I don’t give a shit about any of that. I just want to work, and I’ll do it well.”
“Fine - ”
“I’ll swab the shop floor, I’ll polish the sign, I’ll - “
“ - Fine!”
“ - advertise your shop and I’m pretty good with wood - “
“Good God, boy, I said FINE!” barked the smith, tired of Will’s crap.
Will pulled his hat to his chest. “W-wait, really? Thank You! ...Thank you, Meister! I swear I won’t disappoint!” He looked around. “When do I start?”
“Right now,” the man replied, squinting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Take off all that shit you’re wearing and make me a damn dagger.” He pointed. “You can put it all in that bin over there.”
The boy went from worried to ecstatic in moments, a toothy grin from ear to ear. “Aye, Meister!” Then he ran over to the bin and started undressing, shedding his leathers, that pauldron, his backpack, belts, baldrics, and everything. It took him so long the smith had ample time to handle a customer that walked in the door. When he was done, Will stretched, pumping his arms to work away all the tension he’d built from wearing the armor so long running around the city.
By the time the smith took the order, Will was ready to go. They met in front of the glowing embers of the forge. “Ever worked iron before, kid?” the smith asked, pushing a small ingot of the metal into his hand. Will put up with the treatment, shaking his head ‘no’ and stepping towards the forge, the oven of heat almost sizzling against his skin. That’s hot! he said, looking into the flame. “You’ll go blind if you stare into fire for too long,” the smith warned. “Put it on the anvil. Use the tongs to put the metal in the forge, and then have a drink of water while ya wait for it to get hot. We’re making a dagger.”
Following the instructions carefully, Will took a pair of tongs from the rack nearby and moved the ingot from the anvil, to the forge, carefully. Then he left it there, a finger following his gaze as he sought out the source of water. “Over there,” the smith growled, pointing at a cistern with a ladle.
“Aye, Meister.”
The cool liquid spilled down his throat, and he felt charged, beginning to sweat as he pulled that glowing, molten metal from the forge after donning an apron. Wielding a smith hammer now, he struck the thick piece of iron hard, but the smith grabbed his arm. “Let the hammer fall. Your muscles are for lifting. With iron, at least. Start with the tang - the handle that the grip is going to be wrapped around.” Will nodded in affirmation, and continued. Ting, ting, ting. He continued for a time, the metal hot in his eyes, his muscles beginning to grow sore as time wore on, and wore him out all the same.
“Aye, the tang’s nice and flat, so hammer out the rest - see that part there, where the tang meets the blade? Make sure it stays curved like a crescent moon,” the smith said, idly hammering rings for chainmaille while the boy took up his forge. “Tang’s looking good. Start on the blade. Hold it up at an angle - pah, just like that. You’re a natural, boy. Keep working it.”
Will worked the metal down, hitting the iron in just the right angle so it’d lengthen in one direction. “What do I do to make the edges and the tip?”
“Don’t worry about that for now. The face of the anvil’s about twenty inches wide, you can take measurements right?”
“Yeah, I can measure.” Who couldn’t? Oh, right, Yari. He rolled his eyes, skin glistening with sweat that kept the dry heat from cooking him. This is exhausting! But I’ll get stronger if I endure!
“So you see how you’re kind of flaking there? Metal’s too thin, you’ve got it all pushed into the center, widen it out a bit. You’ve botched it already, but we can still work it into something a novice could sell.”
I already ruined it!? Damn! Will sighed, rolling his shoulders as his sweaty palms gripped the blacksmith hammer tight. “Alright, I think I understand,” he said, a twinge knocked down.
“Don’t give me that crap. Learn to do it better, apprentice!”
“Aye, Meister!” the boy rasped, tired and weary.
“You aren’t gonna give up, are ya?”
“No, Meister!”
“Then stop slacking! You’re hammering slower than when you first started! Heat it up more, metal’s getting cold!”
“I’ll do my best, Meister!” replied the beginner, snatching his work off the anvil with a pair of tongs and thrusting it into the furnace. He took it from the furnace after the heat made the metal soft, and then picked up the pace, even though his arm was starting to get really sore. Hahh. Even his wrist was tingling from the vibrations of the hammer through his arm, down to the very bone. Still, he carried on, until it was ready.
The smith stayed his hammer with a sweaty palm upon the shoulder, and Will looked up with a face reddened by the flames, glistening from head to hands in sweat of his own. “You done good,” the smith said. “Grind an edge into it on the wield, and take a bit of leather, glue it on for the handle. Don’t worry about a pommel for now.”
Will went for another drink of water, breathing hard. He sat at the grinding will, figuring out how to get it in motion while he set the cooling metal still warm in his hands against the surface, grinding an edge into it. “All sides, no, that’ll blunt it! There!” the smith hovered. When he was done, Will was wincing with pain, his shoulder really sore from the hard work - the smith really pushed him. The smith walked him over to a workbench, where there was a clay pot of sickly-scented glue. “Work the glue onto the back of the leather,” he said, pulling a long strip of scrap leather from the trough nearby. Doing as he was instructed, Will cut the piece to be a bit more even with the knife he’d made, and lathered on the glue with a brush, before wrapping it around the tang.
“Aeva’s arms, it’s done!” William languished, holding up the weapon and setting it down against the bench while he massaged his sore arm. I hope this gets easier.
“’Ya ain’t done yet.”
“What? Am I engraving it or something?” Will asked.
“No, but the first thing you make should be dedicated to Aeva. It’s good sense. Walk it to her temple by the Hammer Gate. Know where?”
Will glanced at the blade, and then to the smith. Is that really necessary? Aeva’s temple is a long ways away from here. “Can I do it tomorrow?”
Smack. “No!” He pointed at the door. “Git outta my damn shop if you aren’t going to do as I say!”
Will yalped from the strike, and rubbed the even redder red spot on his red face. “Okay, Meister, okay, geeze!” He hopped to his feet, and started putting on his gear before heading out into the dangerous streets of Yaralon. When he was ready, he shook the smith’s hand.
“The name’s Ulbrek,” the smith said, nearly breaking Will’s hand with that tight squeeze. The muscles were popping in his hand.
Will retracted his hurting hand, almost offended at this brute. I swear he’s trying to break me! “I’ll see you around, Meister Ulbrek!” he proclaimed, before snatching his first creation and walking outside. He had a long afternoon ahead of him.
When Will finally arrived at the steps of Aeva’s temple, he felt raggedy, like he was dying inside from how sore he was. Just a bit more. He started climbing. This is a lot of steps. Like, a lot of steps. Why do big temples have so many steps? The cold wind swept over his body, sinking into his sweaty armor by the time he crested the top, the pink and orange sky beautiful to the West as he caught his breath and gazed upon it.
Exhausted as he was stared at by guards, William pressed on, climbing the next few steps to the doors, which were closed. Reaching up to pull that handle above his head, he heaved, just barely opening the heavy gate so he could slip inside and hobble his way to that impressive statue in the middle of the room, riddled with trinkets and gifts.
The sound of clanging metal and bubbling liquids could be heard faintly beyond, Will peering behind the statue at a set of doors barred by another guard. This place is more secure than Ethelynda’s temple! he mused. Okay. He stared up at the statue, kneeling before it. Aeva, Goddess of... of... His eyes saw a placard, squinting. Technology, Innovation, Metal Working, Pride. That’s what she stands for. I kind of like her. That’s a nice statue - so pretty... Fawning over the statue, he almost forgot what he was there for.
Right. He pulled the dagger he’d made from his belt, looking it over, thinking about what to say as he set it on the ground before him next to a pile of recently invented potato chips that hadn’t quite caught on yet. Tilting his head, he stared up at that looming, grandiose likeness of the Goddess, feeling something within start to spin its wheels. “I’ve never really thought, er - please accept my work. It’s not much now, I know, but I promise to you that ...one day, I will make a blade as beautiful as the sun setting upon your temple, my Forge Mistress. I am truly humbled.” He bowed over his craft, nudging it forward a bit with his fingers to display it just a bit more prominently among the other gifts.
Hopping to his feet, he saluted the statue, and turned on his heel, power walking right on out of there, feeling like an idiot, but happy he’d made something - eventually that feeling died away as the night went on, and he realized he’d done the right thing.
. . .
Thop, thop, thop. Pointy shoes clopped against the shiny floor, a pair of posh, hooded inventor-monks sighing as they stared down at the day’s offerings. “Oh, there’s another one,” one of the monks said, picking it up. “At least this one’s pointy.”
“Yeah, toss it with the rest,” the other monk said, leering from behind a bandana. “We almost have enough to start melting them down. Novices...”
Ever perceptive, Will admired the many arms and armors the warriors of Yaralon wore upon their persons. “Where did you get such a thing?” he would ask, upon seeing something functional, yet fashionably ornate to the point of the mouth-droolingly divine.
“Aye worked fer it!” they’d chuff, but some would proudly proclaim “I made it ya chump!” and still others would praise the Smith’s guild, and Aeva’s name for their magnificent weapons. Will was hardly rich, saving to afford a home with what little he could get on his reputation, small stature, and relatively flimsy skills. The thought of standing in the hot heat of a forge working out his hammer arm on the side really seemed sensible, especially if it were a way to earn a side income in this rough and tough city of tumbling blades.
It’s settled! he smacked his fist into his palm. I’ll go apply at one of the guilds... His mind immediately thought about how he’d balance that with traveling. ...A Hot Cycle job maybe? Or, maybe he could find a way to make stuff on his travels? Ooh, liking the idea so far! Mind ablaze with the possibilities, he marched down the streets with a hop to his steps towards a shop he’d admired for a time.
“I’d like ta apply for an apprenticeship here!” They asked how old he was. “Eighteen Arcs, Meister.” Slam. “What the heck?” How rude! Then he tried another. Same result. “Well shit.” Frustration began to build. If I have to try every shop in the damn city, I’ll get there! Do I gotta duel someone just to apprentice? Maybe I should drag a Darstrion over... no, I’ll lose. I don’t know a thing. Ugh!
The emblem of a local guild emblazoned above a door to a small general purpose smithy seemed to leer at him. Will walked inside with a spark of fire in his eyes, literally reflecting the flames of the forge as a large man banged his hammer against the hot steel with his molten heart heavily invested in the act. Will stood there, watching for a spell before he realized, ‘Fuck Rynalism, I’m weird!’ and promptly rung the hanging bell, however rude it felt. The smith took one glance at him and kept working while the teen waited for the smith to have a moment.
Several bits later, Will set down his hat on the table, leaning against it. He also set his war hammer right next to the hat, as if to make a statement. When the smith did come over, the man snatched it off the table and looked it over. “A Rynmere smith made this,” he said, immediately recognizing the make. “Who in Aeva’s name are you, what do you want?”
“I’m looking to apprentice,” Will said calmly. The smith began to speak, but Will interrupted with a sharp inhale. “ - Won’t take no for an answer!”
The smith promptly shrugged, blinking with tired, blackened eyes. “You over eighteen Arcs?” The smith couldn’t refuse a child, but most could turn away the adults.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll pay, I’ll work. In Aeva’s name.” Will took his hammer back, and dropped it into the baldric over his shoulder. “I’m stronger than I look, I know I’ve got a pretty face, but - ”
“Don’t really like girls in my forge,” the smith replied with a sigh. “The last one was a disaster.”
“I am NOT a GIRL!” Will yelled in a spiking high-pitched yowl unlike his deeper, more baritone voice, clenching his fists.
“Oh, is that so?” the smith crossed his arms, a little reluctant to believe. “What’s your name, girly boy?” snorted the man.
“It’s William.” Will touched his own forehead to try and sap away the frustration, swallowing a fresh breath of air to think more clearly. “Look, I don’t give a shit about any of that. I just want to work, and I’ll do it well.”
“Fine - ”
“I’ll swab the shop floor, I’ll polish the sign, I’ll - “
“ - Fine!”
“ - advertise your shop and I’m pretty good with wood - “
“Good God, boy, I said FINE!” barked the smith, tired of Will’s crap.
Will pulled his hat to his chest. “W-wait, really? Thank You! ...Thank you, Meister! I swear I won’t disappoint!” He looked around. “When do I start?”
“Right now,” the man replied, squinting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Take off all that shit you’re wearing and make me a damn dagger.” He pointed. “You can put it all in that bin over there.”
The boy went from worried to ecstatic in moments, a toothy grin from ear to ear. “Aye, Meister!” Then he ran over to the bin and started undressing, shedding his leathers, that pauldron, his backpack, belts, baldrics, and everything. It took him so long the smith had ample time to handle a customer that walked in the door. When he was done, Will stretched, pumping his arms to work away all the tension he’d built from wearing the armor so long running around the city.
By the time the smith took the order, Will was ready to go. They met in front of the glowing embers of the forge. “Ever worked iron before, kid?” the smith asked, pushing a small ingot of the metal into his hand. Will put up with the treatment, shaking his head ‘no’ and stepping towards the forge, the oven of heat almost sizzling against his skin. That’s hot! he said, looking into the flame. “You’ll go blind if you stare into fire for too long,” the smith warned. “Put it on the anvil. Use the tongs to put the metal in the forge, and then have a drink of water while ya wait for it to get hot. We’re making a dagger.”
Following the instructions carefully, Will took a pair of tongs from the rack nearby and moved the ingot from the anvil, to the forge, carefully. Then he left it there, a finger following his gaze as he sought out the source of water. “Over there,” the smith growled, pointing at a cistern with a ladle.
“Aye, Meister.”
The cool liquid spilled down his throat, and he felt charged, beginning to sweat as he pulled that glowing, molten metal from the forge after donning an apron. Wielding a smith hammer now, he struck the thick piece of iron hard, but the smith grabbed his arm. “Let the hammer fall. Your muscles are for lifting. With iron, at least. Start with the tang - the handle that the grip is going to be wrapped around.” Will nodded in affirmation, and continued. Ting, ting, ting. He continued for a time, the metal hot in his eyes, his muscles beginning to grow sore as time wore on, and wore him out all the same.
“Aye, the tang’s nice and flat, so hammer out the rest - see that part there, where the tang meets the blade? Make sure it stays curved like a crescent moon,” the smith said, idly hammering rings for chainmaille while the boy took up his forge. “Tang’s looking good. Start on the blade. Hold it up at an angle - pah, just like that. You’re a natural, boy. Keep working it.”
Will worked the metal down, hitting the iron in just the right angle so it’d lengthen in one direction. “What do I do to make the edges and the tip?”
“Don’t worry about that for now. The face of the anvil’s about twenty inches wide, you can take measurements right?”
“Yeah, I can measure.” Who couldn’t? Oh, right, Yari. He rolled his eyes, skin glistening with sweat that kept the dry heat from cooking him. This is exhausting! But I’ll get stronger if I endure!
“So you see how you’re kind of flaking there? Metal’s too thin, you’ve got it all pushed into the center, widen it out a bit. You’ve botched it already, but we can still work it into something a novice could sell.”
I already ruined it!? Damn! Will sighed, rolling his shoulders as his sweaty palms gripped the blacksmith hammer tight. “Alright, I think I understand,” he said, a twinge knocked down.
“Don’t give me that crap. Learn to do it better, apprentice!”
“Aye, Meister!” the boy rasped, tired and weary.
“You aren’t gonna give up, are ya?”
“No, Meister!”
“Then stop slacking! You’re hammering slower than when you first started! Heat it up more, metal’s getting cold!”
“I’ll do my best, Meister!” replied the beginner, snatching his work off the anvil with a pair of tongs and thrusting it into the furnace. He took it from the furnace after the heat made the metal soft, and then picked up the pace, even though his arm was starting to get really sore. Hahh. Even his wrist was tingling from the vibrations of the hammer through his arm, down to the very bone. Still, he carried on, until it was ready.
The smith stayed his hammer with a sweaty palm upon the shoulder, and Will looked up with a face reddened by the flames, glistening from head to hands in sweat of his own. “You done good,” the smith said. “Grind an edge into it on the wield, and take a bit of leather, glue it on for the handle. Don’t worry about a pommel for now.”
Will went for another drink of water, breathing hard. He sat at the grinding will, figuring out how to get it in motion while he set the cooling metal still warm in his hands against the surface, grinding an edge into it. “All sides, no, that’ll blunt it! There!” the smith hovered. When he was done, Will was wincing with pain, his shoulder really sore from the hard work - the smith really pushed him. The smith walked him over to a workbench, where there was a clay pot of sickly-scented glue. “Work the glue onto the back of the leather,” he said, pulling a long strip of scrap leather from the trough nearby. Doing as he was instructed, Will cut the piece to be a bit more even with the knife he’d made, and lathered on the glue with a brush, before wrapping it around the tang.
“Aeva’s arms, it’s done!” William languished, holding up the weapon and setting it down against the bench while he massaged his sore arm. I hope this gets easier.
“’Ya ain’t done yet.”
“What? Am I engraving it or something?” Will asked.
“No, but the first thing you make should be dedicated to Aeva. It’s good sense. Walk it to her temple by the Hammer Gate. Know where?”
Will glanced at the blade, and then to the smith. Is that really necessary? Aeva’s temple is a long ways away from here. “Can I do it tomorrow?”
Smack. “No!” He pointed at the door. “Git outta my damn shop if you aren’t going to do as I say!”
Will yalped from the strike, and rubbed the even redder red spot on his red face. “Okay, Meister, okay, geeze!” He hopped to his feet, and started putting on his gear before heading out into the dangerous streets of Yaralon. When he was ready, he shook the smith’s hand.
“The name’s Ulbrek,” the smith said, nearly breaking Will’s hand with that tight squeeze. The muscles were popping in his hand.
Will retracted his hurting hand, almost offended at this brute. I swear he’s trying to break me! “I’ll see you around, Meister Ulbrek!” he proclaimed, before snatching his first creation and walking outside. He had a long afternoon ahead of him.
When Will finally arrived at the steps of Aeva’s temple, he felt raggedy, like he was dying inside from how sore he was. Just a bit more. He started climbing. This is a lot of steps. Like, a lot of steps. Why do big temples have so many steps? The cold wind swept over his body, sinking into his sweaty armor by the time he crested the top, the pink and orange sky beautiful to the West as he caught his breath and gazed upon it.
Exhausted as he was stared at by guards, William pressed on, climbing the next few steps to the doors, which were closed. Reaching up to pull that handle above his head, he heaved, just barely opening the heavy gate so he could slip inside and hobble his way to that impressive statue in the middle of the room, riddled with trinkets and gifts.
The sound of clanging metal and bubbling liquids could be heard faintly beyond, Will peering behind the statue at a set of doors barred by another guard. This place is more secure than Ethelynda’s temple! he mused. Okay. He stared up at the statue, kneeling before it. Aeva, Goddess of... of... His eyes saw a placard, squinting. Technology, Innovation, Metal Working, Pride. That’s what she stands for. I kind of like her. That’s a nice statue - so pretty... Fawning over the statue, he almost forgot what he was there for.
Right. He pulled the dagger he’d made from his belt, looking it over, thinking about what to say as he set it on the ground before him next to a pile of recently invented potato chips that hadn’t quite caught on yet. Tilting his head, he stared up at that looming, grandiose likeness of the Goddess, feeling something within start to spin its wheels. “I’ve never really thought, er - please accept my work. It’s not much now, I know, but I promise to you that ...one day, I will make a blade as beautiful as the sun setting upon your temple, my Forge Mistress. I am truly humbled.” He bowed over his craft, nudging it forward a bit with his fingers to display it just a bit more prominently among the other gifts.
Hopping to his feet, he saluted the statue, and turned on his heel, power walking right on out of there, feeling like an idiot, but happy he’d made something - eventually that feeling died away as the night went on, and he realized he’d done the right thing.
. . .
Thop, thop, thop. Pointy shoes clopped against the shiny floor, a pair of posh, hooded inventor-monks sighing as they stared down at the day’s offerings. “Oh, there’s another one,” one of the monks said, picking it up. “At least this one’s pointy.”
“Yeah, toss it with the rest,” the other monk said, leering from behind a bandana. “We almost have enough to start melting them down. Novices...”
