Awoke in the early hours of the morning by the whaling sounds of his mother wandering around the house looking for a morning snack, Vakhanor begrudgingly slumped out of his bedroll. Without the money to be able to afford a two bedroom house, Vakhanor had taken to sleeping on the floor and gave his mother.
Bright eyed and ambitious the young man rose, quickly re-arranged his things and left for work. It was his first week working with the smith Oberyk. Vakhanor broke out into a run, his excitement getting the better of him. He’d wanted to be able to earn his own keep for a long time and he now had the chance.
Sat on his old wooden stool the smithy was readying to start the day by firing up the forge and preparing his tools “Oi yu, we ar’ nae gonna be wurkin’ on ye smithin t’day, we’re gunna bi workin’ on yer fightin’” Oberyk called out to his new young apprentice “D’yer ‘av a weapon yud like t’ yus?”
Pleasantly surprised Vakhanor lifted his finger toward one of the large longswords on the wall, he had seen knights do great battles with them and in some cases two of them “That one.”
“Aye! There’s mah lad, ye’ be usin’ a longsword! Ryt, between mahkin’ this shyt an’ waitin’ fer a few o’ the moulds to dry, we’re gonnae bi sparring.”
“Are you serious?” Vakhanor asked dumb-foundedly.
“Aye!” the older smith cheers with a large, friendly smile “Pick it up then!”
Without a moment to loose Vakhanor darted toward the wall where Oberyk kept his swords and took of the more simple longswords, mindful that even though the other swords were cool he would unlikely be allowed to have on.
“Can I have this one?” Vakh inquired, surprised by how heavy the object was in his hands “It’s heavy.”
“Sure!” Oberyk grinned and beckoned for him to come over “Aye they are whun yer first start oot.”
Last edited by Vakhanor on Sun Jun 12, 2016 3:15 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 342
Vakhanor swung his new blade through the air, with one fast and inexperienced swing toward the floor it whistled downward , lodging into the earth. Bewildered the young half Aukari wrapped his hands around the hilt and used what little strength he had to dig it out.
“You nonse! ye annae gunnae bi defendin’ yerself from ‘ny blade lyk tha’ laddie,” Oberyk said with a heart chuckle, wandering over to help pull the sword back out the ground.
“Tri nut to hit the ground tu much, or I’ll end up havin’ t’ sharpen tha’ thing everi tu trills, ‘ere ah’ll shu yu!” the smith exclaimed, placing the sword in Vakhanor’s hand. Following the man’s rough, sand like fingers Vakhanor watched where Oberyk placed his fingers around the blade, helping him into a tight grip.
“Yer wanae mak sure tha’ yer grip is tyght arund the blade,” the smith slowly backed away “’ow’s tha feel?”
Feeling like an immortal the boy held the blade toward the roof both hands fastened around the hilt as he angled it toward the roof. Extending above his height, the tall lump of iron was still heavy within his grasp and only as time went on his muscles grew more used to wielding it “Does it get any lighter?” he asked.
“Aye, yer gunna have tay get strong lad. You’ll get used t’ it, thi sey tha a greit swordsman will bi able to use their sword as an extension of thir ahrm,” Oberyk replied seating back down for a few bits, the metal in one of his moulds had just cooled and he needed to shape the blade before the steel was too cold to be malleable.
“Put tha' down fer a trill 'n come ‘ere, Ah’ll show yer ‘ow t’ shaype n’ sharpen a sord inta sumthin yusful.”
Last edited by Vakhanor on Sun Jun 12, 2016 6:01 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 310
Looming over his master Vakhanor watched the greying smith carefully use tongs to remove the freshly cooled blade into tongs and temporarily place the iron into the forge and remove it. “This looks like a lot of work, how do you do it all?” Vakhanor asked, raising his voice over the sound of sizzling water.
“Practice,” Oberyk replied, working the anvil his advantage “Ah’ll let yer off easi for this week till ye get used t’ the forge. Ah ‘ahm gon have t’ shu yer what steels ye be usin’ befor’ wi git yu started.”
Vakhanor’s turquoise eyes wandered the room, searching across every tool, every surface one by one to discover what awaited him. The smithy's walls were set in stone, decorated with wood and roofed by straw with only a few small windows and a chimney to release the heat from the room. Happy to ask in the warm air the half Aukari boy admired the setting around him. A series of hammers hung on nail hooks against the walls, all laid out in a neat line from the biggest to the smallest. Underneath them a workbench, carved from dark woods of what looked like a once sheened oak surface that had been worn down by the constant clash of metal wearing away at the wood.
“Why are there so many hammers, and what are the things in your hand?” the boy asked, removing one of the smaller hammers from the shelf.
“Each o’ those ‘ammers ahr yused fer different things, it mayks it easier fer ye to manipulate the metal when yer workin’ t’ ‘av a bunch o’ ‘ammers on hand,” the smith replied, hard pressed to focus on his work “Ye will be startin’ with t’ cross pein once ah’v got yer technique sorted, on step at a time aye lad? The things I’ve got here are called tongs. Wi dun wantay bi touchin’ hot metal, so ye got t’ mahk sure tha’ yer ‘av ‘em hard pressed. Accidents ‘av been knun t’ ‘appen among apprentices so ahm gonnae mahk sure ye got the grip on ‘em before I allow yu near the forge.”
Vakhanor ran his hands along the beaten metal surface of the hammer and nodded at Oberyk’s explanation. As a new apprentice he would have to learn patience and knew he could not just jump into it.
Last edited by Vakhanor on Tue Jun 21, 2016 7:22 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 400
A break went by and in the meantime Oberyk had challenged Vakhanor to try doing some pull ups in the door frame and bet him a Gold Nel that he couldn’t do more than twenty. Brash and adamant to prove himself Vakhanor had rid of his shirt and stood in the doorway, fingers clasped atop of the doorframe as he struggled pulling his weight off the ground.
With every pull the muscles in his arms rippled end began to tense, the sheer intensity of his grip pulling his bodyweight toward his fingers “Argggghhhh,” he screamed between his teeth as the sensation of burning pain filled his arms.
“Five..,” he counted aloud, trying to breath.
“Yer not gannae bi abl’ tu du it breathin’ lyk tha, slow yerself boi,” the smith had encouraged hammering away at the blade.
Reluctantly the boy took his master’s advice and slowed his breathing and rhythmically let the air flow into his chest..
It took a few bits until he finally reached eighteen. New to this kind of exercise his muscles were slowly beginning to fall through on him “I am gonna do this,” he grumbled, looking to the sky begging the immortals that it didn’t last much longer.
Hot and hazy eyed the smith dropped against the door frame, panting for dear life. Twenty two had been his final score, “You… are not- going to make me- do that… every day, are you?” he asked between breaths.
“Aye ah myt lad, if yer whine ‘nymore ah’ll mahk ye du thirty tomorro’” Oberyk replied with a sly grin painted across his soot covered features, labouring away at the sword against a grinding stone “Go get yerself lunch n’ get a bucket o’ water or yu’ll stink up a storm.”
Already had it with the old man’s antics Vakhanor rolled his eyes and grabbed his shirt, wiping away the light sheen of sweat that encased his body. Temporarily relieved of his duty, the apprentice turned to the streets in search of some water only to suddenly realise that he was being watched by a small gathering of women across the way from him. It appeared that his exercising had garnered the attention of a few the townsfolk. For a bit he watched them, their dilly dallying smiles and their rouge faces hiding beneath the woes of embarrassed admiration. Bored, Vakhanor was quick to avert his gaze and wander, whatever fascination the local tarts had with him was none of his business.
Last edited by Vakhanor on Tue Jun 21, 2016 1:05 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 420
Time was slowly going by and another had gone past, by the time he had finished resting and found his lunch. The women who he had seen on the street earlier had eventually caught up to him, requesting his company. Without little else to do the apprentice had agreed to spending some time talking to the women, although he thought little of them being outwardly enamoured on first sight, and despite being short lived he enjoyed the more intimate company of a woman as much as he loved the forge. He'd never been fond of crowds.
“I’m back!” Vakh called re-entering the shop to find Oberyk finishing up his work.
“Welcome back lad! Ryt, jus’ on time, yer okai to pick up tha; sword again?” the older man's warm smile lifted into a grin as he picked up his own longsword “Yer got this wird look in yer eye, yu find a lass?”
Flushed in the face Vakhanor could attempt to hide his embarrassment "Nobody worth mentioning," he countered, playing it off "I'm ready.
“Ryt, as ah mentioned bifor! Hold the higherend of the hilt wit ye dominant ‘and an’ support it with yer lower. Mahk sure yer dominant ‘and ‘as a tighter grip, yer other onli needs t’ have the small an’ the middle finger grippin’, ye dunnae fyt with tha’ one,” Oberyk explained, twisting the blade in his fingers to show him how to hold it.
“Yer got tha?”
“I got it,” Vakhanor replied as he raised the sword to chest height.
Ready to spar Oberyk stood bright eyed with enthusiasm to teach his new student “Ye got yer stance wrong already, ‘av ye never watched knights fight?” Over the past few days the old man had told Vakhanor about his old apprentices and their exploits, he’d called every single one of them a damned fool which unfortunately meant Vakhanor had to work harder to impress the man. It had taken long hours of observing and dedication to helping the man that Oberyk had finally trusted him enough to even invite him to work in the shop.
Stood in confusion Vakh cocked his head for a moment and wondered where he gone wrong. Was there something off about how he was stood? Eyeing his master the halfblood studied his mentor’s stance and began to adjust his own in an attempt to mirror it.
“Ay, there ya ‘av it lad, sword level with yer waistline, ryt above yer belly booton” the artisan said with a nod, “No restin’ on the stoumach tho’ you ‘ear me? Tri pointin’ it b’twin mah chest an’ mah throat.”
A faithful student, the young man was nervous to move in fear of hurting his elder “Like this?” the boy asked searching to confirm his accuracy.
“Aye.”
Last edited by Vakhanor on Tue Jun 21, 2016 1:07 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 470
A primal sensation of indestructibility ran through Vakhanor as he held large cross shaped metal in front of him, “Are we gonna fight?” the apprentice asked. Still worn from the bet, he could feel the weight of the blade weight down heavier upon his arms.
“We’ll spar a bit once yer knu how to swing, ye are gonnae need t’ start by tryin’ t’ stab aht the sky n’ bring the sword downward,” Oberyk instructed, demonstrating the motion.
For breaks the smith made Vakhanor practice the motions of tilting the blade and for a few breaks the apprentice worked through it, his strength gradually waning. “Shit! I’m hurting all over,” Vakh exclaimed finally giving up. Excitement had been the thing driving him, for all of the things he had expected from working under the smith, learning how to sword fight had not been the first on his agenda.
“Why are you teaching me this?” the boy asked, brimming with perplexed enthusiasm.
The smile on the artisan’s face shifted into a frown and cast a heavy gaze down upon the boy he’d taken in to teach “Why do yer think ahm techin’ yu this boi?” he said, folding his arms.
Vakhanor’s heart skipped a beat as he starred back into Oberyk’s deep earth coloured eyes, terrified he might say the wrong thing. A few trills passed before Vakhanor could gather the words to answer the burly, intimidating older smith, “Swordsmiths work in the art of crafting swords most of their lives, it’s so I know what I am making and don’t look like a fool.”
Squinting his eyes Oberyk nodded slowly “Anythin else?” he further inquired as if expecting more an answer. Unsure of himself, Vakhanor had never been put on the spot like this.
“The weight of the sword is heavier than it first looks. It’s not a toy to be played with and needs to be handled with care, if you make it too heavy for the person wielding it. Without practice it could fall out of their hands, a smith has to handle all of his work at one point or another,” was the best answer that the apprentice could come up with.
“Aye. Gud job lad, you’ll do nicely here” the smith’s smile returned “my apprentices before yu didnae ‘av tha’ insight. Ahm not lookin’ tu raise a fool into smithin’, it tahks a lot of patience and self contrul.”
“Thank you for teaching me, it is an honour,” Vakh said as he carefully lowered his sword onto one of the work surfaces and bowed his head in gratitude.
“Fer ah poor runt ye got some good manners there boi, yer gonnae need tha’ for trading, especially with nobles they ahr a fickle lot. But thas yu done fer th’ dai, mahk sur whenever yer comin’ tu n’ from the forge tha’ yer runnin’, t’will elp ye in the long ‘aul.”
A big goofy grin spread across Vakhanor’s face “Alright. Cheers for today,” the half Aukari said, neatly tidying away the tools he had misplaced.
“Si yer tomorro’ bryt n’ earli,”
“Aye,” Vakh beamed the best smile he could behind his exhaustion. Eager to go home and rest for the next day the apprentice could feel the wind running through his hair as he rushed through the door and ran home for a long sought after dinner.
Last edited by Vakhanor on Tue Jun 21, 2016 3:11 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 573
Basic Knowledge
Smithing: Dangerous
Location: Oberyks shop
Oberyk: Smith
Blades: Longsword - Grip
Blades: Longsword - Stance
Blades: Longsword - Hitting the ground blunts the weapon
Strength: Training means pain
Specialized Knowledge
Oberyk: Taskmaster
Smith: Tools of the trade - Tongs
Smith: Tools of the trade - Cross Peen
Women: Like it when you're shirtless
► Show Spoiler
Notes
I'm a big fan of Obyrks accent, well done to keep it up! An fun thread to read and an insight to a few of the factors that make Vakh tick! As always, PM me with any questions and feel free to edit wording on 'Cross Peen' as I was unsure this was what it was / between my own limited knowledge and Ob's accent!
