From The Forge

[SodaiKamikaze 652]

Dared Starbreaker slides iron ore into the forge, tossing in chunks of coal to the flame. He slowly pumps air into the forge through the tuyere, maintaining the needed temperature to create a mound of iron. His arms groan and strain themselves, keeping the fire burning hot as the iron begins to take a red hue in the forge, melting together. He continues pumping, calling over a beardling to check the iron.

The young one, telling him that it is done, hands Dared his water soaked tongs. Dared wraps thick drenched cloth around the tongs, reaching them inside the flaming forge to retrieve the now long bar of iron, it still a deep red from the intense heat. He gently lays it on the anvil’s face, tossing aside the tongs to the beardling assistant.

Dared grasps his hand hammer, and quickly pounds the metal, lengthening it while keeping the width the same. He sends sparks showering to the ground, ignoring the sizzling sound coming from the wrought iron. His muscles tense and relax at different moments, utilizing the raw power from arms and shoulders to shape the metal into a flatter shape, working the iron into the a blade-like form.

Inspecting his flattening work, he again calls for the assistant to bring him bundles of cloth in the corner before the iron losses its heat as he sticks it in the forge again.  He quickly grasps  the unfinished blade, wrapping the soaking wet cloth around it in 3 layers, then binds it with 4 layers of dry cloth. Waiting for it to come to a cooled down temperature, he speaks discusses with the beardling different topics on smithing.

“Woi did ye wrap ta iron in ta cloth?” the young one asks.

Chuckling, Dared replies “Oi did i’ ta let i’ cool down enough fer me to touch i’ wit’ moi bare ‘ands so I could groind i’ well.”

“Bu’ couldn’ ye groind i’ whoile i’ was still hot?”

“Oi neva though’ abou’ doin’ it loike tha’.” He gets a mysterious glint in his eye as he laughs to himself. “Maybe ye should try an’ do i’ on yer own time den, boyo.

They continue to talk and chat for hours, waiting for the metal to come down to a bearable temperature.

Dared stands up, motioning for the unknown assistant to grab the blunt blade. He casually strolls over to the grindstone, taking a seat at a nearby stool. He lightly places a foot on the pedal, awaiting for the beardling to return. Bundle in hand, the  boy rushes back, handing it to the cave dwarf, and Dared quickly removes the cloth, exposing the soft metal. He holds it against the grindstone, slowly pressing his foot against the pedal, moving the stone to scrape the metal. He hums a dwarven tune, a deep rumbling coming from his throat and rising above the sound of the sharpening metal. He drags the blade along the stone, smoothing down the edge to  a thin shining point on one side. Dared flips it around, doing the same dragging motion till both ends form a sharp point at the top of the sword. His deep voice rings out in the smithy, the young dwarf joining in with his higher pitch. The two sing as they work, Dared grinding out the blade, and the assistant making a sketch of the engravings that would go on it. Finishing the grinding, he stands up and slides the blade over to the beardling, he standing ready with his chisel.

Dared uses a piece of charcoal to mark out Dwarvish runes on the blade after approving the lettering, standing back to watch the young one work. The unknown assistant quickly goes to work hammering out the specific runes for a first time, lightly scratching the surface to make them more visible. He again sets his chisel upon the soft metal, scrapping off bits and pieces of iron, the shavings collecting on the floor. The beardling then stops, grabbing a blend of dyes, smearing them over blade’s markings, then wiping away the excess.

Dared sighs, going again to the bellows, forcing more air into the forge through the tuyere, bringing the temperature up greatly. The blade goes in with the dyes, turning black as the heat reacts with the chemicals, bonding it to the area outside of the lettering. He grasps his prepped tongs and grabs the blade from the furnace, plunging it into the quenching tank nearby. He winces slightly as the water boils and splashes out onto his arms, but keeps a firm hold on the blade, muttering slow prayer. He calls for the assistant to lower the heat in the forge, himself lightly shaking the excess water off the  sword. He places it into the forge at the lower temperature and places it into the quench tank multiple times, locking in the hardness while keeping it slightly flexible. He slides on a pre-made hilt onto the blade, gazing at his handiwork as he gives the beardling a hearty pat on the back.

“We did guud, boyo.. We did guud.”

 

[yopplwasupxxx 5946]

black text my eyes

[SodaiKamikaze 652]

Sorry, fixed that ^-^

[Aengoth 2890]

"Well made blade cousin." -Aengoth

[Dreek 1633]

Dreek Ireheart for once, does not roll over in his grave.

[Malaise 1570]

((Pretty fun read. I haven't seen a good Smithing post in some time.))

 

Elven Smiths cry Elven tears.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.