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| The Forgeson; Introduction to Imythess Post | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Wed Jul 13, 2011 4:46 am (258 Views) | |
| Mist | Wed Jul 13, 2011 4:46 am Post #1 |
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Bang. Bang. The crash of the hammer on the steel echoed through the empty streets, reverberating off of the broken ribs of demolished houses. Bang. The steel breastplate glowed as he lifted the hammer, its surface red-hot and reflecting the shimmering flames. Bang. The flat of the hammer slammed into the steel again, beating the curved metal flat against the horn of the anvil. Bang. Sweat dripped from the man's face, sizzling as it came into contact with the heated metal. The hammer slammed down once more, lengthening the steel plate by drawing. The man was not impressive in stature, being of average height for a human male. He was bent over the anvil, rhythmically raising the hammer and slamming it down on the piece of armor. Heavy muscles rippled along his body and left arm as he worked, sweat shining on his bare skin. He wore only a simple shirt and leggins, a thick apron and pair of gloves protecting his body from the intense heat of the forge. Bang. There had been a hole in the armor, some weapon violently punched through the thick metal. The edges of the hole had been covered with flakes of brown, dried blood when he started. It had disappeared as soon as he heated the metal, evaporating and disappearing as if it had never been there. Such was the power of the forge: to remake the world in a more desirab le image. Bang. The metal edges of the hole eventually melded together as he forced the armor back into shape, the heated metal merging together perfectly. A few minutes longer and the hole was completely gone, the remaining metal rearranged to Bang. If only the hole in his heart could be mended so effortlessly. Gage Schmied stepped back from the anvil, drawing his gloved hand across his forehead. Sweat dampened the thick leather, but a grin still crossed the blacksmith's thick features. He set down the hammer on his worktable, grabbing a pair of tongs from their hook on the wall. The smith was not an attractive man. His features were stout, with a thick brow and fierce features. He had a bull's broad chest and a boy's flat torso, muscles covering his broad frame from years of intense labor. His plain brown hair had been cropped short to accommodate the heat of his occupation, and a day's worth of stubble darkened his cheeks. A deep scar split his flesh, starting just below his left eye and stretching down his cheek and thick neck to the top of his collarbone. Brown eyes reflected the flames as he evaluated the makeshift patch, gripping the edge of the breastpiece with the tongs. He plunged the heated metal into a basin of cool water, steam billowing out from the liquid as it came into contact with the steel. After waiting for almost a minute he removed the armor from the basin, wiping the beads of liquid off of its concave surface with a stained towel. He had artfully drawn out steel from other locations on the breastpiece in order to fill the hole. It would require another hour of drawing, shrinking, and fullering to restore the breastpiece to an acceptable level of strength and uniform thickness, but he still had hours before his client would return for the armor. It would give him time to strengthen the work and polish the armor until it was as shiny as a mirror. The knight had seemed the sort to appreciate such a gesture. Perhaps there would be an extra gold piece forthcoming for the extra work. Gage returned to his labor, inserting the armor back in the intense flames of the forge, watching the metal as it gradually returned to a temperature malleable enough to manipulate. He waited, and he worked, and he remembered. The armor had been completely repaired and readied by the time its owner returned to the small workshop. Sir Lemuel Clyde was a handsome man, although his lip seemed to permanently be curled in a patronizing smirk. He had an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Although he was clean-shaven, his hair was long and silky and blond, falling to his collar like a golden glacier. He entered the forge as if he owned the building, strutting like a peacock with his embroidered tunic and jeweled fingers. His eyes were so dark blue they almost appeared to be black. Gage met the man's stare dispassionately, folding his thick arms across his wide chest. The finished piece of armor sat on the anvil, gleaming in the muted light of the forge. It looked to be as good as new, the surface of the steel smooth and uninterrupted. He had filed the remaining imperfections out of the steel, using a grinding stone to smooth and polish its surface. Although he had not repaired the detailed designs chiseled into the armor's surface, at least Lemuel would no longer have a gaping hole in his protective gear. “Ah, very good. You, smithy, help me put it on.” Gage nodded mutely, picking up the plate effortlessly. Although the knight was taller than the blacksmith by several inches, his honed frame was dwarfed by his bulk. The blacksmith lifted the breastpiece to Lemuel, walking around his back to fasten the leather tethers that attacked it to the man's torso. He lifted the backplate from a hook on the wall, fingers darting with an unexpected nimbleness as he attached the steel to the knight's frame. He stepped back from his client, watching with brown eyes as the knight stretched, testing the weight and fit of the repaired armor. “It feels lighter. Why is that?” When Gage spoke his voice was a gravelly rumble, deep and hoarse. “That lance put a hole straight through the metal. I didn't have as much material, so I had to work with what was left. It'll protect you well.” The blacksmith did not want to know how the knight had come to possess such a damaged piece of armor without having a corresponding injury, and he truly did not want to know. Taras was a bleak city after its destruction, and it was usually safer to avoid such queries. An honest answer could also earn you a dirk in the gullet. He nodded to the knight. “Five gold pieces, Sir. As we agreed.” “I think not, my good fellow.” The smirk broadened into a wide smile, and his dark eyes twinkled with malice. “I agreed to pay you five gold pieces for a breastpiece that was as good as new, smithy. You yourself have admitted this is not the case.” He laid one hand threateningly on the pommel of his longsword, his fingers reaching into a pouch on his belt. Three silver coins were thrown at Gage's feet, rolling to a halt against his sturdy boots as he watched dispassionately. "Such a makeshift job is barely worth any money at all, but I am a man of honor.” The blacksmith looked at the knight for a moment before turning to the forge, thick fingers wrapping around the handle of his hammer. Its head glowed fiery red at his touch, and he spun with a speed that one would not expect from such a bulky man. The knight did not have time to draw his weapon before the blunt weapon slammed into his chest, exactly where Gage had repaired the hole. Lemuel was thrown from his feet, slamming into the wall of the workshop with bruising force as the air was knocked from his lungs. Gage stepped forward, his boot lashing out at the knight's fingers. Sir Lemuel cried out pathetically as the thick leather smashed the digits against the metal hilt. Gage shifted forwards, slamming the sole of the boot against the knights hand to grind it into the dirt floor. The smithy raised the hammer with both hands, its surface shining with the angry glow of a blazing inferno. Ignoring the simpering apologies and desperate pleas from the knight he aimed carefully before swinging the hammer at the knight's chest, the head of the weapon crashing against the breastplate. The weapon flashed before it pierced the metal entirely, sinking into the armor as if it was still white-hot from the forge. “... There. That's how much three silvers would have earned you.” Gage backed off from the knight, removing his boot from the bloodied fingers. The breastpiece had a hole the size of the smith's meaty fist in its surface, the edges of the gap red and glowing. With a gruff expression he returned to the anvil, leaning against its surface as he watched the knight with an grimace of distaste. “Now get the hell out of my shop." Sir Lemuel complied, sneering and promising retribution for the smith's insolence. Gage watched the warrior until he had completely left the small forge, setting the enchanted hammer down within easy reach. He slumped over in a shoddily constructed chair, its wooden legs groaning in protest from his muscled bulk. The blacksmith covered his face with both hands, closing his eyes and dreaming of a time when the city and his life and been whole, before the cruel sisters of fate had punched a hole in his soul as accurately and easily as he had broken the knight's armor. |
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2:48 PM Jul 11

