Tulbor
Artisan
He stepped back and shook off the beads of sweat from his head. The new fire roared and crackled, hungrily eating up the air and biting at the metal in the heart of the forge. He watched patiently as the metal heated up and once it was ready, with practiced movements he went to work on bending and twisting it. There wasn't any plan to it, he just moved with ease of having done this for so many years, the hammer striking a soothing rhythm on the metal, flooding him with memories of so many other places he has done this same act since childhood. On the morning of a wedding he helped finish the final gift. In the coolness of the night contrasting with the heat of the open forge, he watched the metals and magic bond into what was needed for next day's battle. Day after day, forge after forge, place after place, this was the centering action that calmed and recalled it all, fueling the next piece to be made.
He breathed out as the hammer landed it's blows and curled the heated metal, then looked up and grinned at the two faces watching. There was work to be done, arms to be strengthened, new pieces to be made and broken. Sounded like fun.
He breathed out as the hammer landed it's blows and curled the heated metal, then looked up and grinned at the two faces watching. There was work to be done, arms to be strengthened, new pieces to be made and broken. Sounded like fun.