Legends of Belariath

Swiftwolf

Quest for a Blacksmith

Swiftwolf’s frustration had been rising. Attempt after attempt of forging a blade ending in ruin. The pile of iron scraps growing larger and larger after each failed attempt. And each time he looked to the racks of tools his lips pulled down and his eyes narrowed, his mentors still absent, and each time his hammer struck the iron he was working on harder. It wasn’t to say he wasn’t getting better, in fact his work with nails was coming along quite well…but after spending over a year with working on simple years, building the muscles that a blacksmith needed, he was ready to move forward, and yet he couldn’t.

What finally got him moving was when the high elf came to the blacksmith. Until then he had had no reason other than his own desire to learn more to leave, so he had stayed, waited, hunted, but with the high elf came a commission. “Decorative armor” she had asked for, but he knew it was beyond his skill. Still…the curves beneath the shift…the delicate contours of her face, and those black wrist bands…there was much that he desired from the girl. He took the commission, and while he readied the materials he would need, he also readied his traveling equipment.

A simple fur cloak to wrap around his shoulders, his belt with all his simple items on it, rope, blindfolds, his dagger, the small pouches containing his money and his various other supplies. His legs were covered in the same simple leathers that he generally wore, his feet bare, but covered in calluses as the usually were.

With everything ready he set off, pressing out into the snow, and then heading south, towards where it was warmer, and where he had learned there was a blacksmith that might be able to help him. His trip was long, but not to terribly difficult, having taken several weeks to make the journey south, until snow no longer covered everything, staying in farms when he could, away from the main bustle of the small towns, sleeping in the forest when he couldn’t. Finally he arrived at the town which was closest to the blacksmith, and he was no longer able to keep his solitude, moving into the inn, he sat in a corner, attempting to get a feel for the place, before he started asking questions.

The inn wasn’t quite the same as the Lonely Inn….everything was bigger, the humans outnumbered by the wolven. He decided that caution would be the rule here, as it generally was elsewhere, and with a few drinks bought from the inn slave, and a few careful questions from her he learned what he had sought, the location of the blacksmith.

With the knowledge found he finished his drink and left, slipping from the inn and the confines of town, and back into the forest, he knew the direction now, as well as the stream that was nearby, and after searching for the rest of the day he finally came upon the sound of metal on metal, and lips curling upwards slightly he made his way towards the familiar sounds of a forge. His heavy steps took him to the door and he pushed it open, moving inside, eyes flickering in the dim light, spot the large wolven blacksmith as he hefted the hammer again and again, watching him work. After watching for several minutes the wolven finally picked up his scent among those of the forge, turning to SwiftWolf, his voice a low growl, “You are a blacksmith…looking for a mentor…” his attention shifting back to his work.

SwiftWolf replied, in a similarly gruff voice, “I am…” the wolven’s nod indicating he had heard the response, even as he worked. After several more minutes he thrust the metal he was working on into the bucket of brine water, cooling it before sending it back into the forge to heat, Swift moving to the bellows to help steady the heat.

The wolven chuckled as he nodded, “You are not completely worthless then…”

“I simply lack an instructor” the barbarians flesh starting to break out in sweat from the heat of the forge, his arms straining as he worked the massive bellows, built for the wolven and not the barbarian.

The wolven’s golden eyes turned to the barbarian, sizing him up a second time before nodding, “Very well…but it will not be easy” he pulled the metal from the fire and back to the anvil, hammer rising and falling once again

The barbarian’s lips quirked up slightly a hint of amusement coming to his eyes, “Nothing worthwhile is…” he said in a low voice, causing the wolven to send his head back in amused laughter

“Well said…very well…your first lesson will be on how to restock the forge…First…” and so his lessons began…

First his sole task was to keep the forge clean and to keep the materials in order. He was rather unsurprised and unchallenged by the task, used to it as it was common to instruct the apprentice on the layout of the workplace, as well as to test their patience. But as the days continued his jobs expanded, an extra hammer becoming his own. A loose length of leather turned into an apron by his own hands. Tongs forged by the wolven while the barbarian looked intently onwards, Crafting the nail that pinned the two pieces together. The days turned into weeks as he continued his work…

The first thing he was taught to make was one of the simplest, and something he already knew, and while he yearned to move onwards his arm grew stronger as long days were spent making nails. He habitually woke before dawn, working for an hour before leaving the forge to prepare breakfast for himself and the wolven, working for several hours before preparing lunch, then again until dinner, after dinner he would return to the forge to prepare it for the next day, his life revolving around the time in the forge, and this routine. Time lost meaning as he worked, each day flowing into the next, growing stronger even as he grew more exhausted.

Slowly his lessons expanded, moving from nails to rods, to plates, leaning how to draw the iron out, pulling it into thin sheets. He learned how to shrink the iron, pushing it together, making it thicker in places. He learned how to upset iron, moving beyond the simple upsetting needed for the nail heads. He learned how to bend iron, adding curves to the thick sheets, or the long rods, able to make the tools he now worked with, and finally he learned punching, making holes of different sizes and shapes in iron, able to determine the size needed to keep it from becoming too brittle.

Weeks became months, became seasons as he learned the techniques of working with metal, learning from experience the different colors he was looking for when he heated the iron, listening for the right tone as the hammer flashed in front of him to strike it, watching the sparks as they flew from the metal. Then as he was becoming more proficient with working with the metal, his lessons expanded. No longer was it enough that he be able to simply work with the metal that the wolven gave him, no longer was it possible to see through trial and error which piece would hold through the shaping he put it. He began to learn about the metal that he forged. His instructions expanded on the feel of the iron, the weight, the size, the shape, the color, learning the compositions he needed to make the different tools. As the days continued it was no longer just his body that was exhausted from the work, it was his mind as well.

As the seasons continued to turn, and his knowledge grew, his soul ached as well, he had tried to spend what time he could in the forest, but the brief hours between when he finished his work and when he rose the next morning were not enough, and his heart cried out for the harsh embrace of nature, but those desires were forced to wait. His tasks grew, he started to forge pots, and basic utensils, bands to bind around wheels, nails and pins, tools of every shape and size. Each a step on the journey to working iron into armor.

One year turned into two…which turned into three as he worked. In the second year he learned the basics of forging armor and weapons. Each day spent improving on that knowledge. Making the other objects as a way to supplement his knowledge, each building off the other, learning the intricacies needed for other job and applying them as flourishes to the armor. learning how to strengthen the metal for armor and using it for the cages that he was commissioned to build. Similarly he learned how to create daggers and knives, swords and other simple blades from iron. He was instructed on the care and the repair of the things he made, so that should there arise problems he could resolve them. The third year he spent improving on what he had learned. Most of his work was simple, finding usefulness and quality more important than the flourishes. But he did not forsake completely the flourishes. Learning to fashion the armor more so than the blades with flourishes and a delicateness about some of it that added style to the utility.

After nearly three years of work the wolven determined that SwiftWolf had learned what could be learned, and that the rest would come with experience. There was little else that he could teach in working with Iron, and nothing else that he would teach willingly. SwiftWolf thanked him and took his leave, following the stream for a ways before pausing, lips curling upwards as he simply enjoyed the feel of the forest around him, a chuckle creeping from his throat as he turned, taking off in a jog through the forest, making his way back towards Nanthalion through the forest. It would increase the time of his travel, and spending the night outside became increasingly more difficult as it became colder the farther north he traveled, but he needed the respite from civilization, needed the time spent in the embrace of the Great Earth Mother. And through his journey the Great Earth Mother cared for her child, sheltering him from the cold with a slight ditch easily covered and trapping heat, the hollow of a tree that provided a respite from the wind, the ground providing him with food and water when he needed.

He returned to Nanthalion on a Winter’s night, almost exactly like the one he had left on. Returned to the forge, finding his tools had been moved, and he chuckled softly, most likely people had thought he had left permanently, but he had returned, and he intended to work again. He began by straightening out his tools, returning them to the pegs that they hung on, setting the shop back to rights. Sweeping the dirt from the floor, organizing the tables and anvils, tools and materials. Restocking the bins full of the metals they contained came next, and then…then he was finally ready to work…

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