Solo Let the Forges Roar

[Izuldir]

5th of Fall, 513 AV Location: Arm's Gallery It was far past time for all to leave, yet still one man remained. Izuldr stood before the fires of his forge, eyes watching the flames dance across the metal block, coating it in flickering light until it glowed bright and hot. Leaning forward he watched with a practiced eye for just the right moment... and in one swift movement he reached through the flames to grasp the metal with his obsidian arm, slamming it on the anvil as he raised the hammer in his other hand to fall with a mighty clang upon the bar. Rhythmically he pounded, over and over, denting the bar and flattening it, the clanging filling the empty space as the Isur hummed softly to himself. As the metal cooled its color began to shift, and once more Izuldir thrust it into the coals, stepping back to rest against the anvil as he watched the metal heat up once more. Brushing his brown with his right hand he sighed, looking up at the ceiling and closing his eyes. His mind wandered for a moment, and he thought of his home, of his mother... but with a shake of his head he banished these thoughts. There was time enough later to dwell upon the past, and at heart Izuldir hoped to keep that time long at bay. The metal heated once more Izuldir removed it, returning to the anvil and taking up his hammer once more, slamming it down several times before folding the metal over on itself with his left hand. A smile touched his lips at how simple the task was, and how difficult it must be to craft without the use of the Isur arm. He pitted the other apprentices really, for they could never match his speed in this respect. He would always be a step ahead. The muscles of his back tensed as he raised the hammer over his head once more, letting it fall and clang against the metal to flatten it once more, fusing the folded halves into once once more. He repeated this process twice more. Heating, folding, and then pounding flat. On the third time Izuldir removed the metal from the flame he twisted the metal on the anvil so that it was on its side and started to pound it that way, forcing the metal to elongate as he turned the bar over and over, hammering away until it was the appropriate size. Again it was put in the fire, heated until it glowed ruby red, but this time the Isur removed the lengthen metal bar with the tongs, setting it upon the anvil and grasping one edge with his thumb and forefinger. The metal was like clay in his hands, and by pinching along the length of the side Izuldir began to shape what would be the edges of the sword. He shaped them so that each side would slope evenly down to a sharp edge, then down to a point at the end. It was rough yes, but it would make the edging process much easier when it came time to grind the blade. Periodically he would return the metal to the fire, letting it reheat before continuing to shape and mold. Finally the product was finished and thrust into the bucket of water that set next to the anvil, filling the air with steam as the metal was rapidly cooled. Wiping his brow once more Izuldir took the name shaped sword to the table. It held the shape of a sword, but still its surface and edges were blunt and rough. No thing of beauty to be sure, but then that would be seen to soon enough.

[Izuldir]

Izuldir turned the blade over in his hands, examining it once last time before taking it to the grinder. Sitting before the large stone wheel he had to adjust the stool placement, slightly annoyed at its height as it made it difficult for him to reach the petal that would turn the wheel. Shaking his head, he made a mental note to request a new stool added to his work station before turning his mind to his work. Pumping his foot the wheel began to spin faster and faster, and when its speed was where he wished it Izuldir pressed the edge of the blade against the stone. Sparks flew instantly, shooting out on either side as the sounds of grinding reverberated through his arms and jaw. He started at the end closes to the hilt, pulling the blade along at an angle so that the friction caused by the stone would even out the surface, flattening and shaping the edges. Periodically Izuldir would remove the sword from the stone to examine his work, checking to see that the grinding was even before returning it to the stone. Once the majority of the grinding was concluded the Isur stood, moving to the bench once more to take up a file. Bracing the sword with his left hand he ran the file over the top of the blade on both sides, refining the work done by the grinding stone. Izuldir moved between the grinding block and the file several times, shaping and perfecting the sword until its surface was nearly perfectly smooth with very clear edges. He had not bothered with engravings for this one, as it was not specifically requested, thus the process moved much quicker. Stretching his back as he stood Izuldir then moved to the forge, thrusting the sword back onto the coals to heat once more. This would be the final test. If all went well once it was heated and then rapidly cooled the sword would hold strong, and if there was a mistake somewhere in the process it would it would instead crack or warp. Once the metal glowed white the Isur grasped it about with his gem like ham, moving it quickly to the bucket causing a puff of steam. With some minor apprehension Izuldir brought the blade before his eyes... and no cracks or obvious warps could be seen. Nodding his approval he moved to the table where the now completed sword was bound to a hilt, and set to the side for sharpening. Izuldir rolled his shoulders, stretching out his arms and stepped to the entrance of the Gallery. The moon had long since begun to dip below the horizon, and soon Syna would reign once more. Rubbing the back of his neck Izuldir returned to his station, eager to get back to his order.