Flashback [The Silver Tower] The Beauty of the Forge

[Canton Pitrius]

Small spherical beads of heated iron lined a metal workbench. The bench sat against the wall of a magical place. A forge within the heart of the magnificent Silver Tower, which was held sacred to the Isurian Pitrius clan, and it was within this beautiful place that a diligent Pitrius punched his fingers through the iron beads in a quite barbaric manner. Sweat from the heat of the forge rolled down his face as he did this, using his left arm to turn these balls of metal in to sturdy rings. Canton was stuck making rings, while the other Isur were probably making swords that could freeze limbs, or arrows that could catch their targets on fire.

"The blast furnace is likely the most important weapon in your arsenal." An elder Isur stood behind Canton, tutoring the shirtless blacksmith as he forged away. "Ore is placed in the top of the blast furnace, while you feed the flames of the furnace using coal or a copious amount of wood. These flames will melt your ore in to a liquid form, and the impurities will go through the slag channel, leaving you with the supplies to make a proper ingot out of your metal." Now that several rings were stacked upon each other in a pile on the workbench, Canton had moved on to beating a large piece of unspecified metal with a hammer, shaping it in the form of a mining pick's head, eventually punching a hole in it.

"That's all fine and good..." Canton panted heavily. He was tired from working all day, and was sick of being lectured about metalsmithing. "But if I live here the rest of my life as a Magecrafter here at the tower, when am I going to be smelting ores?" Some time passed with no conversation, the only noised being made by Canton shaping a rod of metal to fit as the pick's handle.

"You've much to learn, boy. You are young, and I doubt that you truly plan on living your whole life here. I see the look in your eyes when you look out to the world, and at the people who come to us to trade for our creations. Some part of you wants to take our knowledge, our elite smithing skills, to the rest of the world. Despite your Isur pride, you wish to reshape the world and give the people out there the gifts, the fruits, of our labor." The break of silence lifted Canton's head from his work, which was now being put together to make a common pick for mining ore. "You should leave the tower one day. Show the world what our race can do, Canton. You've a good head on your shoulders, and despite it's lack of information, you are capable of great things." This older Isur turned his back on Canton, and began walking from the forge. "Now, that pick I told you to make? Finish treating and cooling it, then come with me to the room across from here, and I'll show you something new."

With this last note, the still unnamed Isur promptly walked out of the room, leaving Canton to finish his work.