Winter 1 - Continued from The Spelled Apprentice - Part I The heat of the forge radiated through the room as the ingot of iron grew hotter and hotter. It seemed to share a warmth with him, though more dull and less pronounced than the fire surrounding it. It was communicating with him the temperature it felt. Aleron could tell it was reaching the correct temperature quickly, so he retrieved the blacksmith's hammer from the iron table as the Akalak watched. He didn't need advice from the Akalak to know that he would be drawing out the metal now. With the hammer in his hand of flesh, the metal resonated with him that it was beginning to get too hot. He reached into the forge with his metal arm, and as he grabbed it the piece reacted to him with gratitude. He withdrew it quickly from the flame, and then slowly with care turned around and set it upon the anvil. It was molten now, glowing a hue of bright-hot orange, white-hot. The flames from the forge danced around him in celebration, the orange glow illuminating what was left of the darkness around the anvil's surface. Readying the hammer in his other hand, he shifted his grip on the metal piece to hold it steady between his index finger and his thumb, pressing down with his palm with a good deal of strength to brace it for the shaping it would soon be receiving. He brought up his right arm with the hammer, and then he swiftly brought it down for the first strike. The sharp clang resonated through the room, and then he repeated the motion for another strike. He focused on maintaining his accuracy at just hitting the piece correctly for now, flattening it out ever so slightly with each powerful swing. It was beginning to be deformed now, a pale shade of what it would later become. With each strike the piece conveyed a sense of fullness, as if it were getting overfed and widened too much. He shifted his strikes to begin drawing it out more length-wise, pummeling it out at different angles to keep drawing it out. |