Summer, the 12th, 516 AV Rebuilding the Blade Solemn spent the rest of the day wandering the Holds of Avanthal trying to find the newcomer he had spotted not long ago, wishing he had been paying attention to what Hold he had seen her in. She was unique in a way it seemed no one else in Avanthal was. It was her arm that had caught his attention first, mostly because it was colored purple. Not so young and naïve that he had no idea what tattoos were, Solemn knew this was something different. When he had asked someone about it, they had called her an Isur, and the arm in question was a gift of the God from which they had all descended. It was a sign of the God Izurdin’s blessing and the first mark of his gnosis. All Isur were blessed in that whatever they created could be imparted with a piece of them, and since the Isur were stronger than most, the things they created with their gnosis were equally stronger than the mundane creations of average people. That had been the second thing Solemn had noticed about her: her strength. While the Vantha people were an athletic race, this newcomer had a powerful build like few of the women in Avanthal had. One thing was certain. She was strong, not in a way that was grotesque, but it did give her an intimidating quality. What had interested Solemn the most though was what he had been told about the Isur and their usual professions. They seemed to be creators, one and all, and held occupations such as masons, woodcarvers, architects, and so on, but undoubtedly, what the Isur were most known for was their work with metal. They were said to be the most skilled and revered smiths in all Mizahar. Solemn hoped that this newcomer displayed the same affinity for metal working that the rest of her race was so well known for. Furthermore, he hoped she wouldn’t be insulted by him asking her to repair his blade. If she wasn’t interested in such things, his request and assumption that she was could be taken as ignorance or blatant racism. If she was though, he imagined his request would be well received. Not to mention, iron and steel (and any metal for that matter) were in short supply in the frozen north, so what few smiths Avanthal had were in sore need of practice. But if this newcomer was indeed a smith and if she had come from her homeland of Sultros, she was sure to have had all the practice she needed for Solemn’s blade. It was midafternoon when he finally heard something that might help him. It was the clash of metal against metal, but it wasn’t the typical ring of swords against other swords or shields or armor that had become so familiar to him at the Stadium that morning. No, this wasn’t the sound of war. This clash was industrious, that of fire and force combining and becoming a creative power, that of hammer against heated metal. He had heard it a few times before. This was the sound of a metal smith at work. Looking around, Solemn realized he was in Iceglaze Hold. Step by step, he followed the noise until he found himself standing before a forge. The young woman at the forge was exactly as Solemn had remembered her. Powerful, gracefully so, especially her purple arm as it drove the hammer against bright orange metal. He was impressed with how easy the metal bent to her whim. The woman wore a light tank, so the heat of the forge wouldn’t be too much. Calling out in Vani, he took her attention away from her project, hoping she wasn’t angry at him for doing so. “Excuse me. Excuse me. I was hoping you could take a look at my sword and tell me if it can be repaired. It’s quite battered and bent.” |