50, Winter 515 AV
It was still miserably cold outside, but here in the Ironworks there was at least a little bit of a reprieve. The furnaces pumped forth heat like a living thing and flying sparks would occasionally pepper Baelin, warming him in a way that he appreciated.
Baelin ran his hand over the dishing form he’d be using, checking the concave iron for any large divots or cracks that would be transferred to his material. While he loved working at the Ironworks, there were problems inherent to such a largely staffed smithy. Apprentices came and went, damaging anvils and forms and tools and vices and just about anything you could think of without ever informing anyone. It was a necessary evil when trying to maintain such a high production volume, but it meant you had to always be on the look-out for damaged tools. An annoyance at the least and a ruined piece at the worst.
Finding no fault with the dishing form, Baelin laid his cut-to-pattern sheet of metal on top of the concave surface. He would be making a shallow dishing pass here, just to start giving the flat sheet a bit of a form. Eventually it would be worn on the knee as a poleyn, so quite a bit of shaping will be needed.
He raised his weighted, leather hammer and brought it down on the metal sheet in a hard hit. A dent popped into the sheet. He raised his forearm back up and slammed it home again. Another dent, right next to the first. Baelin continued around the sheet, popping dents into the metal in a roughly oval track.
As far as shape-forming techniques went, dishing was much faster and easier than raising. It required very little skill and, if Baelin was being honest with himself, he appreciated the reprieve from long bells spent on the same step. That said, dishing thinned the metal. It was a fine thing to do for the start of this poleyn, but Baelin would be damned if he resorted to it for the entire process. Not if it meant that some poor sap was going to have a dagger shoved into their knee because of his laziness. For the superior quality and build that raising would grant the finished poleyn, it was well worth it to employ the much more time intensive process. For now, however, a little bit of dishing wouldn’t hurt anything.
Baelin continued to pound hits around the sheet in an oval shape, each pass getting progressively smaller and smaller until he made it to the center. The now concave metal sheet was a bit lop-sided, so Baelin rained down blows on particularly lumpy spots until he was more or less satisfied that it held a decent enough form. Taking the shaped metal off of the dishing form, Baelin moved to the nearest forge. The coals had cooled considerably, so Baelin added more coal to the top and began to work the bellows.
He pumped the bellows’ handle up and down, up and down. His arm burned with the strain of filling the bellows’ lungs, but Baelin kept it going until whitish smoke started to seep from the coals. Adding more coal, Baelin continued to pump the bellows. He ignored the growing ache in his arm in favor of keeping up a steady lift and push. Lift and push. Lift and push. Within a few chimes (not that you could hear them over the incessant ringing of the other smiths’ hammer falls), yellow-white smoke steadily pulsed from the center of the coals.
It was still miserably cold outside, but here in the Ironworks there was at least a little bit of a reprieve. The furnaces pumped forth heat like a living thing and flying sparks would occasionally pepper Baelin, warming him in a way that he appreciated.
Baelin ran his hand over the dishing form he’d be using, checking the concave iron for any large divots or cracks that would be transferred to his material. While he loved working at the Ironworks, there were problems inherent to such a largely staffed smithy. Apprentices came and went, damaging anvils and forms and tools and vices and just about anything you could think of without ever informing anyone. It was a necessary evil when trying to maintain such a high production volume, but it meant you had to always be on the look-out for damaged tools. An annoyance at the least and a ruined piece at the worst.
Finding no fault with the dishing form, Baelin laid his cut-to-pattern sheet of metal on top of the concave surface. He would be making a shallow dishing pass here, just to start giving the flat sheet a bit of a form. Eventually it would be worn on the knee as a poleyn, so quite a bit of shaping will be needed.
He raised his weighted, leather hammer and brought it down on the metal sheet in a hard hit. A dent popped into the sheet. He raised his forearm back up and slammed it home again. Another dent, right next to the first. Baelin continued around the sheet, popping dents into the metal in a roughly oval track.
As far as shape-forming techniques went, dishing was much faster and easier than raising. It required very little skill and, if Baelin was being honest with himself, he appreciated the reprieve from long bells spent on the same step. That said, dishing thinned the metal. It was a fine thing to do for the start of this poleyn, but Baelin would be damned if he resorted to it for the entire process. Not if it meant that some poor sap was going to have a dagger shoved into their knee because of his laziness. For the superior quality and build that raising would grant the finished poleyn, it was well worth it to employ the much more time intensive process. For now, however, a little bit of dishing wouldn’t hurt anything.
Baelin continued to pound hits around the sheet in an oval shape, each pass getting progressively smaller and smaller until he made it to the center. The now concave metal sheet was a bit lop-sided, so Baelin rained down blows on particularly lumpy spots until he was more or less satisfied that it held a decent enough form. Taking the shaped metal off of the dishing form, Baelin moved to the nearest forge. The coals had cooled considerably, so Baelin added more coal to the top and began to work the bellows.
He pumped the bellows’ handle up and down, up and down. His arm burned with the strain of filling the bellows’ lungs, but Baelin kept it going until whitish smoke started to seep from the coals. Adding more coal, Baelin continued to pump the bellows. He ignored the growing ache in his arm in favor of keeping up a steady lift and push. Lift and push. Lift and push. Within a few chimes (not that you could hear them over the incessant ringing of the other smiths’ hammer falls), yellow-white smoke steadily pulsed from the center of the coals.
