Solo Working the Forge in Winter

Terag pours a cast of iron to make a shortsword.

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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

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Working the Forge in Winter

Postby Terag on February 1st, 2017, 6:33 am

23rd of Winter, 516AV - Early Morning

His breath hung in the air as he walked, the snow crunching ever so gently underneath his wait and with each poke of his war fork as he used it almost as if it was a walking stick. Not that he needed it, but he had yet to make himself a proper mount for it to carry it easily. After the stories of the monsters roaming around in the fog the season before he made sure that his war fork was always within arm’s reach.

The cold chill of the season was quickly replaced with the much-welcomed dry heat of the forges as soon as he took a step within The Ironworks, the few flakes of snow that had landed on his cloak quickly melted into the material before drying as he walked towards his work station. He let his hand trail across the face of the anvil as he walked by, the few scratches on the surface catch on his skin for only a moment. Each mark and line of the anvil he had memorized. It was of course the birth place of many a fine creation, a pedestal for him to work his craft and bring something into the world.

He removed his cloak, hanging it where the blades parted on his war fork before he let it rest against the wall. He kept his shirt on, not that it mattered with how little it covered and the thin material didn’t keep any heat anyways. Over his clothing, he put on his apron before quickly rummaging through its pockets and setting his hammer and tongs through their respective loops.

With a smile, he began to hum as he picked up the mostly-finished dagger from his table and walked to the grind wheel. A few pushes of the pedal and the stone began spinning quickly, just wet enough to not overheat a blade from the basin of water it spun through. The edges of the dagger quickly went from dull to sharp as he sang his song.

“Like the blade, steel yourself.
Like the blade, sharpen your wit.
Like the blade, be prepared.
Like the blade, keep your edge.
In the end, be like the blade.”


His song continued for more stanzas, but it was a fairly simple song. More a chant than anything, one of the many Terag mumbled to himself as he worked to keep himself focused. As much as he would argue the point to death that his drive was always and only his crafts, the songs and music he sang to himself were as much a guide and anchor as anything else had been for him in this world.

When he was satisfied with the dagger he blew down its length out of habit and then rubbed the blade dry on his apron. A simple dagger, but useful. Beautiful in its own way, but not something a human noble would even look twice at. Either way, Terag was happy with it and set it with the other daggers to be sold at a later date.
Last edited by Terag on June 5th, 2017, 8:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Terag
The Singing Smith
 
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Working the Forge in Winter

Postby Terag on March 29th, 2017, 8:13 am

As he continued to hum to himself he turned to another unfinished project. Today was his day to try to get as many of the uncompleted works to a state to be sold. For most of the blades this usually meant sharpening them or finishing their handles. Hammers and other weapons were typically along the same lines. He was always a bit frustrated he wasn’t able to work more on the pieces of armor that made its way through The Ironworks, but he knew his place. His profession was that of a weapon smith after all, not an armor smith. Mentally he made a note that one day, when he had the skills to keep himself afloat, he would break off on his own and spend his days making all sorts of works. Not as lucrative as working for The Ironworks or any store but it would make him much happier.

He picked up a long sword, the blade already had the handle burned to shape, though it was missing the pommel to hold it in place. He brought the weapon over to his forge and set it on the side table. The small piece of iron that was to be made into the pommel was already cute down to size, it needed to be shaped and a hole punched into it with some threading so that it could hold onto the end of the tang of the weapon without worry of falling off. After all, a pommel that fell off would do little to hold the leather in place or stop the handle from eventually freeing itself of the tang.

The small piece of metal was placed delicately within the open forge, Terag’s left arm made it an easy task to set and easy to pull back when it was glowing red. He set the glowing chunk of metal onto the face of his anvil, and using a special set of tongs, thin as to not get in the way of the hammer, to hold the small cube in place as he took his hammer from his loop and began hammering away. Hard and swift blows were used as he slowly rotated the cube in all directions. Each clang on his hammer brought it closer and closer to the shape of a sphere. When it was roughly the shape he wanted, he used his left hand to put it back into the flame while he went through his pins, comparing each to the size and shape of the end of the tang. The size had to be perfect so that the pommel would hold its place. Just large enough to barely fit over the end of the tang, but just enough room to squeeze a piece of leather so that the wrapping on the handle would not fall off. One of the many ways to prepare a handle, and it provided some extra grip for the pommel. The leather didn’t always survive the best in this method, but it was better than nothing.
Thoughts "Isurian" "Common" "Others' Speaking"
The above colors are subject to change, bear with me please!
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Terag
The Singing Smith
 
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Joined roleplay: April 16th, 2015, 7:21 am
Location: Syliras
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Working the Forge in Winter

Postby Terag on March 29th, 2017, 8:13 am

He took a deep breath before using his blessed arm to reach once more into the flames to pull out the pommel once again. For Terag this was always the hardest part, trying to get the pommel to the correct shape and can punch a hole into it so that the pommel could be attached without issue. With his right hand, he set the pin into the hardy hole, and quickly set to work before the pommel could cool.

First, he set the pommel on top of the pin and hammered a few times to begin the depression that would eventually become the hole. Then a few swings with the pommel back on the face of the anvil to reset its shape back to a sphere. Back and forth, again and again he went with practiced motions. As he felt his focus began to waver he started humming once more, keeping the rhythm of an old love song going in his head as he worked.

“With my arm, I’ll hold on,
So that nothing can break my grip.
With my heart, I’ll hold on,
So that nothing can break my love.
For you, I’ll hold on,
So that nothing can stop me.”


Soon his rhythmic swings matched the beat of the song, as he brought his focus in to the work at hand it was over almost as soon as it had started. He rolled the pommel between his onyx fingers to inspect it as it was still too hot to hold with his other hand. The whole was shape to fit the tang of the blade, and was roughly spherical. Nothing too expensive or lavish but it would do. Satisfied with his work he gently tossed the pommel into the nearby bin of water, the soft splash from which was quickly replaced with a few moments of hissing as the hot metal quickly cooled. When the bubbles had nearly stopped, he reached in, with his right hand this time, and pulled the pommel out. That wasn’t always the safest thing to do, but with his years at the forge he had grown accustomed to taking such short cuts when he was certain he would be fine.

The dried the pommel, and his hand, off on his apron. He looked it over again, checking to see if the metal had possibly warped in any way or there were imperfections he had previously missed. Finding neither of those present in his work he set it down next to the tang of the long sword and the handle. He started his song again from earlier, though kept it strictly to a soft hum as he walked away from his work station to find the strip of leather that he had left behind earlier. Pulling it free from underneath another half-finished sword he inspected it down its length looking for tears or areas that would be too thin to be suitable.
Thoughts "Isurian" "Common" "Others' Speaking"
The above colors are subject to change, bear with me please!
My Character Sheet, I'm working on making it prettier.
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Terag
The Singing Smith
 
Posts: 246
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Joined roleplay: April 16th, 2015, 7:21 am
Location: Syliras
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Working the Forge in Winter

Postby Terag on March 29th, 2017, 8:14 am

Satisfied with the leather he took it back to his station. From his tool rack, he pulled a small knife, using it to cut one of the ends of the leather a bit smaller, this way there would be less material to try to fit under the pommel, though he left the other end untouched. Taking the cross guard for the long sword in one hand with the long sword, he took the leather and began to wrap it once around the hilt and then once more, slightly overlapping the previous wrap.

From here he slid the cross guard on, immediately followed by the wooden handle. Together the two pieces could not slide up to the blade of the weapon, and would hold the leather in place. From here the dark leather was slowly wrapped down the wooden handle. Its purpose was to provide additional grip for the weapon, also to make it a bit gentler on the hand. This was not a weapon meant to be held in a gauntleted hand, but instead in one’s bare hand. At least, for those not able to take the wood or metal handles found on other weapons.

The humming of old Isurian hymns permeated his workspace as he worked his way down the handle of the weapon. One third of the way, then half, then a third to go the work passed by quickly until he had only the small piece of leather at the end of the line. With it he pressed it up against the small amount of exposed tang before he pushed the finished pommel on as well. With a bit of force, he could get it to fit with the leather inside as well.

The pommel was introduced briefly to heat in the forge, another old habit, before he took a hammer and smashed down onto the pommel as hard as he could. The hammer was in his left hand this time, his left arm able to provide a bit more force than his right could. The truth behind the action was simply an old superstition he once heard another Isur mumble under his breath. Often it was forgotten as Terag spent more focus trying to remember old songs, but it never hurt to have a bit more luck in one’s life. After all, he was blessed enough to be loved enough by Izurdin to become an Isur which must have taken at least some level of luck on his part.

This longsword, rather than set under the counter, was placed in an open space on a hanging wall rack within the store section of The Ironworks. Better to show the sword to those coming in who wish to purchase their own weapon after all. It was more suited for someone new to using a weapon rather than an experienced fighter after all. Terag’s only hope was that the weapon wouldn’t fail. Someone may die due to lack of experience, but for a person to die because their weapon broke or a flaw in its creation was, more or less, the same as if Terag himself had killed the user.
Thoughts "Isurian" "Common" "Others' Speaking"
The above colors are subject to change, bear with me please!
My Character Sheet, I'm working on making it prettier.
User avatar
Terag
The Singing Smith
 
Posts: 246
Words: 223533
Joined roleplay: April 16th, 2015, 7:21 am
Location: Syliras
Race: Isur
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Working the Forge in Winter

Postby Terag on March 29th, 2017, 8:14 am

The bells passed by quickly as Terag continued about his day in a similar fashion as he had that morning: finishing daggers, blades, maces, hammers, and more. The most interesting work came at the end of the day when most of the work had been caught up on so he began another weapon to put into the shop.

This one was to be made of steel, and so he took one of the larger ingots and set it within the open mouth of the forge. Several chimes passed as he waited for the metal to cool, during which he took the time to use his hand to clean off the face of his anvil once more.

With his left hand, he reached into the mouth of the forge, the fire licking up his arm briefly as he pulled the heated ingot and set it on the face of the anvil. Switching from hand to tong in his right hand, then hammer in his left, he set to work. He was to create a Widowmaker head, a brutal axe weapon that could double as a stabbing weapon as well – it would provide good practice to using his left arm for work. He generally didn’t need it, but lately he had grown somewhat paranoid that he was losing his touch to smith with his gifted arm.

He was only creating one of the two blades but he enjoyed the work none-the-less. As usual the clangs of the hammer fell into a rhythm and Terag began to hum along with it. The metal, with each blow, compressed and spread against the face of the anvil. First out then up as he further shaped the metal from a blunt bar into what would resemble an axe blade. The top portion of the blade received extra attention from Terag as it was further elongated past the usual size of an axe head and then would gain extra protrusions. These would serve as the basis for the future barbs of the weapon, what allows the axe to both slash and stab.

He stopped mid-swing as he heard the final bell go off, the one that signaled his work was done for the day. He loathed to leave work half-finished, to add to the pile that he had worked all day to diminish but he was certain he gets another stern talking to if he kept working without pay. Rules were rules after all.

With a sigh the semi-formed axe head was cooled in the water bin before it was set onto his table, and taking a piece of scratch paper and charcoal that sat beside the axe he wrote in Isurian that the axe head was to be for a widowmaker – a poor choice in language as there were few others in The Ironworks that would be able to read it but Terag’s head was in another place.

His apron was set back onto the edge of the tool rack before Terag picked up his cloak off his war fork and draped it around himself before picking up the war fork in his right hand and headed out the door. He did his best to smile and be friendly to the other smiths as he passed them by, many waved back just as friendly but the newer ones were still adjusting to Terag’s forced smile. It was still hard to break a several hundred-year-old biases of not showing emotion or trusting strangers and Terag was sure it still showed in his smile. It would have to do for now at least.
Thoughts "Isurian" "Common" "Others' Speaking"
The above colors are subject to change, bear with me please!
My Character Sheet, I'm working on making it prettier.
User avatar
Terag
The Singing Smith
 
Posts: 246
Words: 223533
Joined roleplay: April 16th, 2015, 7:21 am
Location: Syliras
Race: Isur
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes

Working the Forge in Winter

Postby Baelin Holt on May 30th, 2017, 12:04 am

Terag :
Skills:
3 Observation
3 Weaponsmithing
2 Singing
1 Blacksmithing
1 Leatherworking

Lores:
Weaponsmithing: Keeping a grind wheel wet to prevent overheating
Self: Desire to leave the Ironworks
Weaponsmithing: Leaving space in the pomel for a leather grip
Weaponsmithing: Alternate between hole punching and shape resetting
Final hammer strike with the Isurian arm for luck

Comments:
Good work! It was really nice to read someone else's smithing thread. Note that you should add this thread to your Winter 516 thread list in your CS.

Please edit your grade request to show that its been graded. If you have any questions or concerns about your grade, please do PM me.
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Baelin Holt
Smith of Black Rock
 
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