Closed A Nail For Your Coffin

[Madeira Dusk]

67th of Summer, 517
13th Bell

The second Madeira stepped into Kitrean Krafts, she recognized that she did not belong. The shop floor was lined with racks and racks of intricate weapons of the kind she couldn't even think of owning, much less wielding. Mounted on the walls were shields of every size and construction, and on freestanding dummies were pieces of armour that glinted with cruel beauty in the yellow light. She was the only human in the shop among several Isur. And while she was easily the tallest person there, she felt as small and frail as a porcelain plate in a room of iron hammers.

She pulled self consciously at the long sleeve of her white blouse and adjusted the bite of the rucksack on her shoulders. The ebony and steel bracer crossbow she was wearing on her wrist suddenly felt like some embarrassing child's toy among the fierce and sophisticated weapons. At that moment a broad-shouldered Isur with dark skin called out to her.

"Welcome. I'll be with you in a moment." He nodded sharply in her direction. Like all Isur the low ridge of his brow made his expression disapproving, but there was a welcoming confidence in him as he finished adjusting the display of axes in the far corner.

Madeira weakly raised her hand to him in acknowledgement and busied herself by looking at the astounding suit of full armour behind the counter. A chime later the heavy steps behind her signalled his approach.

"I apologize for the wait. My name is Vacielli. What can I help you with."

Vacielli? Vacielli Vizerian? Madeira's eyes widened noticeably. She knew the name, of course. His craftsmanship was legendary in Alvadas. And while she was aware the shop was his, she did not expect him to be manning the front like a common clerk. Instincts from years of living under the socially powerful kicked in at that moment, like Minvera Craven was whispering in her ear: make a good impression with the greats, Madeira. Powerful people are useful friends. The Spiritist stuck out her hand to shake and offered the impassive Isur a charming smile.

"Madeira. It’s a pleasure to meet you."

He shook her hand silently. His palms had gone rough and hoary by years at the forge, making a striking contrast with her boney lemon-scented hands that had not done a chime of manual labour in her life.

"I need something made. I need nine nails-"

"Nails." Vacielli cut her off. His voice had not changed in inflection, and she could barely see a change in his expression, but she could feel the disappointment and contempt radiating from the very core of him at that simple word. "If you need nails, child, I'm sure the Bazaar can oblige."

All at once Madeira could feel her good first impression, already on rocky ground, begin to crumble. She waved her hand in front of her as if to wipe away the words as she franticly tried to pull back the conversation.

"No, no, these are important nails. I would never think to ask something so mundane from a craftsman of such repute..." Her shame began to burn in her cheeks. The works of deadly art on the walls seemed to lean into her peripheral vision until all she could see were the masterly built and beautiful creations. And here was this little human girl in a room full of Isur asking a master weaponsmith for nails. The mortified Spiritist struggled to find the words to save herself.

[Terag]

He continued to hum to himself as he worked the grind wheel, pedaling so the stone kept spinning through the water as he held the dagger’s edge against the spinning stone. He pulled the dagger back, quickly wiping the water off on his apron before looking over the edge of the weapon. Satisfied with his work he walked to the table nearby to set the completed weapon down to be sold at a later date, his song escaping his lips as it reached its final verse. “and with our work, We show everyone. We show what’s more important, To be as strong as we are.” With the last few words escaping his lips in Isurian he looked around himself once more. Kitrean Krafts held a smaller overall work area than he had grown used to in first Sultros and then Syliras, but seemed as he continued to change places his work place would get smaller and smaller. It was by no means insufficient, and it also felt homey. Perhaps it was because the set up was reminiscent of the ones in Sultros, or the fact that Terag was surrounded by other Isurians. Either way, there was something about working at Kitrean Krafts that just felt right. He had been working here for quite a while, and with his previous experience he often finished his work before it was time to head home, and so typically Terag would first ask the owner of the store, Vacielli, if there was any additional work to be done before working on something different for the store, typically a different weapon that he hadn’t done himself in a while. After all, he had been hired on primarily as a weapon smith, though he was told that he would be able to work on most anything if a customer asked for it. He wiped his hands on his apron before heading to the door that lead out into the storefront. As Terag passed through the door, briefly the sounds of hammers working on anvils and flaming furnaces could be heard through the store before the door closed again and the sound was lost once more. How little he could hear through the door was something Terag was still trying to adjust to as well, but he put the thought out of his head as he headed towards Vacielli, and he walked up just in time to catch Vacielli mention that the woman could purchase nails at the bizarre, and caught the woman appearing very flustered at his comment and quickly trying to prove she had intended to come to Kitrean Kraft for a reason rather than just picking up any normal nails. The thought piqued Terag’s interest, and miscellaneous metal objects were something that he had been told he could work on from time to time with proper payment. As he watched the woman’s cheeks begin to turn red, Terag spoke up to Vacielli in Isurian, “Sir, if you’d like I can handle this? If she is looking for normal nails I can send her away but at the very least she seems to think she does need a master smiths help, or at least an experienced one.” Vacielli looked at Terag, and smiled for a moment before nodding, “I’ll leave it in your hands then,” the man responded in Isurian as well, “be sure to be polite, and I expect nothing less than the best from you if you pick up the job offer.” Terag nodded before Vacielli would turn and smile to Medeira before making his way back through the store, straightening weapons and cleaning the dust off of weapons as he went. Terag bowed his head to Medeira for a moment in greeting, smiling all the while. “Hello there, I do suppose you do not mind if I take over the conversation for a short while. I caught that you wanted nails, I do hope there is more to this than simple iron nails, no? Also, my name is Terag and it is a pleasure to meet you.” He tried to keep his common straight and seem as friendly as he could to the customer. This time it was the Isurian that held his hand out for the woman to shake, his left hand. In the light of the store his onyx-black arm caught the light just enough to glint for a brief moment. He also took this moment to look the woman over, she was a tad taller than himself, although it wasn’t uncommon for the other races to be taller than an Isur, and her skin was delicate looking skin. Her hair and eye complimented this, both being blonde and a light blue respectfully. Her frame was small though, almost seeming too thin. Though, Terag assumed that was more because he was used to the broadness of the Isur compared to the average frame of a human.

[Madeira Dusk]

Madeira's saviour came in the form of a tall young Isur with a beautiful arm of black stone. He sidled up beside Vacielli and spoke in low Isurian, distracting the Master smith and giving Madeira a tick of respite with which to compose herself. But before she could get a proper word in edgewise, Vacielli nodded to the young man, nodded to her, and left without another word. Everything Madeira could have said curdled in her brain. The master would now forever know her as a naive, self-important child. Excellent.

The newcomer bowed his head respectfully and asked after her inquiry in heavily accented Common. He had the same ever-present disapproving Isur eyes under blue hair, but he had a genuinely amiable smile showing through his scruffy goatee. Madeira got the impression that this man was more gentle than any of the other Isurs she had met.

He introduced himself as Terag and held out his hand to shake. She smiled warmly at him, touched by the effort he was making to make her feel welcome, and automatically copied the ritual of a handshake.

"I'm Madeira Craven. Thank you for helping me today-"

Crack.

Her ingrained muscle response to extend her right hand to shake was met with tragedy. An audible crunching sound shot from Madeira’s knuckles as she accidentally smashed her fingers against his stone left hand. He probably didn't even feel it. But the proper, affluent lady had no choice but to snatch her hand to her chest and swear lustily.

"Ah! By the petching gods! GAH!"

There was a clicking in her leftmost knuckle that she suspected was some sort of small fracture. She would have to get that looked at later. In the meantime she breathed hard through her nose until the pain abated and she could look Terag sheepishly in the eye.

"I'm fine! It's ok, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

She flexed her hands and tried to remember what they were talking about just before she unwisely made an awkward fist bump with the stone Isur.

"Right, well, yes, they are just iron nails. But!" she held up a shushing finger, anticipating another interruption like Vacielli. "These will be ghostnails, used in the practise of Spiritism. I have very specific preferences for these nails that may one day save my life. And I'd be grateful if you'd let me watch you make them; I’d like to see if I can add soulmist to their construction, somehow."

There. That's what she should have said the first time. She smiled for Terag, wondering if she could somehow embarrass herself further in front of the Isur.

"Can you do that for me?"

[Terag]

Terag was caught off guard by the woman’s exclamation, he noticed immediately after that she was clutching her hand and he tried his best to give an apologetic smile. There wasn’t much else he could do in the situation, but it wasn’t too unheard of. After all, his god-given arm was tougher than anything he had come across and definitely more so than a human’s frail hand. “My apologies, sometimes I forget to try to compensate for hand movements from the other races. Hard to remember when the action has been kept up for so long, no?” At least those who were used to the movement didn’t end up hurting themselves against his arm very often. After the woman stated she was fine, and then went on again about the nails and this time about the specifics of them Terag went silent for a long moment. He knew almost nothing of the art, but there almost seemed to be a feeling in the back of his head that he should at least have a general idea. Perhaps at most a passing phrase he had heard before. For his inquiry he raised an eyebrow, trying to study the woman’s face a bit more as he asked, “Spiritism? Soulmist? I will need to explain what these are a bit more to me. Without knowing what it is, I cannot guarantee that I can add them to the nails. I’ve mixed metals before, made a sword a while back during my time in Syliras actually where he wanted a new blade forged from an old one and some new metal. That was a fun project.” Terag paused for a moment and smiled a bit more before he realized he was rambling. After a quick cough, Terag continued again. “Regardless, it is possible. I think there may be a small forge we can use off to the inside that you can sit and watch the process if you so desire. However, I do need to get permission so give me just a moment and I will ask, if nothing else I am sure that you believe this is necessary and so you have swayed me at least this far. Just one moment.” Terag smiled at Medeira before turning and heading back to talk to Vacielli, who at this point had stepped behind the counter once more. “Vacielli, I would like to request permission for a customer to come and see me work at the forge.” “Oh? The woman I assume? Has she convinced you that she needs to make her nails here then? It better not be a waste of time, effort, or materials.” “They won’t be, but yes. She has convinced me and I would like to take it on myself.” “Alright, well if you say so. You should use one of the forges closest to the door so you don’t go too far back. Don’t need her seeing all of what we have,” the man said with a playful smile. Terag smiled back before heading back to Medeira. “We do have permission to go back, but I will request that you tell me more about these things on the way. Without the proper knowledge, I won’t be able to fully make what you might be looking for.” Terag’s voice trailed off for a moment again as he thought for a few moments, motioning for Medeira to follow him again as he turned to head towards the back door of the store. It was moments before they were at it and Terag and his companion would be there, and he walked through without any hesitation. From the open door the sounds of metal being hit could be heard, Isurians shouting towards one another, and the collective heat pushed its way out of the room and briefly into the storefront until the door was closed behind Medeira. The scene in front of them was one that Terag always enjoyed, many Isurians hard at work at their forges. Working at the anvils to make the perfect creation or at the grindwheels or with sandpaper to hone their finished products. Again, Terag motioned for Medeira to follow, if she had this far, and he grabbed an iron bar from a nearby bin and a chair from a table as they walked to an open forge that was already heated and ready to go, the forge that Vacielli had mentioned and the one Terag had been using. He set the iron ingot on top of the anvil, and set the chair beside the small table he often had nearby as he worked before turning and smiling at Medeira once more. “Welcome to my home away from home,” he said as he motioned to the forge and the area around it.

[Madeira Dusk]

Terag returned with permission to have Madeira in the forge with him, and the Spiritist's eyes immediately lit up. She had never been interested in the trades or the making of metal things, but to see an Isur at work? That was an honour to be sure.

As he led her to the back of the store and on to the forges, Madeira did her best to explain her profession.

"Spiritism is a magic centred around working with the souls of the dead." she began rather dryly, her eyes wandering the glinting racks of weapons and she struggled to choose the right words. "I work as a Spiritist, or an Exorcist, and I make sure that spirits move on to their next life and defend the living from the belligerent dead. I can modify weapons and things to interact with ghosts with a substance made from my body called soulmist. It's ah..." her train of thought was lost as the two moved into the back room. The opening door washed a wave of shimmering heat over the human that made her eyes water. As they cleared, a scene illuminated by sparks and coals, with a soundtrack of beating metal and grindstones, opened before her.

She could only stare as she watched the sturdy, blue-tinted Isur’s handle metals in various degrees of completion. One woman was beating something white-hot with the flat of her right hand. Another was bending a glowing orange rod over an anvil, while the thing hissed as if alive. That unique smell of molten metal, a mix between hot ash and boiling blood, stuck its way deep into her pores.

She came back to her senses as Terag pulled a chair over to a wooden table beside a forge just to the side of the door. Madeira sat herself down and pushed tendrils of sweaty hair off her forehead. He set a bar of cloudy dark metal on top of the anvil and turned to her, welcoming her to his home away from home with obvious pride.

"It's amazing", she said honestly, showing him her first genuine smile since she stepped foot into Kitrean Krafts.

"Wait, before you begin let me show you my soulmist. Then you, the professional, can tell me how you can work it into the process."

She set her rucksack at her feet and pulled out two plain glass mason jars. One was empty, and only reflected the golden glow of the simmering forge. The other contained three balls of some vile, sticky looking black dough. She held the full jar up proudly.

"My secret recipe." she exclaimed, before fishing a ball out and pushing it into her mouth.

Her eyes fluttered close as she chewed. The grittiness of the rye flour and the sharp tang of her own blood was lost to her as she dug deep for the process that would turn the dough into soulmist. She concentrated hard, leeching part of her own living soul into the dough and transforming it, manipulating the mundane ingredients into something else entirely.

As the texture dissolved and a coolness pervaded her mouth, Madeira knew she was done. The brought the empty jar to her lips and spit. Her soulmist was a clean off white colour, and it glowed faintly even in the well lit forge. It coiled languidly in the bottom of the jar, neither liquid or solid but something in between.

"This is soulmist", she offered, wiping a stripe of the substance off her lower lip with the back of her hand. "It's not solid, like a metal. It's incorporeal. And really cold." She dipped a finger into the jar and smeared the clinging substance to the table in front of her. The soulmist sat on top of the wood for a tick before slowly leeching in and disappearing.

"It's completely harmless, and doesn't change anything it touches in any significant way. Unless you're a ghost."

[Terag]

Terag took the jar from Madeira, turning it this way and that to try to get a better look at the soulmist within. Even in the light of the forge he could see the way it slightly glowed, and the jar was already beginning to feel unnaturally cool in such a hot place. He looked between the jar and Madeira with a raised eyebrow. He had been so careful about trying to conceal his magic so to have someone else speak about their own type had caught his off-guard. Perhaps he had been too protective of himself. Either way her ‘secret recipe’ itself didn’t seem all that appetizing, and he didn’t really care to know what it was made of. At least this stuff, soulsmist as she called it, almost seemed familiar. It was similar to his own djed, at least to a form that Terag could make his djed form into but he was sure the two substances were very different. How they were different was going to be the important part though if he could work it into nails. If she was mage too however, then they would be in the same boat if one person got revealed so would the other so at least he could speak freely on the matter now. “This soulmist, is it like res? Or is it just a different sort of mixture of djed? At least I assume you use djed since you said magic. Like how a reimancy creates res to create earth or fire, do you do the same for your soulmist?” Terag kept asking questions as he set the jar down onto the table for a moment as he kept thinking, seeming to take little thought that perhaps his questions might not be fully understood. “With how it works and what I see, I suppose you cannot simply soak a nail in soulmist can you? Or maybe you can, might be easier to mix it into the metal that then makes a nail which is why you came here, no?” Terag brought his hand up to stroke his beard for a few moments as he thought some more. “If I had to guess, perhaps mixing it into a bar and then splitting the bar into nails. That should work.” He mumbled in Isurian, though loud enough for Madeira to hear – although his words were likely lost in translation as few humans understood Isurian. Terag picked up the Ingot of Iron with his left hand, and walked over to the forge. Without thinking he reached his left hand and the ingot into the heart of the fire and set the bar down. He often didn’t think to warn onlookers who were not Isurian that their arms would had no issue in the flames. As he pulled his hand out of the flame, he turned to face Madeira again and took a few steps as he wiped his hand on his apron to get off the soot and other particles from the forge without a second thought. “So, who taught you how to do all this?” he asked while motioning to the jar of soulmist that was sitting on the table now. “My father was the one who taught me how djed and res worked, I hope your initiation was not a painful one.” Terag smiled some, trying to be as friendly as possible now – since now he felt a sort of kinship with her. Having gifts and skills that they could not always be public about or could openly show. Or at least, that was as far as Terag understood the situation.

[Madeira Dusk]

"Soulmist, is that like res?"

Madeira had no idea what res could be, and was about to open her mouth to say so, when the Isur continued: "Or is it a different sort of mixture of djed?"

The word djed cause a very physical reaction in the blonde. At once both turning her body away as if to disassociate herself yet leaning closer to hear him better. Her eyes went wide and round, and flicked around the forge as if she would find a Listener in the corner. He just admitted to being a magic user!

But the blacksmith never looked up from the glowing jar. Completely unaware of what he just admitted to, his questions ran back to the practical. Eventually he trailed off into a string of Isurian as his fingers curled in his beard. Madeira studied the hard line of his brow as he puzzled over how to fit this new substance into the usually mundane work. Still lost in his thoughtful expression he picked up the bar of cloudy metal in his black hand and thrust it into the fire.

The human flinched in an uncontrollable sympathetic reaction, but didn't look away. The way the fire curled over the black stone, and the orange reflection it cast, was mesmerizing. Eventually he turned back to her with more questions about magic.

"It's a family business. My family taught me." Wow, this was surreal. She was discussing magic with a stranger, in public. Spiritism was mistrusted, certainly, but it was tolerated because of its necessity. But other magics?... The last time she spoke at any length about such things it was with her most trusted friend the privacy of her shuttered home.

As Madeira got over the shock of it, her devouring interest began shining through her pale eyes. Nobody else would consider talking about it, after all. And it wasn't her ass on the line, should they be overheard.

"I wasn't initiated." she began. "Spiritism is a world magic- I learned by studying. And what you asked before... Soulmist is made by djed, but not like res, I don't think. I purpose djed into a catalyst that turns this dough" she pointed to the half full jar still on the table "into an external piece of my soul. That soulmist is what my ghost would be made of."

"And I could soak the nails in soulmist. That's what I do for all my tools, usually. But the effect only lasts a handful of bells. I want to see if, if we introduce the soulmist into the crafting process, we could make the effect more permanent. It's an experiment."

She crossed her legs under her skirt and regarded the Isur in front of her. There was something almost hungry about her wide-eyed expression. She had questions for the blacksmith. Too many questions.

"Your father taught you? That must mean you're both Reimancers. That’s amazing. I've never met one before. What kind of elements can you create? Could you demonstrate it for me?”

[Terag]

Unfortunately for Terag, he hadn’t noticed her reaction to his words earlier. Perhaps if he had seen her reaction to ‘djed’ then he would have thought to be more careful about what he said to someone he barely knew but it was just too ingrained in him. After the many years growing up talking to his father and his peers about magic, he never first thought that he needed to his magic and so he was always in danger of accidentally rambling on about it, like now. Terag was quiet for a few moments as he absorbed all the information that she said once he had finished looking at the jar of soul mist. After a few chimes he began speaking again, addressing all her questions in turn. “No initiation? That sounds similar to glyphing or magecrafting I think, interesting. It is nice to have a skill taught by family, no?” Terag smiled a bit as he looked at Madeira. He had always wanted to be more family oriented, the idea of family was one he loved despite the view he had against his current family members. “It is strange that it is essentially part of your soul but I suppose taking out your djed into res is no different. You chip away at yourself until either you go too far or you stop and let your body heal.” Terag seemed lost in thought for a few more moments, only now it was somewhat beginning to occur to him that perhaps this was not a topic to go into too much detail on, but it was too late for that. He was glad that over the sound of banging hammers and roaring forges that no one else would be able to really hear them. He raised an eyebrow at the woman when she asked him about what he could create and a demonstration. That could be very dangerous, but he couldn’t help but feel the desire to go through, to show off, to show more of what he was. He was unsure if the desire came from either multiple time over over-giving and his mind was remembering the sweet whispers calling to him or if it was just his own desire to show off. For a long time Terag stared at Madeira as he decided if he was going to do it or not. Almost a half a chime later Terag would sigh and look around to confirm that no smiths were looking before he would start. “I suppose I can but only a little bit, perhaps I am slower than the mountain in remembering the specifics of djed and its use in this city. I do hope you understand the situation and you will be quiet about all this to others, no?” Terag would raise his eyebrow, and if the woman agreed then he would continue. “I know little still, I find it hard to practice in most cities as they are unapproving of my skills. However, I work with earth for the time being, and while my father’s friends could do more I have not yet reached their level.” Terag adjusted some so that his larger frame was between Madeira and the others within the forge. He extended his right hand out, with its palm up, and focused. It took a short while, but eventually a silver mist began to float up from the palm of his hand and begin to condense into a sphere that was about an inch in diameter. When he was satisfied that enough djed had built up the mist would begin to darken as it became more solid. It took about the chime but the mist condensed into a dark stone sphere, nearly as dark as Terag’s left arm. He plucked the sphere out of the air with his left hand, and flipped it over a few times to inspect it. “I assume that proves that I can use earth, no?” Terag tossed the sphere in Madeira’s direction before he turned his attention back to the forge, taking a few steps to grab the now heated ingot. With practiced, but not perfected, moves he took the ingot from the flames with his left hand and set it on the anvil’s face. His hammer was pulled from his apron and he immediately set to work, hammering the ingot flatter. After a few hits, he would sit the ingot up on its side and hammer it back down, so that the ingot got longer but not wider. When it had nearly doubled in size he would use the horn of the anvil to start folding the ingot in the center length wise, so that he could eventually hammer the material in half and combine it once more. Afterwards, he reached for the jar from earlier, took off the lid, and reached in with his left hand to grab a portion of the soul mist. “So if I am to answer your questions, I assume you will answer mine? What is it exactly that you do as a spiritist? My knowledge for your craft is very lacking.” The material was unlike anything he had encountered, cool to the touch and neither liquid nor air nor solid. It almost was like a slime. Though he didn’t give it much though as he scooped some out and spread it along the top of the face of the still hot ingot. He motioned for Madeira to continue speaking if his actions have caused her to stop – as he could hold a conversation as he worked usually. The mist would sizzle, and while it did Terag would finish hammering the first half of the ingot on top of itself, first folding the edged in and then the center to try his best to mix the soul mist into the ingot. When he was satisfied he tossed the ingot back into the flame of the forge. To allow it to heat up again, the cooling from the soul mist would make this process a bit long, but it could be done. If it would have any effect though he would not truly know until he had finished.

[Madeira Dusk]

Terag regarded her with the forever unreadable expression of an Isur at her insistence that he show her his magic. She corralled her own expression, dialling back the eager pull of her mouth and the fretting of her hands. In a tick she had erased the hunger as best she could, and filled in the gaps with something pretty and patient. After a long chime the man sighed like a bellows and positioned himself between her chair and the rest of the forge. He asked her to promise to keep his skills a secret.

"Of course." she agreed readily.

There was a great scar along his palm, she noticed as he turned his hand before her. Was that what his 'initiation' looked like? A silvery mist rose from that healed wound, something similar to her own soulmist, yet so entirely removed. It's living, she realized, as she leaned over this new apparition. It's different because it’s alive. It collected slowly, pulling laboriously from his skin, until it was a sphere an inch across.

She couldn't catch the point of transformation, where the etherial turned solid. One moment he had a condensing sphere of res, and the next he was catching an onyx marble out of the air and holding it to his eye.

He threw the transmuted stone to her with a quip she didn't bother answering. She caught the thing in her hand and held it up to the muted orange light of the burning coal with rapt fascination. The thing was polished and perfectly round. There were no imperfections she could see at all, and she was sure if she brought this to a jeweller they would tell her that the stone was unnaturally pure. She pocketed the marble spuriously, still running with that electric current of discovery.

As he began the process of shaping her nails out of that bar of metal, shaping and kneading the material like a baker with his bread, he asked her about her magic. Seemed he wasn't about to offer his own magic without getting something in return. She could respect that exchange. Sparks reflected in her large eyes, and she spoke around the beats of his hammer.

"As a Spiritist, I work as a medium for ghosts. Or an exorcist. There is nothing I could show you... It's not as physical as your discipline. I am hired to sort out creatures that you can’t interact with by normal, physical means. Usually by exorcising them, which is what you call convincing a dead spirit to move on to their next life." Or keeping them as servants, she almost said, as her mind wandered to Jomi. "There are different ways to do so. I'm training have more control over a ghost possession. I can make a ghost believe I am whoever I want them to see, that's called the Lie. And with those nails", she nodded to the work he was sweating over, "I can make a barrier impenetrable to spirits. Some day", her voice turned inward, and suddenly it sounded like she was talking to herself. "I will be able to Evoke- pull a friendly ghost to me, wherever they are in the world. Or even call perfected spirits directly from the Ukalas! I..."

Realizing where she was, the human cleared her throat delicately, and smoothed out her skirt, which had been bunched in her fingers.

"How is the metalwork going?" She squinted into the haze of glowing heat in the center of the forge, but her untrained eye couldn't make heads or tails of what he was doing.

[Terag]

“The metalworking is going just fine, no harder than normally metals I suppose. Usually it takes many folds of the metal to get the metal mixed correctly, but with this substance it may take less. We will see if it undergoes any changes while working it. If nothing else you will get a set of nails.” Terag thought for a long moment about the materials again, if it was just the physical components that she had used to make her soul mist than all of that would burn up and be lost before the metal integrated it properly – as far as Terag was aware at any rate. But, because this soulmist seemed to seep into the material it was left on it was hard to tell. He cursed himself for not listening to his father and taking up lessons to at least begin learning Auristics, his father always said that you could see even the smallest changes if you focused long enough with it. With a soft sigh Terag pulled the bar from the forge again, and set to work again on it. Starting the fold, adding soulmist, completing the fold, turning the metal and repeating again. Slowly but surely his experience won out as he began picking up speed, folding the metal faster until he had fallen into a rhythm, to which he began to hum a song as he worked. For a brief period, he got completely sucked into his work again, the rest of the world falling away around him as he kept humming. Nothing else seemed to matter as he focused in on his work and the Iron bar. For a moment, he could have sworn the folded ingot looked different, almost seemed to glow a strange color, but as he snapped back to reality what he thought he had saw seemed to disappear and he quickly disregarded the change as a trick of the light. As he finished folding the metal again until he was satisfied with the work he tossed it into the forge one more time. “Sorry, sometimes I get a bit lost in my work. It should not be long now, just need to cut the metal into strips and then shape them for you and you should be as fine as a good longsword. Anyways, these ghosts. These are the ones I hear stories of, no? Such as the Isurian who would not rest until his apprentice finished the hammer? It is a good story about making sure your work is finished, and how fulfilling it can be. If you help people like that then maybe it is not a bad skill, no? Though I think that is an issue that happens – people forget that just because it has been used for bad before does not mean the skill is bad. A sword or axe is not bad because it has killed, the one who killed with it is. Tools are not evil.” Terag tried to smile a bit but it was a sad thought and he was sure it showed on his face, he remembered often being restricted from using Reimancy around the city when he was young, or having to hold himself back in Syliras and now in Alvadas. Terag once again took the iron ingot from the forge and set it on the face of the anvil before taking his hammer to shape the iron into a longer prism. When he was satisfied he took the nail on his line to draw lines down the softened metal at regular intervals. The lines weren’t perfect but they served as a good enough guide as Terag then pulled a chisel from his belt and used the chisel to make more evenly spaced and clearer lines down the metal. A soft tap from his hammer seemed enough to do that work as he set the tip of the chisel on the metal and rested the bottom of his palm on the metal to hold it in place. Once they had been all marked Terag raised his hammer high for a harder swing to start the separation of the first nail, it took a chime or two to get through the entirety of the metal down its entire length but the end of the metal eventually popped off. With practiced movements, he put the chisel back away, and immediately put the nail to work. First taking one end of the metal and setting it on the face of the hammer so he could hammer the top of the nail to give the nail the beginnings of a head. Second, he used the other end of the would-be nail to hammer in a dull tip before he dropped the nail into the hardy hole of the anvil, where the fatter end of the nail would get caught before sliding all the way through. With the metal part still exposed, Terag hammered a few more times to flatten the head and expand it as well for ease of use. After he pulled the hammer up again, just as the metal was beginning to lose its glow and looked it over, using his thumb to seem to smooth out the edges that were too rough before he tossed the nail into the basin of water. The rest of the ingot had cooled too much and so he returned it to the forge before he turned to face Madeira with a smile. “There, one is done. Give it a few chimes to cool in the water, then you can pull it out and inspect it to see if you are satisfied with the shape. If so, then I will continue with this pattern, otherwise I can try to change it as you would like, though I am no master smith so I make no promises.” Terag kept his friendly smile going as he walked around the anvil to Madeira and then rested himself against it as he leaned back. Note : I did not note the number of nails being made, but it will change based on total weight you wish, starting at 1 pound (5SM)