Musings of a Smith

-Gularzob's shop, Dalen Capital. Noon, 4 DSTR-

A soft whistle could be heard between the punctuated sounds of Gular's hammer. He was lost in the sounds and smells of his craft. The crackling of the embers within the coal mixing nicely with the soft sound of the bellows occasionally activating to keep the blaze up. The ever-present smell of wood smoke gently wafting up from the flames that kept the coals red hot and the lovely scent of heated steel. Breathing in deeply as he brought the hammer down, he shifted his weight on his feet and moved the hammer off to the side. Lowering his head so that his chin was against his chest, he let gravity pull on his head slightly before closing his eyes as well. Setting his hands on the stone ring of the forge, he subconsciously missed the glowing billet of steel that he had been working on, elongating it and pulling out the steel twords the proper length of a one-handed sword.

Gularzob wished he could ask Kline what Van's preferred fighting style was so that he could honor the man in death as much as he honored himself in life. However, he had avoided leaving his home ever since he had returned from the slave pen raid. There was no telling how many bystanders had seen him and had told the Scarves or various other gangs within the Lower Quarter. Either way, he had no interest in leaving his home and walking into an ambush. His home was the safest place for him. He knew every secret place within it. He knew which walls were reinforced against fire damage and therefore resistant to magic and general assault. There was only one main entrance, but he had created several others that could be used quickly in order to flee or flank around on his enemies.

Opening his eyes, he glanced to the side and took in the full glory of Kalena's armor, the Praitine steel catching the light and absorbing it with the finish he had put on it. Light could not reflect off the metal, and an enchantment within the finish made it so that no matter how many enemies struggled against her or how many times her missions required her to get her armor filthy, the non-reflective properties would maintain their full effectiveness. He had come home and got straight to work on it after the raid, the act of forging out her arm protection and greaves driving away any exhaustion and instead filling him with energy. As his hammer fell the final time and he set the last piece aside, it was as if the energy gave up its fight against a flood of exhaustion. He had struggled to keep his eyes open as he secured the forge, extinguishing the flames and putting his tools away. The stairs to his bedroom felt like a maze, his shoulders occasionally drifting into the walls of the hallway. His bed enveloped him into a loving embrace when he finally founs it, his shins pressing against the mattress where he finally fell forward.

His sleep was deep for much of the night, lasting nearly 10 hours until he woke up to the sound of someone beating on the door to his shop. It had turned out to simply be a courier from one of his suppliers, notifying him that his latest shipment of steel was due to arrive in three days time. But, with the excitement of the night before, the knocks had stirred up a pot of several dangerous thoughts that he could not afford to entertain.

Opening his eyes and bringing himself back to the present, he retrieved his hammer and tongs. Placing Van's billet back into the coals, he allowed it to heat up sifficiently before bringing it back out. Whispering an incantation as he formed the steel with his hammer, he began removing Van's essence from the material. His abilities would remain, just as the woman had requested, but his actual soul would be free to go to his afterlife.

-Tag anyone, just wanted to get back into things.-

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