Flashback The Anvil, The Arrow, and the Arm

[Niall Hammerfist]

12th fall, 505 AV Niall woke to hear the jarring clang of metal on metal in his ears. The subtle morning light that streamed in through the little window in his room filled his vision with deep hues of the wood plank they had used to make the ceiling. The young Isur had been dreaming of Yalani. It had been a beautiful dream, of tender encounters, and whispered confessions of love. However, those sorts of visions had become common, ever since he had broken his ribs. Something about waking up next to the warm, soft, and naked object of your fantasies for the last five years can do that to a person. The chill in his room reached into the very marrow of his bones and he contemplated going hunting for a few more skins to add to the pile he slept under. A new bear skin, or a few wolf skins would make his nights a little warmer. His mind envisioned the work involved with the undertaking. Or maybe I could convince Yalani I’m dying again. He thought, amused and tantalized by the idea. He heard the clang again like some evil clock striking out its morning toll. He listened to the tone his father’s sledge made against the metal and anvil in silence. He strained to hear the tonality clearly, and tried to identify the object his dah worked by sound alone. The low pitched ring reminded Niall of hot Iron, or a richer metal. The brief ring of it made him envision something soft and malleable. The young Isur could see a piece of Iron, being beaten into shape on the anvil. It’s body glowing pleasantly in the dim light of the forge. With a low groan he lifted an arm over his eyes to shield them from the cruel light of morning. He was still tired, but the young Isur felt wakeful enough to get up. With a grumbling cough, Niall rose. The ash slats in his bed creaked as his weight shifted across the leather thongs that held it together. His back felt stiff as it did every morning before work. It had been a long night, and his father had marshaled Niall into a steady rhythm of turning out about three Steel joist fittings an hour. The young Isur exhaled softly as he worked the ebbing ache from his arms. His arms feeling a little warmer and somewhat less achy, he turned his attention to the grime in his eyes. Quietly he rubbed the sleep from them and blinked tiredly at the light coming into his room from his small glass window. The room began to take on a more detailed focus and he searched urgently for his chamber pot. Niall let out a garbled cough that loosened the evening’s phlegm, which he spat into his copper chamber pot. The cold nipped at the back of his neck and he moved to the edge of his bed and picked up the copper receptacle from the floor. With a certain sense of relief he filled the pot with his saved water. The young Isur sighed as he rolled his neck around on his shoulders releasing the tension there. As the urgency faded from his loins he tried to envision his day. He anticipated Smithing in the morning, lunch, hunting with some of the other men from the guard in the early afternoon, and sword practice in the evening. It would be a typical day by his experience. Niall shut his eyes to the chill of his room and rose from his bed stiffly. He stretched his pale naked limbs as he exhaled a soft groan of satisfaction. The young Isur extended out as far as he could go, and limbered up. Running in place, followed by stretching and pushups worked the cold and sleepiness out of his bones. The skin oil polished floor groaned softly beneath his weight, as he gathered his clothes off of his footlocker. He clothed himself in his woolens, Wolf skin coat, Gilles and liners. He felt almost instantaneously warmed by the layered clothes he wore, and he enjoyed the musty odor of their lanolin, and other oils. He had always loved the smell of animal skins. Time to focus. He thought, as he Quietly sat on the floor and closed his eyes, focusing on his day. He envisioned his hammer striking metal, putting raw ore to the furnace, the arc of an arrow, and the angle of his sword as he sparred. He imagined the gate of a stag as it ran through the wood. He envisioned its muscles taught and strong pushing it onward, and the glossy look in its eye after his arrow pierced its heart. All coalesced in his thought in a clear vision of where he was going, what he was doing, and why. He then thought of Yalani, the details wild and muddled. He yearned for her contact. Her touch thrilled him even when it was an unpleasant slap to the face or a strike to his belly. He focused on her in his head, envisioning her movements, her face. He tried to put her into perspective. The young Isur thought of her as a woman, an Isur and not the object of his distraction. He tried to see her as a camp guard and not as something physically comforting. In his mind she became a stone, a sculpture to be admired but not touched. Calmly he exhaled. The young Isur stood slowly, balancing on the blades of his feet, until he stood at his full height. With purpose he strode to the door to his room. He let go of the last of his meditative air and opened his room door into the forge.

[Niall Hammerfist]

On a stone pallet near the front door, a wood burning stove made cheery crackling sounds as the logs inside it glowed with fire. A small pot of soup simmered on an insulated metal plate above it. The simple wooden table next to it held a large loaf of bread that his father had baked the evening before. A grin came to his face, as he saw an opportunity to end his fast. He did not tarry as he made his way to the stove and poured out a sum of its beautiful steaming contents into a simple wooden bowl he had found on a nearby shelf. He quickly dug out a spoon from a clay jar filled with other wood utensils with the speediness that came to one who knew where to look. Quick as you like he made his way to the table and sat in his chair. With graciousness in his heart he took a moment to close his eyes and say a short prayer to Izurdin. “Izurdin give me strength for today.” Nothing fancy, though the young Isur believed that the lord of industry would be more appreciative if he didn’t waste time saying prayers, and spent more time working. Eagerly he opened his eyes and tore off a large hunk of bread and dipped it into the steamy broth. The bread soaked up the hot liquid and the young Isur eagerly bit into the succulent drippy mess. The hot mouthful of food very nearly made him cry with joy. It was spicy and warm. The saltiness of the broth mixed with the sweet of the bread made for a pleasant flavor on his tongue, though the hunger in him would not allow time to savor it. He hungrily wolfed down the bread and immediately began to dig in with his spoon. The chunky contents of the soup were marvelously complex, containing wild gourds, mushrooms, and even some wild onion. The spoon however, was too slow to get the delicious soup into his mouth. Desperately, he picked up the bowl in his other hand and shoveled its contents into his waiting mouth in massive gulps. Needless to say, it did not last long. A second and third helping followed, though by then he had slowed down enough to take in the rest of the room. Things looked like they always did, save for a few crates of raw ore freshly brought from the mine. The wood on their sides looked worn and scuffed. Each little divot or missing knot in the wood stood out. The door to his room and his fathers were along the Northern wall. They made up about a quarter of the box shaped building that was their home. A small likeness of a cave bear made of knots adorned the upper right corner of his door. His father’s door was simple with no markings, but it weighed more than Niall’s. The wood was simple but worked down to soft edges. It had been lived in a long time by the previous smith before his father and Niall had moved in. The lived in quality gave everything a worn down appearance. Though just as the Isur always did, the place was built to last. The Eastern half of the building was dominated by a simple, yet heavy wooden table, the wood burning stove, counter space with a wash basin, and a diverted pipe than ran off of the aqueduct that ran down from the mountain. That same water channel ran the water wheel outside that allowed for automated bellows. That little marvel had saved Niall many nights of aches and pain. Apart from the bedrooms this was the main living area of the forge. The western half of the building had been hewn into the solid granite of the mountain side with pick, and hammer. The workroom was warm from the heat of the smelting furnace, and forge fire. Its stone walls were reinforced to prevent fires and retain heat. The smell of hot metal, oil, polish, wood fire, and smoke would always linger in the room. It was paradise to an Isur. Niall could feel the eagerness in his hands to make something. It was almost a hunger or a compulsion; a monster that needed feeding. The monster inside him purred seductively as the thought of Yalani began to creep its way into his head. With some effort he tried to focus his mind on the days tasks. As the image of Yalani’s naked form was replaced again with hammers, Anvils and the Raw Iron, Niall noticed the hammering his father was doing had stopped. When he looked to Sulos to be sure nothing was wrong, he found that his old man was staring at him, brow dripping with sweat. “Well are you going to stand there all day son, or get to work? About 100 meters of mineshaft needs shoreing up today and we need to turn some of that raw ore into fittings for the beams. Hop to it son!” His father said an embellishment of the old commander in his voice.

[Niall Hammerfist]

Niall knew not to contradict or whine. The work had to be done, and the only thing that would distinguish him would be the pride he took in it. He nodded to his father and didn’t wait to see what his reaction would be. He knew where the Iron would be in the forge. They kept several crates of the stuff on hand for emergencies and work orders. The stuff was decent purity. The mine they all manned was fairly rich in Iron, and copper ore. Though the prize was always Isurian Steel, which was rare this far out from Sultros. The large metal container of iron ore rested in the corner of the forge along with a few smaller tubs of charcoal, and limestone which was abundant here in the risen sea. He clicked his tongue softly as he contemplated the contents of each of the containers. He would need large sums of Iron, the morning would be a long one. He shrugged his mighty shoulders a moment and picked up an empty granite crucible and got to filling it with large hunks of the Iron Ore. Its texture was rough and it smelled strongly of earth and the tang of metal. It reminded the young Isur of blood, but he knew why. His father had told him his own blood swam with Iron, and his bones were carbon. He had seen his father charcoal animal bones for use in the forge after they had been boiled for soup or stew. No need to be wasteful out here in the cold. Niall sniffed the air and snorted the dust from his nose, as he scooped a few small handfuls of charcoal into the crucible, to be followed by more raw ore. When the container was nearly full the young Isur took a handful of limestone and dusted it over and around the metal and charcoal. After a time, the crucible grew full and heavy and it was time to get things started. In the back of the forge closest to the stone of the mountainside, rested the beast of a furnace they used. The Smelter sat like fat man waiting for a meal, its mouth gaping wide at the top. It was about three meters tall with a small Stone stair that led to its crown. The front of the furnace had a large round stone seal with an Iron handle anchored into its surface that they used to get into its heart. This allowed them to clean and maintain the smelter rather than building them over and over again. When Niall had climbed to the top of the crucible he looked down into its depths and observed its coals. Deep in its bowls lay the hot fuel that would smelt this concoction of metal, stone, and charcoal. He could feel a soft heat emanating from the depths. The fat man in the corner never completely died unless they didn’t use it for days. He carefully climbed back down and with his black hand grasped the iron handle of the stone seal for the smelting furnace. He took a deep breath and looked away before shouting “SMELT ON!” “IZURDIN WILLS IT!” His father quickly shouted back in response, announcing his readiness to be there to save him if he became injured. Without fear the young Isur gave the stone seal a hard tug. The soft grind of stone on stone echoed through the workroom followed by the gentle growl of flames. When Niall turned he could see dark red flames licking their way out of the cracked area around the seal. As he pulled the stone “cork” away from the furnace the flames died down to a point and he set the stone seal down gently on a nearby bench made of the same granite as the walls of the workroom. With urgency, he grabbed a pair of tongs off of a rack near the furnace. He opened the odd looking pincers and snapped them shut around the crucible near its rim. With ease he lifted the stone bucket of iron, limestone and charcoal and lovingly laid it into the furnace. When he released the tongs grip around the crucible he carefully removed them from the furnace and laid them on the bench next to the seal. With a quick grab of his black hand he grasped the seal by its Iron handle again and carefully slid it into place, sealing the furnace shut. The moment the heat was gone his brow burst into a sweaty mess. Little droplets ran down his face in little meandering trickles. Unconsciously he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeved right arm and exhaled. Outside he could hear the soft rhythm of the water wheel as the mountain stream that fed it tumbled the wooden cylinder over and over on itself. The wheel spun along its central shaft, which ran through the workshop wall. It spun noiselessly in its oiled leather lined fastener. The end of the shaft was affixed to a large gear which spun ever onward till the aqueduct froze in the wintertime, halting the wheels motion. In those months, he would get to do this by hand. For now he would be able to enjoy the convenience of his father’s little feat of engineering. Niall eyed where a long Lever, when thrown, connected the main Hub of the wheel. The Hub drove a Cam by a gear that operated the massive bellows. Connected to the bellows was a long cylindrical pipe that fed into the belly of the Crucible. As the large pump fed air into the furnace, each breath of air fed life into the coals making them hotter. Purposefully he reached up and shoved the Lever forward and the cam wheel met with the shaft of the water wheel with a locking snap of wood on wood. The Bellows inhaled through its valve in the top and out through its feed into the crucible. The great leathery organ inhaled and exhaled like some mighty beast, breathing life into the furnace. Niall nodded after checking to be sure the wheel was locked in place. He gave the lever a couple of test tugs to be sure it was tightly secured, which it was. Oh so gently, he rested his black hand on the side of the furnace and felt for the soft rumble of fire being fed with air. He felt it, almost like a little life was being born inside. Silently the Isur grinned at the parallels that forging drew with giving birth to new life. Soon, He would poor off the metal into Ingots, and his father would beat them into bars, ready for the forge. Several ticks had passed and Niall had grown thirsty. He grabbed a horn cup off of the table and stepped outside a moment. With quiet purpose he walked to the water barrel and drew a ladle of cold water from its depths. The young Isur poured its contents into the horn cup listening to the soothing splash of water as it filled the cup to its brim. He hung the ladle back on its hook and admired the snow-capped mountains. He loved this place. The mountains were beautiful and brutal, filled with danger and excitement, yet seductive in their power. After an exhale muffled by the cup, he swallowed a mouthful of the icy nectar. Satisfied with the relief it brought he inhaled a long cold breath of air and sighed. His hot breath rose on a cool breeze in wispy puffs, only to float away into the cool morning air.

[Niall Hammerfist]

Not wanting to leave his father out of the moment he removed the ladle from its hook and filled the cup once more with cool water. When it was ready, he put the dipper back and went back inside. By then the warmth of the forge seemed a relief from the cold mountain air. Once the door was latched shut he walked purposefully to where his father feverishly hammered red hot metal. “Dah. Water!” Niall said loudly over the clang of his father’s hammer. The young Isur watched his father give the steel one last strike and he stood up putting the hot metal back into the fire of the forge with a pair of tongs. The young Isur could plainly see the sweat on his father’s brow as he turned to observe his son; arm outstretched, clasping a horn cup of cold water. The old man smiled affectionately and mussed up his sons shaggy red tinted hair as he took the cup from him and drank. Niall accepted the cup back from his father and let him get back to the work he was doing. He didn’t want to get in the way. The forge was all about creating efficiency, or finding a rhythm. So it was back to packing crucibles. To keep the work area clear he made a quick stop by the table and set down the horn cup, only to steal a mouthful of bread. He had stuffed the last of it into his hungry gob just as he was getting his hands on another crucible. Niall filled it as he had the first. He measured out the amounts of iron, limestone, and charcoal to ensure that the ratios were maintained and he laid it on the stone bench next to the furnace ready to be implanted into the hot beating heart of the smelter. He had managed two more crucibles making a total of three before he realized that the steel in the furnace was nearly ready for pouring. Quick as he could, Niall grabbed the casting mold for the ingots and laid it on the ground at the foot of the furnace. The mold was made of packed river silt. Each indentation would soon contain a cooling ingot of liquid hot metal. He rested his right hand against the clay like material and felt the coolness of it. It was the proper wetness, though just to be safe, Niall drizzled an additional cup of water over the loamy packed silt. The mold was ready, the metal was likely smelted, and Niall was itchy to make some Ingots. With confidence in his heart Niall grasped the Iron Handle of the Seal with his Black hand and shouted- “SMELT ON!” which his father replied to with his call to Izurdin. Just as before, Niall looked away and gave the stone plug a pull. The flames roared fire like the mouth of Ivak as the young Isur felt the stone seal pull loose. The flames died somewhat as air flooded the core of the furnace. He stepped back to avoid the intense heat.