Day 4, Spring of 514 A.V.
Sal dropped onto hands and knees again, casting a doubtful look under the bed where he already had searched twice. The wood table and couch had proved just as fruitless. He had even looked outside the entrance door, just in case he might have propped his missing sword there. Alas, no such luck. If it was somewhere in the apartment, it was doing its best to avoid detection. Dusting off his knees as he sulkily clambered to his feet, Sal was the very picture of bitterness, recollecting the feel of the sword grip in his hand and the weight of it. He was by no means a talented fighter, but knew his way around a sparring circle. He had grown accustomed to the balance of that blade, a familiar and reassuring feeling whenever he held it.
But now it was gone, and it did not take a genius to figure out where. It must have been lost in the forests along the Aramanthine River, where he had found himself just a few days prior. That fellow Kandor and his band of adventurers had escorted Sal safely home, but he was certain now that his sword had not made the journey back.
He could of course go looking for it, but in all honesty the odds of finding a single blade amidst the forest trees were poor at best. So then he reluctantly grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Not that the door itself had done anything wrong, but it found itself slammed violently as Sal departed. He literally marched from the apartment complex and set off with the blacksmith in mind. Touch of Fire had a good reputation for quality steel, no doubt helped by the fact that the proprietor was Isur. Aska Terras had been bending metal to her will since Sal could remember, and apparently for nearly a hundred years more on top of that.
When he arrived, the telltale clang of the smithy resonated in a steady rhythm, while the air grew hotter from burning coals. Finished weapons found themselves lined up neatly in racks, shimmers of light from the fires dancing on the edged blades. A large set of bellows loomed over Sal, designed to blow secret whispers over the coals to entice them to unlock their true power. In turn the coals burned with passion, readying the various metals to be molded and made into instruments of death. There was something poetic about the whole process, but ultimately it was about making a tool designed to kill another being. That perspective did not cheer Sal who was still somewhat annoyed at having to replace his sword to begin with. But while the tool's purpose itself might have been morbid, that did not detract from the beauty of the craftsmanship that created it. His blacksmith brother would have argued it was art in itself, and Sal was far from disagreeing with such a notion.
Having tried a few longswords of varying length, Sal eventually settled on one that, as far as he could recall, was almost identical to his old one. The pommel and grip were different, this one sporting a darker leather wrap that was almost black, but otherwise they could have been brother blades. It felt solid in his hand, not too heavy as to seem cumbersome, yet hefty enough to feel like it would not snap at the first target it struck. He had no intention of bartering with Aska, deeming her craft to be worth the price advertised at the door. Picking out a suitably sized scabbard of modest design and matching leather belt, he handed over the necessary coins before taking his leave, leaving the steaming coals and clanging of metal behind him.
With the scabbard fixed upon his belt, Sal walked in no particular direction to get a feel for a weapon at his side again. The familiar feeling of weight on one side was a welcome return, and before he even realized, his left hand was resting on the grip as he strode forth in much better spirits. Perhaps a new sword was not such a bad thing after all.
But now it was gone, and it did not take a genius to figure out where. It must have been lost in the forests along the Aramanthine River, where he had found himself just a few days prior. That fellow Kandor and his band of adventurers had escorted Sal safely home, but he was certain now that his sword had not made the journey back.
He could of course go looking for it, but in all honesty the odds of finding a single blade amidst the forest trees were poor at best. So then he reluctantly grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Not that the door itself had done anything wrong, but it found itself slammed violently as Sal departed. He literally marched from the apartment complex and set off with the blacksmith in mind. Touch of Fire had a good reputation for quality steel, no doubt helped by the fact that the proprietor was Isur. Aska Terras had been bending metal to her will since Sal could remember, and apparently for nearly a hundred years more on top of that.
When he arrived, the telltale clang of the smithy resonated in a steady rhythm, while the air grew hotter from burning coals. Finished weapons found themselves lined up neatly in racks, shimmers of light from the fires dancing on the edged blades. A large set of bellows loomed over Sal, designed to blow secret whispers over the coals to entice them to unlock their true power. In turn the coals burned with passion, readying the various metals to be molded and made into instruments of death. There was something poetic about the whole process, but ultimately it was about making a tool designed to kill another being. That perspective did not cheer Sal who was still somewhat annoyed at having to replace his sword to begin with. But while the tool's purpose itself might have been morbid, that did not detract from the beauty of the craftsmanship that created it. His blacksmith brother would have argued it was art in itself, and Sal was far from disagreeing with such a notion.
Having tried a few longswords of varying length, Sal eventually settled on one that, as far as he could recall, was almost identical to his old one. The pommel and grip were different, this one sporting a darker leather wrap that was almost black, but otherwise they could have been brother blades. It felt solid in his hand, not too heavy as to seem cumbersome, yet hefty enough to feel like it would not snap at the first target it struck. He had no intention of bartering with Aska, deeming her craft to be worth the price advertised at the door. Picking out a suitably sized scabbard of modest design and matching leather belt, he handed over the necessary coins before taking his leave, leaving the steaming coals and clanging of metal behind him.
With the scabbard fixed upon his belt, Sal walked in no particular direction to get a feel for a weapon at his side again. The familiar feeling of weight on one side was a welcome return, and before he even realized, his left hand was resting on the grip as he strode forth in much better spirits. Perhaps a new sword was not such a bad thing after all.
_____________________
- Leather belt - 4s
- Longsword - 15g
- Scabbard - 4g
- Total = 19g, 4s
