[flashback] time in a forge. ( training )

[Licendous Gestral]

Timestamp: 40th Day of summer, 495 AV
Location: iceglaze forge
PC's: Licendous
Statues: (closed)

A long time passed, licen had been a boy, one with great interest in creation and crafting, blacksmithing, metallurgy, and weaponry. At a very young age he had forged his first blade. He remembered every thing about that day. The heat of the fire, the twang and pang of metal being hammered, the sound of shifting bolts, the hiss of quenched steel.

Flashback time

"LICENDOUS, pass me those tongs" Licen a young boy of 12 on the outside but already a man of 22 on the inside, he raced back and forth for the forge master. "yes, master Regulus" grabbing the tongs he aced to his master and handed them to him. The master snatched them from his hands and used them to pluck a red hot ingot of iron from the furnace, holding the tongs firmly in his left hand he began to hammer the iron flat with the blacksmiths hammer he held in his right. Each time the red hot metal began to loos its glow he replaced it back onto the heat allowing it to, return to that dull red glow.

The metal slowly began to take shape and form into a simple blade of sorts then the master handed the tongs to licendous. " Your turn boy, time for you to craft your first blade. A symbol of weaponsmith and a blacksmith." He look awestruck as he grasped the tongs in one hand and took the hammer int the other. From that point forwards he heated the metal and beat it into a blade refolding the iron as it got thin, gradually reheating as it got cold. Before long the core of the blade was done along with the edges. The master grinned as Licendous quenched the iron in the water with a strong hiss and a large cloud of steam his first blade was complete. Licen grinned to himself. The rippling of the folded iron glistened in the blade as the light hit it. "That sword right there is a thing of beauty. I'll allow you to keep it, if you can guess the metal that it is made from." Licens metal knowledge at this point was low, and he only knew of the metals that he had felt. "Is it iron ?" he asked tentatively. The master nodded with a large grin, and pressed him as to how he could tell. to which licendous retorted about the color of the metal and the density. The was saying things which were correct to the masters ears but he himself had never heard nor read. These were deeply ingrained into him from his fathers DNA. The master gave a short snak of grin and a snort. "And there's the fact that iron is the only metal, i'd let a novice like you work with, but none the less, that's still a splendid creation.

[Licendous Gestral]

LIcendous kept recalling the time he spent in the smithy in his home land. It was where he was happiest, he knew he didn't quite fit in with the others that worked there but he could do better than at least 1/4 of them. He wasn't the boldest but he wasn't shy, but what made him stand out was his appearance for his age already a grown man of thirty and six, he had the appearance of a man half his age if failing younger, he barely looked out of his teens. At the age of twenty and two he still looked like a small boy of eleven yet his knowledge exceeded his youthful appearance. At his outward appearance of 11 he was allowed to work in the smithy.

Flashback

"Oi freak, get me an ingot of iron and two steel bars." Licendous the outcast, his nickname from everyone he was the slowest to age, an bacuse of this he was smaller than most, but he developed his muscle and weight at the same rate. He was lost. "Freak, Metal. NOW!." Licendous brought what he had requested two steel bars three feet in length each and a single iron ingot. The worker grunted as other s barked orders calling him names. "Licendous." Barked the forge master. "You'll be doing metal appraising today, you seem to have a talent for it. After that you'll be on weapon forging, seeing you have such skill in that craft, even those if small stature often have great talent." The forge master roared loud and grand enough for all the forge to hear even above the clatter and banging that their hammers ant tongs brought.

"But forge master, why do we the weapon smiths have to put up with him, he's a boy of 11 not a day older. We are the master weapon forgers we-" The forge master barged into the statement -could use a boy of his talent, dont you think?" it was clearly a rhetorical question meaning say anything i don't want to hear and your gonna be looking for a new trade. and with that the main weapon smith quieted down. Licen went out to appraise the metal feeling each one carefully to make sure nto to make it an incorrect metal. "Iron, cold iron, steel, iron, silver, cold iron." nothing special he had seen these metals before, often and regularly. Appraising metal he was good at he loved the feel of cold smooth metal through his fingers, he loved the why it gleamed and shone in the light. Why can't i be made of metal he thought. Easy enough to craft a suit of armor but why not be able to make a person of steel? He pondered this as he returned to the weapon-smiths and grasped a single iron bar, set it into the fire and let it heat through.

Picking the iron back up in tongs he began to hammered it out flat and refold the steel over and over again, hammering flat again each time and re heating every time it went from white hot to red hot. After a while the blade began to take shape as the core of the blade was iron it was durable but needed a stronger out coat, taking a piece of scrap steel he heated and hammered it flat several times before folding the steel over and binding it into the iron core with them both white hot. It wasn't his best work but it would be durable with two times the amount of metal for a normal sword, one for a longer lasting and thinner edge and then an iron core for strength and flexibility. The tang of the blade needed a wooden coating and bolts or rivets through it for a strong hold as well as a guard.

Placing the blade into the quenching pool to let the metals bind and shrink onto each other he started work on a curved guard and the rivets for the handle. The began carving the wood to shape along each individual grain painstakingly careful to make sure not to damage crack fracture or splinter the wood. carving holes through the wood he made slots for rivets in the same positioning he made slots on the blade's tang, sliding the arced guard on then placed the wood either side and riveted the wood in place, sliding hot iron bars through it and hammered them flat on both sides so it would shrink and hold the handle firm. His first sword had been created and a sight it was three and a half feet of forged iron wrapped around an iron core, a long handle big enough for one hand, and no hilt.

[Licendous Gestral]

Licen recalled the days he spent in the forge only being allowed to craft blades from iron. The forge master barking orders, the smell of sweat, fire, smoke and steel. The clang of hammer against anvil, the dull thud of the iron being flattened out, the long slow hiss of scalding iron being plunged into icy cold water. He lived for that environment, though now he owned a sword he thought it best that he practice with one. He thought back to when he practiced with a stick, before he dared train with his blade.

Flashback

His day on the forge done he stepped out, into the icy air of the north. he drank deep the smell of fresh air, the sharpness of the icy wind scratched across his face and stung his lungs, but never the less it was a good feeling one he enjoyed almost as much at the atmosphere in the forge. He grinned lightly as the sound of crunching snow under his boots filled his ears in place of the forge sounds. The heat traded for the chill, the smell of smoke swapped for fresh fallen snow. The sword he had crafted hang from his belt he knew if he was gonna have a sword he had better train with it. However he was not brave enough to wield the real thing so he would substitute it, wielding a large stick in it's place, the length matched but it was much lighter.

Swinging the stick he got a feel for the motions of the blade and began to get into a groove of swings, repeating a pattern until. THUD. The stick had collided with the back of his head, it was at that point he was glad that it wasn't his real blade. Never the less undeterred he began his pattern again swinging randomly against nothing but feeling how his sword would react when he was to eventually pick it up. "Swinging wildly like that you'll never learn anything." A voice called form nowhere until licendous spotted him silhouetted against the snow, a tall gaunt man his face short and thin but sharp as a knife, his black armour half blending with the night sky, scale mail chest plate with a pair of greaves, and both bracers and guantlets. This was a man who was no stranger to a sword. Licendous thought as he looked at the man, he thought he might goad him into teaching him how to wield a blade better. "Well if my swing is that poor perhaps you could give me a few pointers? Or better yet a small demonstration ?" The man in black furrowed his brow he was plainly thinking. The chill on the air grew more fierce as the time passed with no movement. Eventually the man in black spoke almost nonchalantly. "Training to use a blade requires finesse, waving it like some child is not the way to go about it." Taking his blade from it's sheath, he showed a simple motion as a demonstration. As he then lead follow on blows lightly in succession all at a speed licendous could follow. Licendous gazed at the blade a wonder to behold, sparkilng and gleaming in the light, he saw it was a thing of beauty, the folded stel in the blade rippled to show where each fold had stopped and the polished face reflected it's razor edge. Licendous tried to copy the motions displayed by the man in black but he caught him self lightly with each motion.

"You're stance is too heavy if you stand in a position like that you have no balance no stability and no show work, if you cant move as well as your opponent he'll strike your legs as there an easy target. Sword fighting is as much an art from as it is a combat tool, treat it much the same way you would for any other craft, now copy mu foot work not by blade strokes." he lept back and forth gracefully with a aura of confidence about his foot work. " fighting is a combination of 4 things: Technique, Brains, Foot work, and Strength. If you have all of these you can become a master any two and you'll be well with the sword, have three and you can class yourself an expert. Have all four you may count yourself a master. strength is easy to gain in the trade of being a black smith. Brains is a bit more challenging as you either have the aptitude to be smart or not. Foot work this is one of the two halves which make sword fighting an art, the other is technique, technique can be learned but it is better if it's self taught as it flows easier. Although foot work MUST be taught, if you cant move your feet with grace and balance you cant dodge attacks aimed towards the feet." Displaying his graceful footwork, licen studied his movements carefully mentally noting where his feet should be with each motion. Smiling he attempted to swing his blade again. This time he found his motions much better until. Thwack and thud. His stick had crashed into his side at full speed, depicting that even though he was grasping footwork his technique still failed him when he needed it.

[Licendous Gestral]

Thinking back he'd never spent much time past the age of twenty and eight in that forge. At that time he'd spent longer crafting blades than wielding them but by the time he left home he'd done a fair bit of both. His mind mellowed as the faded picture of his day of departure came into his mind A cold summers day, many there were in his home of avanthal.

Flashback

Sitting against the gate wall he smiled, the cool wind blowing through the trees making the leaves rustle, his breath fogging with heat as it vented from the slit that was his mouth, the sound of stone along steel rattled out loudly as he slid a whetstone across the length of his first crafted blade, crude as it was it still made him smile. Proof that he had become a smith, he had spent such time on it that the edges almost sharp enough to slice a hair along it's end, the center of the blade gleamed and polished to a near mirror finish, so clear as he could almost see himself in the blade. A ray of sunlight shone through the overcast sky above, and bounced of the blade making it seem to glow.
"I i said it the first time i saw that blade, and i'll say it again. That sword is a thing of beauty." Licendous whirled his head to see the old forge master standing there a half grin on his face. Licen smiled back he'd grown fond of the old man, he was like a father too him even though licendous looked young enough to be his grandson, he was actually old enough to be his son. "Thank you forge master." Licens older coarser voice had finally broken in and he was starting to sound like a man his age.

"Forge master no more now I'm retired. I came to see you off i heard your leaving today." The old man smiled standing over him as licen gazed off out, down the road that lay before him. "I don't know where I'll end up or where I'll go but whilst I'm travelling,I'll learn all i can about everything i can. Who knows where ever i end up the road ahead is long, and filled with both many wonders and many dangers." Sliding his long sword back into it's sheath, he rose from his seated position and stroked the head of his horse. Untying it he bid farewell to the master who had defended him whilst he still looked the young boy. Now he had to defend himself. Stepping forth the snow under foot crunched and shifted loosely. Thinking to himself The journey of a thousand miles, begins with but a single step. Grinning lightly he ventured forth into the unknown leading his packed horse with him.

A little ways down his way he came across a small travel lodge, feeling a small thirst he tied up his horse outside and stepped into the lodge. Sitting upon a stool at the bar he ordered himself a water as he knew he didn't look old enough for a beer, and to boot he wasn't much fond of drinking. Believing it dulled the skill and made the hands shake. It was from behind him he heard the drunken laughter and sighed. Only drunkards ever fight with me. Why me ? He spun around on his stool to see one of the three rise from a chair. "What you looking at ?" roared the one who had risen from his chair. Licendous didn't respond as no matter what he said it seemed as if a fight would be inevitable, finishing his water he rose from his chair and at that point. The one who had risen swung at licen whilst his back was turned hoping to knocking him out and look the hard man infront of his inebriated friends. The poor man was not so fortunate as licen turned back around, glaring up at the man. He could smell the alcohol on the others breath. "I'll give you one chance, apologize or i'll pay you back for that punch." Licen didnt have the time for those who had to prove something of themselves, especially when they were drunk. Licen hoped for an apology but to his dismay and disappointment he was answered with only the mans fist taking swing again. Licendous ducked the punch to the low right, and swung his heavily dense left arm into the drunkards face sending him reeling back and colliding into the wall. "He'll pay for any damages and my drink, now if you'll excuse me. Licen walked out the front door back into the cold frosty air, and lead his horse off feeling non too pleased with what he had done. Still he had at least offered a chance of reprieve, it was more than most would give in the same instance.

[Cheshire]

Character: Licendous Gestral Experience: Weaponsmithing +2, Observation +1, Carving +1, Weapon (Long-Sword) +1 Lore: Following Orders, Receiving Praise, Metal Appraising [Basic], Proper Swordsman's Stance, Additional Note: Good thread. I did not grade the last part of the thread where you talked about a travel lodge since there are not any in Taldera. Everything looked good though. PM me with concerns.