66, Summer 517 AV
No one would ever mistake the Defiled Blade for the Ironworks. This smithy was far more cramped, space being more of a premium here than it ever had been in the behemoth of a smithy back in Syliras. And…it shouldn’t bother Baelin as much as it did, but the absence of his former superior was jarring. He had grown accustomed to Fredrick’s sharp wit and gregarious nature. In contrast to the Syliran’s amicable guidance, Alleck and Ares had shown no signs of warming up to him. And, if Baelin was being honest with himself, he suspected they never would. But – despite its differences – it was still a smithy. And after that grueling caravan trip, Baelin was beyond grateful to be back in one. Shyke, he’d be willing to kiss the soot smirched floor if pressed.
Never again, he promised himself. Never again would he join a damned caravan. Well…at least, not anytime soon. Gods, he hoped he wouldn’t have to leave anytime soon.
“Baelin,” Alleck called over, pulling him out of his thoughts. His employer’s expression was so stern that, for a split second, Baelin had the improbable fear that the smith had read his thoughts and was going to send him packing. But Alleck continued onto a far more reasonable track, “An orphan will be coming today for an internship. Take care of it, will you?”
The wash of relief Baelin felt upon hearing the request was silly. He recognized that. But by Dira, every little bit of work he was granted here felt like a small blessing. Baelin gave a stiff nod in assent, trying his best to keep his absurd relief from showing too blatantly.
Only when Alleck had turned away and resumed his work did Baelin let himself think about exactly what he had agreed to do. Taking care of an orphan’s internship? Baelin couldn’t recall ever teaching anyone before. Shyke, he wasn’t even good at being on the receiving end of a lesson, never mind giving one. This was a test, wasn’t it? Neither Alleck nor Ares really knew what Baelin had to offer them; he was too new. He had to get this right. He had to show to them he wasn’t useless.
Buckles. He could show the orphan buckles. As a necessary part of just about all armor pieces, there was always a need for more buckles. Baelin had to get about twenty of them done in the upcoming days anyway; perks of being the new guy. It’d hardly hurt to spend the day on buckles and only buckles. Tedious, sure, but if Baelin had problems with tedium he would have gotten out of smithing ages ago.
Baelin went to the back and pulled out a thin rod used as the stock metal for buckles. Casting a cursory glance over it to ensure that it was free of rust, Baelin brought it back to the anvil he’d be working at today. Alright. Buckles. He should make sure he has all the tools he’ll need already lined up for the poor orphan that was about to get saddled with him. It was the least he could do, considering how shoddy of a teacher he’ll likely be.
A hot cut, a square mandrel, small jaw tongs, and a forging hammer should do the trick. Baelin went about and collected the tools, then arranged them in order along the leather belt wrapped around the anvil’s base. He grabbed a few extra forging hammers of varying weights, just in case. The right weight for your forging hammer had more to do with your own strength than it did what you were doing. Baelin suspected the hammer weight that he personally liked to work with wouldn’t translate well to a beginner.
With the tools arranged, Baelin supposed he was as ready as he was ever going to be. Best thing to do now was to get the forge going. As he pumped the bellows, Baelin kept his eye on the door and waited for it to open up to someone young.
No one would ever mistake the Defiled Blade for the Ironworks. This smithy was far more cramped, space being more of a premium here than it ever had been in the behemoth of a smithy back in Syliras. And…it shouldn’t bother Baelin as much as it did, but the absence of his former superior was jarring. He had grown accustomed to Fredrick’s sharp wit and gregarious nature. In contrast to the Syliran’s amicable guidance, Alleck and Ares had shown no signs of warming up to him. And, if Baelin was being honest with himself, he suspected they never would. But – despite its differences – it was still a smithy. And after that grueling caravan trip, Baelin was beyond grateful to be back in one. Shyke, he’d be willing to kiss the soot smirched floor if pressed.
Never again, he promised himself. Never again would he join a damned caravan. Well…at least, not anytime soon. Gods, he hoped he wouldn’t have to leave anytime soon.
“Baelin,” Alleck called over, pulling him out of his thoughts. His employer’s expression was so stern that, for a split second, Baelin had the improbable fear that the smith had read his thoughts and was going to send him packing. But Alleck continued onto a far more reasonable track, “An orphan will be coming today for an internship. Take care of it, will you?”
The wash of relief Baelin felt upon hearing the request was silly. He recognized that. But by Dira, every little bit of work he was granted here felt like a small blessing. Baelin gave a stiff nod in assent, trying his best to keep his absurd relief from showing too blatantly.
Only when Alleck had turned away and resumed his work did Baelin let himself think about exactly what he had agreed to do. Taking care of an orphan’s internship? Baelin couldn’t recall ever teaching anyone before. Shyke, he wasn’t even good at being on the receiving end of a lesson, never mind giving one. This was a test, wasn’t it? Neither Alleck nor Ares really knew what Baelin had to offer them; he was too new. He had to get this right. He had to show to them he wasn’t useless.
Buckles. He could show the orphan buckles. As a necessary part of just about all armor pieces, there was always a need for more buckles. Baelin had to get about twenty of them done in the upcoming days anyway; perks of being the new guy. It’d hardly hurt to spend the day on buckles and only buckles. Tedious, sure, but if Baelin had problems with tedium he would have gotten out of smithing ages ago.
Baelin went to the back and pulled out a thin rod used as the stock metal for buckles. Casting a cursory glance over it to ensure that it was free of rust, Baelin brought it back to the anvil he’d be working at today. Alright. Buckles. He should make sure he has all the tools he’ll need already lined up for the poor orphan that was about to get saddled with him. It was the least he could do, considering how shoddy of a teacher he’ll likely be.
A hot cut, a square mandrel, small jaw tongs, and a forging hammer should do the trick. Baelin went about and collected the tools, then arranged them in order along the leather belt wrapped around the anvil’s base. He grabbed a few extra forging hammers of varying weights, just in case. The right weight for your forging hammer had more to do with your own strength than it did what you were doing. Baelin suspected the hammer weight that he personally liked to work with wouldn’t translate well to a beginner.
With the tools arranged, Baelin supposed he was as ready as he was ever going to be. Best thing to do now was to get the forge going. As he pumped the bellows, Baelin kept his eye on the door and waited for it to open up to someone young.
