Crimson walked into the small makeshift shop, picking up the the axe that belonged to Jaym, to their Chieftan. He closed his eyes a moment, praying to Odin this would be on of those works that would end marvelously, worthy of the one who was leading them. The axe their enemies would fall beneath, he set the axe atop the cement slab that made up the armory, and began. Taking a different axe, smaller, holding no real weight other than that which Crimson put into the weapon. A few hefty swipes taking it appart at the neck, just under the axe.
The axe was taken in hand, in his left, his right setting down the small hatchet and opting for a hammer to drive the wood down and away, letting it fall from the confines of the axe. The old wood, that had braced the axe as its handle for the longest time, it looked old, wary, the wood had indeed done its time, and told the tale, just as the axe did to Crimson's trained eye, of how it was gripped, held, stained in the blood of many, there was even that redish tint to it, and the darkened cylinders within that spoke of the age of the oak used. He set the hammer down, and moved to the bellows, setting the weapon into the hot coals. Pushing down on the bellows to pass the air through and heat them, even in this chilly season, Crimson knew before hand to remove his upper gear and cloak before he had begun, even now as the bellows breathed air against the coals, enflamming them, he could feel the heat rising within his work shop.
Crimson me continued to press down on the bellows until the coal burned so intensely, Crimson so feel the heat radiating off the bridge of his nose, he smirked a bit. A good begining, unblundered, unhindered, good, Odin was smiling upon the reconstruction of his Chieftan's blade, now all he needed was for Loki to be napping long enough for him to finish. He turned from it, and recieved the wood expressely made, after the Chieftan had made this request. Wood cut to the same length as to his original axe handle, Crimson dared not change anything, he could not phathom how long Jaym had the blade and changing the weight of a man's blade when he is not knowing of it, can prove fatal, he knew. He had no desire to be the tool that would permit his Chieftan's end, but instead, he desired to be the instrument of it's preservation. Through the axe he would do just that. Yes, the handle could have been identical, save for a gram or so off, carpentry unfortunately was a side working of being a Blacksmith he dissliked, however, it was a useful type of knowledge. And he set the wood down next to the old axe handle, taking the handle that was soon to be discarded, he set it closer to the armory's edge, then taking hammer, chizzle and tongues began his next task; stripping the elderly handle of its small pertruding blades out the back of it. He could not held but feel as if he was taking apart something from the very past of the Alars themselves as he worked.
Crimson then moved over the old handle, taking first, the chizzle into his left hand, then hammer into his right as he began working down the center of the barrings that held those small blades into place. Chipping away at their center in an attempt to loosen them, just enough then work them down with the palm of his bare right hand, he did these for all six of the bladed barrings, some giving him more difficulty than others. However, they were at least removed, then set aside, kept apart from the rest of his workings. His right hand lifted and wiped away those bead of sweat forming at his brow. The he turned back to the bellows, seeing the metal was hot, he reached back for thr tongues, retrieving them from next to the hammer and chizzle atop the armory. And the old handle was set aside, not discarded, who knows, mayhaps Jaym would wish to keep it, made to be a whacking cane for the sluts or whatnot. In the Laager, anything could be turned from scrap into riches, or almost anything. He then moved to the bellows and using the tongues, retrieved the Chieftan's axe from the heated coals, moving to the anvil he picked up one of the hammer at the wooden base beneath the anvil and set the brimmingly red axe atop, held stead by the tongues as Crimson began. His hand rearing back, then slamming downwards, with each hit, his arm flexed. For ever second bringing of that hammer down, the third would have it braught atop the bare anvil itself, why? It was a simply thing, when treating an old blade, muck of the rust, crusted blood, dye colouring or what not else, stuck to that hammer in two strikes, the last, that third, was always made to knock such rubbish free, so the hammer end remained smooth and worked the metal briliantly!
Evela Lannock peeks through the door into the forge, "sir?" she calls though she is not loud, it may be that the forge is louder than she is.
Crimson continued on, working the crack along, until the metal began to close in upon itself, filling the crack evenly, a tidy manner to get the job done. He continued that rythmic pounding of steep to steel until there was nothing left of the crack, at least upon this side. He turned the axe blade over, and shrugged a bit at what was left upon the other side, less than what it had been prieviously, he moved back to the bellows and set the axe into the coals once more. Hammer and tongues thrown atop the armory, and he looks to the lady, left hand pushing upon the bellows to send air into those coal, coaxing them to burn to life. His body carressed by a sheen of sweat by his days works, but this did not mean he had no time for the Laager's own, "..aye, lady, what can I do for ye?", he querried, as he pushed down atop the bellows, "..hnn?", his tone was gruff, but calm, he was in his element here.
Evela Lannock shifted into the forge at his words, the warmth always welcome. she hadn't been there long enough yet to feel the heat as oppressive, "I heard you were a blacksmith." she said, and then blushed lightly, her skill for stating the obvious was astounding. she took a breath and stated again, "I wondered if I could speak to you about getting something made, a sewing machine, with a a treadle. I can get sketches for you. there ae lots of small parts." she was clearly not in her element as she babbled.
The small furnace of the bellows continued to burn, and only when he felt the searing heat kissing his sweat riddled flesh did he stop, moving to the new axe handle and the small bladed barrings for the back of the axe, and began to fasten them upon the new handle, usinng the hammer to close up the chizzled middles of each, this left a line, but it would be closed up carefully and sealed properly later, in between two barrings, Crimson gave the woman a glance, a wide brimmed smile, "..get me your plans, Seamstress..and I shall make your sewing do-thingy for ye'..", he said simply, a short lived nod as he leaned over his work, setting the last two bladed barrings, then hammering them too shut, "..forgive me if I am not talkitive, the Chieftan, asked me to fix his axe, it is of course my first priority lady..", he said, there was 'almost' an apologetic tone to his voice, but not quite.
Evela Lannock moves a little closer to watch. she Crafts things herself, and finds herself drawn into the sewing of metal the man is doing, "oh, of course. please forgive the interruption. it isnt urgent." she moved a tiny fraction of a step back though her eyes were still on the axe as he worked. she jumped with the first clang of the hammer but only the first, the rest felt rhytmic. organic. She held a palm toward the heat of the fire briefly, pulling it back wehn it got too hot. "It seems very good work, Sir." she said,
Crimson then set that nicely prepared length of an axe handle aside, then took up the hammer and tongues into ther respective hands, and pulled the axe blade from the furnace of the bellows with the tongues, left hand gripping the handle of the tongues so as to never let the axe blade move. He then moved to the anvil, setting the axe blade atop it, "..my thank lady..let us hope the Chieftan thinks so aswell..", and with that, the rythem began. Slamming the hammer down into the metal twice and again, for every second hit, the third would be made to slam the anvil itself, removing the dirt and whatnot else from the hammers bottom. Always metal to metal, never metal to dirt, it ruined crafts, there was a small recession as Crimson ceased and held the axe blade up, looking it over, the crack, had vanished as if by magic, but all it was, was a crafty Smith doing that which he loved.
Evela Lannock watches in quiet awe, her eyes never once leaving the hammer, the metal that would become the axe, she moved a little closer without being fully aware that she had done it, not colse enough to be in the way, or even block the lithg, but close enough to watch each tripple blow, they rang in her ears. she said nothing, only watched his hands and the hammer.
Crimson then moved over to the bucket of water and dunked the heated axe blade into it, the heat instantly hissing forth in a shot of steam, sent at Crimson's face, yet it does not seem to phase him, he had done this one too many times to be worrying about a small bit of steam. He stood there momentarily, throwing the hammer atop the anvil and then looked to Evela, slowly pulling out the axe blade, now cool and touchable, "..this lady..is our Chieftan's axe..", he said trimphantly, it was as if the blade had never seen a battle before, it looked rejuvenated, restored to the original glory that it was ment to recieve, "..now this is the axe, our enemieds should fear..", he said and moved over to the handle, and began wedging the axe handle atop the handle, a few hits of a hammer, would fasten it down into the wooden handle, and he held it up, tossing the hammer aside carelessly, "..gah, by Odin!", he smiled, all to happy with himself.
Evela Lannock gives a little laugh, an ungaurded sound, at the hiss of the steam, unusual for her, but the heat of the forge, the horn of Mead, her restlessness and Scarlets good humor all conspired to pull her walls steadily down, "oh it's beautiful." she said softly and moved to reach a finger toward the Axe, but didnt' actually touch it. "I'm so impressed!"
Crimson then grabbed a long srip of cured bosk hide, darkened tan by the sun, and began to weav hit. Too and froe, in a criss-crossing fashion along the rest of the handle. When reaching its end, he fastened the bosk hide down with a piece of metal he beat down with a hammer. Then set the axe down atop the armory and took the tongues, and reached into the bellowed with them, taking one coal. Then moved over, running the coal over the lines left upon the barrings from earlier, the markings of a line, would slowly be made to melt away, the tongues then sent flying into the bucket as he moved, picking up the axe and a wet stone the size of his fist, he began then, sharpening the blade, "..ye' make clothing lady, intricantly I'd imagine..t'is how I make my blades.."
Evela Lannock nods, shifting with him so she can watch, "I can see that, the rhythm of it. there is something very satisfying in it I think, in creating something. a kilt, a dress." she laughs again, that same ungaurded laugh that no one else on the Laager had heard from Eve yet, "though my work is a little quieter." she flashed him a smile, "won't be that much queter if you can . . after you make the machine though." there was no doubt as she watched him that he could make it.
Crimson ran the wetstone down one edge repeatedly, and then when he felt it was sharp enough, he did the other, only when the axe drew blood from that caloused thumb, was the Smith saticefied, the wetstone was set down atop the anvil, then he moved over, setting the Axe atop the armory, at the very least, after the two days of toiling and setting up, the Chieftan's axe was now complete, the handle redone, there had been very little metal working needed, but even so, his work was enough to bring an old axe to a new, untouched apeal, he gave a final nod, "..all that is left is to find the Chieftan and offer him his blade.", the Blacksmith's work was done.
No comments:
Post a Comment