The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Smith, Chapter 2

Deep into the wood comes a clanging. Metal slams hard into metal, a sharp cry in the night. The sound guides me through the trees until an orange glow flickers amongst the darkness. Scents of burning steel and calming lavender waft through the air as I draw near. A forge comes into view, alive and eager. Standing before the anvil, shaping red-hot steel with every strike, looms a figure of immense strength. Shirtless and muscular, the Smith works. Even in just the light of the forge, his pale green skin is clear. He wears his long black hair in a high ponytail, the sides of his head shaved and showing off the points of his ear. A thick arm rises in the air, hammer clutched tight in a huge fist, and crashes down on the steel again.

"If you have come to interrupt my work, get on with it," a coarse and sonorous voice comes between swings. "I am very busy."

"N-no, I don't mean to interrupt," I respond, puny in comparison. "I am simply here to admire, and..." I trail off.

"And add to my workload," the orc finishes for me. "As if I don't have a long enough list as it is."

My heart sinks. To be fair, what did I expect in the first place? To be greeted with open arms and enthusiasm? To be praised for finding him? To be gifted a blade as soon as I set foot on his land? Encouragement to wake my friends so they too could claim their prize? Something akin to magic? What a damn fool.

"Oh," the word escapes me in a breath. "I'm sorry. I can just leave. I didn't mean to disturb you, sir."

Stepping back, I make my way for the trail back to the others. A sigh, a loud gust of breath, escapes the Smith. He sets down his tools and turns. His broad chest shows off the scars in the firelight. His wide mouth can barely contain the two teeth like tusks on his lower jaw, the right's point broken. His cheeks, jawline, and chin are covered in a thick obsidian stubble. His scarlet eyes peer down a large hooked nose and find me, a tired relent taking me in.

"Wait," he groans. "You've made it this far. I can at least listen to your request."

A grin spreads on my face, that spark of excited hope igniting as it had back at the tower. The warmth of the forge washes over me as I draw near. Beads of sweat form on my brow, and for a moment I consider removing my coat. Part of me decides it needs to stay on, show the legendary orc how strong I am to withstand the intense heat. The other part of me criticizes the thought, pointing out how silly it sounds. I agree with the notion that it would be best to take the damn thing off, yet it remains.

"That your weapon?" he asks, pointing to the sword.

"No," I answer, glancing at the basic iron blade. "It belongs to my friend. Kind of. Technically, he stole it."

"I don't often work with thieves," he states. There is something lacing his gruff, a touch of serious yet a pinch of jest. "I take it he only took the one for himself?"

"Whoever is on watch gets to use it, just in case," I tell him.

"And here you are, dutifully protecting the sleepers." More of that humor comes out, the corners of his mouth rising to form a devious smirk. "Know how to use that thing?"

"I've had some lessons," I admit.

"Enough to know what kind of blade suits you best?" he asks. My hesitation is enough to answer his question. "They even let you use real swords in your lessons?"

"Only the advanced classes allow that," I tell him.

"And you're not in the advanced classes yet, are ya boy?"

That hope, that light, that eager and yearning optimism fades with every inquiry. Each one chips away at the excitement, its own determination focused on bringing me down. The Smith, with his reasonable curious jabs, shrinks me until I am a child. Small and illogical, I'm biting off more than I can chew. Unprepared, untrained, undeserving.