Of Blood and Blade: Rough Draft

Prologue

Prologue:

The gardens bloomed for spring, blossoming trees and bees clinging to the flowers at their prime. First born son of Budda Buecker and Nancy Elizabeth Blackwater, Oaken Buecker, birthed out of wedlock. Budda, the father held him first, holding the precious head close to his chest, his heart beating as a tear rolled down his rosy white cheeks, warm-hearted were the Buecker's, but always attempting to appear cold, as if winter was on the cusp of spring. As Budda looked into the eyes of his young boy, sparkling blue eyes staring at the dark blue eyes, of which the shine had faded, “My boy” he said, pressing his forehead against his son's, the infant not crying, instead curiously his eyes met his father's and grew glossy.
“Our beautiful son.” Nancy Elizabeth's rough voice spoke as his head laid pressed against the hay within the Blackwater Farmhouse.

Sixth Spring | Under Twin Suns:

Storm's Pass, a city below the Capital of the Golden Rose. Sat below the Twin Suns, one much darker and the other, bright, so bright that it's said the Golden Rose was once bronze, the shining sun bringing forth the soft shine. Cobblestone paths adorned the city, with brick homes and taverns adorned with the sigil of each Clan housed by the foggy city.

Young Oaken Rockwell Robins Buecker, named inheritor of Buecker Smithing from his father's clan, and Blackwater Tailoring from his mother's.
“My son, it is your day of claim.” Nancy Elizabeth, the mother, carrying her recently born, second son, Johann, said to young Oaken as she and her boy walked down the cobblestone pathing through the foggy settlement of Storm's Pass.
“The day I claim my blade.” Oaken said, his bright blue eyes sparkled as he smiled brightly. Very handsome he is, pale white skin with short platinum blonde hair to compliment, “Sixth spring it is, mother, when do I grow my beard?” He asked, seriously as he grinned upward, looking toward Nancy Elizabeth.
“You have yet to touch steel. Hair will come.” She replied, grinning, “Your father lacks that himself, you'll make up for it, I'm sure.”

Upon the forge, Nancy Elizabeth halted. As Oaken went to match her she nudged him forward and shook her head as he attempted to glance back at her. He had fear, it lingered always, the touch of his mother brought him calm for seconds before he looked up at the tall, bustling forge steaming from out the barred windows. Oaken glanced back once again, seeking his mother's approval as he always had, as he went to open his mouth and speak, she sternly spoke, her eyes matching his, “Forward Oaken.”

Oaken swiftly turned back, his head spun back toward the forge as he entered to see all the dark haired men wearing rags, sweat pouring down their faces as they bashed hammers against rough winding metal, Oaken knew of which were being forged for swords. Oaken looked toward his father, “Boy come here.” Budda said fiercely, his voice was rumbly and rough, Oaken felt it, the voice of his father was strong, like a burning heart, “Take the hammer, tame your blade.”
Oaken grabbed the hammer, it was hot, it burned his palms which had already drenched themselves in sweat from the presence of his father's clan. Oaken let the coiled hammer burn as he roughly bashed it against the steel, his blade formed perfectly into the crafted and polished handle made from Ironwood, strongest wood of the Nine Seas.
“Continue.” His father preached loudly as the clan stared towards the back of the forge, watching as young Oaken birthed his sword under the Blackwater sigil. Suddenly, Oaken lightly squealed as the hammer slipped from his hand which was covered in blistered burns and blood from the coils, the hammer dropping to the tattered flooring.
“Soft skin.” Walliam Buecker said sarcastically as he chuckled, mocking the boy's bloodied hands, he nudged his cousin, both stared down at Oaken as Budda's face stared blankly at his son.
“Fuck's sake Oaken!” Budda shouted angrily as he whipped his large hand across his son's face, the boy turning purple as he barely stepped back. Oaken felt embarrassed, he held back tears as his lips shriveled, his eyes were glossy. Slowly he leaned down to grab the hammer, “Continue son.” Oaken nodded, forcing himself to hold back tears, the hammer dripping blood onto his fashioned sword. His mind clinging to the fear of disappointment under the sigil, the eyes of his father's clan, the first born son of a first born son. Oaken's mind raced as he forged his blade, sweat and blood dripping from his fingertips, his bright eyes still sparkling in the reflection of the burning steel. Oaken then felt it, his father's sweatied hand pressed against his neck, “Firm.” Budda whispered as Oaken fiercely bludgeoned the hammer down, pressing the steel down, “Yes father” he replied while continuing the tame. Oaken craved it, he was frail unlike his burly father, with arms covered in oil and sweat, a proof of the work, Oaken wanted the sweat to burn his skin, scarring etched into his skin to show the pleasure of work.