Character Intro Practice

Ferron

"Damned insects.." A man mutters as he walks down the bustling city streets. He continues on his trek home, swatting bugs as he hurries along, taking care to avoid the merchant carts scattered through the street. A burlap sack thrown over one shoulder, resting across his broad back clinks with the sound of metal against metal. People yelling out their wares in a desperate attempt to gain capital... Not his style. Annoyance flickers across his face as he observes a squabble in front of a merchant's stall. A local orphan had tried to steal food. Well, it wasn't his problem. The laws are in place for a reason. If you steal there are consequences and this child, well she had to learn the hard way.

It wasn't that he was cold-hearted, it's just that it didn't make sense to him. There were various apprenticeships in the city, and an orphan could easy learn a trade. Yet, some still chose to steal and put themselves at risk for no reason. Hell, if an orphan came to him and asked to work at his smithy, he would gladly take one on, work had been booming with the expected war coming up. He didn't have enough hands to do all the work himself. People came to him from far and wide looking for quality weapons. Merchants looking for his blades to sell in far off lands, the town guard recently commissioned 30 short blades, and he even had a request for a ceremonial dagger come in from the church. It was almost too much for him to handle...Almost.

While he was still a young man, his father had taken him under his wing and began practicing the way of the sword. This young boy had grown infatuated at the very moment he laid his hands on a blade. His muscles screamed with joy with every swing, every clash held a story, and he could almost feel the energy that was poured into the weapons he held. It got to the point where he felt he developed an intimate relationship with every weapon he picked up. Seeing the joy just holding a weapon gave his son, his father approached the local Weaponsmith and asked him to take his son as an apprentice. He had recognized that while his son was a talented swordsman, his love for the blade would make him an even better smith.

And so the years passed, and we come back to the present, where Ferron is on his way home from the market, slapping insects away from his face, and observing the various actions that take place in a busy city. The walk home never failed to entertain. Someone was always angry, and often the guard had to be brought in to settle matters. This worked well for him, as it helped provide advertisement for his store.

Continuing along the street, he finally reaches his home. Home for Ferron was not a place to rest, or even relax, but a place that he could devote himself to the path of the smith. He had a large forge set up on one section, and a beautifully wrought anvil in another, with his tools carefully laid out for easy reach. Yes, this was home for him.

Setting his pack down, he begins to stretch out his muscles, preparing himself for his next project. He finishes his stretch, then moves over to the forge, building up the heat so he can begin the process. Today, he was going to create a greatsword that he had been putting off for too long. They were annoying to make being large and cumbersome, but the profit would provide him with enough to finally afford better tools. This was his life, his passion! From the day that he began his apprenticeship, he had known this life was for him. It was if the metals spoke to him telling him exactly what they wanted to be, and how to make it happen.

Just as he reaches for his materials, he hears all the bells in the city begin to peal. He stops dead still and listens intently. That sound.... No!