Forged

Chapter One:The Blacksmith

The village of Darkmoor was a peaceful and quiet place, the village having been founded a year after the defeat of the warlord, whose name should not be uttered in polite company, for it still caused shivers of fear, of weary old men to reveal scars upon their backs and fair maidens to shriek. It had a tavern, some shops, of course a wall to keep out the bands of roving monsters and as most villages do, a very active town guard, which staffed the walls at all time, making sure that no monster could approach the village and to give alarm when one was spotted to be driven off.

There was not a lot to do, the city of Neversleep being three days travel on mule away, travellers always coming in from the roads to the south, bringing with them exotic wares in exchange for a stay, or a tale from far-flung lands. That way, the village was kept abreast of rumors, the Mage-Wars being more or less exciting tales, of magi who threw their powers at their sorcerous brethren, to gain more prestige.

“Darn mages always mucking things up.” A man spoke, his face gnarled within the light of the forge, his form twisted by age and his hand clutching a thin, wooden cane. “They always seem to be out there for more land and more power. Sometimes… Sometimes I wish that that Lord fellow was back, when we wouldn’t have to fear for some overpowered son of a cow to come and level the village.” The man spat onto the ground, yellowish blue phlegm hitting it.

“Now now, I may not have remembrance of that time, but I do remember the way that my wife was treated. It isn’t right to make people remember.” The blacksmith spoke, voice warm like the fire he was poking, the hammer he held within his hand being bulky and blocky, as the metal bar he pulled from the fire illuminated his face, showing a beard which covered most of his face, a scar running down his face, much like the burn of fire. “I wouldn’t say that that guy was a good fellow.”

“At least he didn’t make us feel afraid of getting our homes flattened by magical forces.” There was a silence, as the hammer descended upon the metal and the sparks flew into the air, the metal hammered into shape with ease, the blacksmith plying his trade. His eyes seemed to be determined as he worked, pushing the hot bar, once it was properly shaped, into the cooling waters, the sizzling of the metal and the heated steam that burst into his face being the only reward he got for it, pulling the metal from the waters and nodding lightly, before lightly bending the still hot metal. “This ought to be enough to last you, Humpley.” The old man nodded, accepting the metal with a ginger touch, giving a soft hiss and dropping it as the still warm metal burned his flesh. “you might not notice, but that thing is HOT!”

“Stop teasing old Humpley,  Rendal, it’s not worth getting the poor old man upset.” The soft womanly voice which spoke made the blacksmith look up, a smile drawn to his lips. “But it’s so fun, he always has something to complain about.” Their eyes met and the blacksmith, now identified as Rendal looked into his loving wife of seven years’s eyes, watching the zest and the love that she seemed to have burn within them brightly like a flame, bending down and picking the metalwork up and pushing it into the cool water, the sting of the colder water to his heated hands making him twitch a little, as the metal seemed to be awfully hot suddenly, though cooled relatively quickly, handing the metalwork over to the old man. “Here you go Humpley. Go and fix your door, unless you want me to…” The sentence was not finished as the old man snatched the metalwork. “Yeah yeah, your help would just get that damn door broken down and burned into that forge.” The man hobbled away, muttering something about ingrates and youth wasted, a young boy of about five to six years old passing him by with a ‘sorry grandpa’, which made old man Humpley give a curse, about being the son of a scarlet woman. Rendal shook his head as his young son stood in front of him, a reproachful but slightly amused smile on his face.

“Rattled the old man’s cage a bit, eh? You should be nicer to old people, I’m not going to be here forever.” His wife made her way over to him, her brown hair illuminated to a fair auburn color within the light of the forge, the coals making her look slightly older than the twenty-seven she was. He was a fair deal older, but that had not deterred their love. “How’s your teachings at the school going Jema? Did you learn something new? “ The boy, showing more of his father’s features than those of his mother’s, a shock of dark hair and a vaguely impish face nodded, the hair, longer than most boys that age would have it, dancing about like a tree’s branches within a storm.