To Far Away Times

[Rezantis]

"Without being fed of the earth? I don't understand."

[Brian]

"The earth ... has within it gems.  The concentrated life-force of the earth.  You humans recognize the difficulty in removing gems from the stone around them ... but do not realize that the stone around these gems bears stronger ore.  Purer ore.

"This is the onyl metal worth working with, if you wish to craft anything of value," Ekim continues, studying the sword fragments.  "This ore is the most well-fed, the strongest, and the most loyal of all ores.  Anything else ... is lazier, weak, and does not care to serve, only be."

[Rezantis]

"I do have some gems with me, and I also have a pearl, but I'm not . . . precisely . . . sure what you're asking.  Speak plainer," Rez looks faintly apologetic, "for I have little understanding of such lore."

[Brian]

"Hmmm," Ekim muses again.  "You have a gem of the sea?  For that ... and your other gems ... I cannot promise.  But I can try ... and for a chance to work on a blade such as this ... one which remembers what it should be, not what it is, I will do as you ask."

[Rezantis]

Rez pulls the emeralds and pearl out of his gem pouch, and offers them wordlessly to the dwarf.

"You have my gratitude."

[Brian]

"Ah, emeralds," he muses, nodding.  "The rock crumbles, because the ore draws together.  Very good, very good ... you will help."  He points to a bellows on one side of the forge.  "We need a hotter fire," he says, scooping the molten remnants of the metal he was looking over earlier out and flinging them into the scrap bucket without a second look.

With that, he slides his anvil to one side, and you realize it's not an anvil at all.  It's his shield, propped up on a massive slab of granite.  This sucker's pitch black, flawless, and has to weigh as much as about three of you.  It's a meter and a half wide, and a two and a half meters tall, shaped like a slightly cuved door.  The center of the shield is perfectly smooth, and flat.  It curves slightly away around that point, but it looks as sleek and perfectly machined as the nose of an aircraft, only without seams or rivets.

The outer borders of this shield are covered in intricate whorls and loops, things that bring to mind the detail on Bjorn's armor, only much better done, and lined with silver.  Your sword lies on the center of this shield, and Ekim produces his hammer from one side of the fire.

The hammer looks like another block of granite, this one carefully wrapped in steel, perfectly smooth on every angular facet, and with a handle of steel as solid looking as the stone it's build around.  You think, with a bit of effort, you could probably drag this hammer around a field.

Even he hefts it like it's got considerable weight.

"Now, we'll need a steady rythym," he murmurs.  "I will sing to the blade, and you should keep pace with my song."

[Rezantis]

"You want me to sing, or to keep the rhythm by clapping or some such?"

[Brian]

"You will make the fire dance to my music," he says, putting a hand on the bellows handle he gestured for you to take.  His stone brow furrowing in concentration, causing an unlikely twanging noise as the steel wool of his eyebrows shift about, he begins singing, in a low, deep voice.  You don't understand the words, but you suspect you're feeling some true fragment of the meaning behind it anyway.

It's a song of the earth.  Of continents sluggishly dancing.  Of stone breaking under the pressure, and of how natural this is.  Or threads of ore, squeezed out of and through seams of rock.  Of veins of mineral flowing like water beneath the surface of the land.

When you come to your senses, you've got both hands on the bellows, bringing it up and down in time with his slow, steady, never flagging song.

Dracos is sitting on an upturned bucket outside of the reach of the intense heat, though he's watching with some interest.  Ekim's hands guide yours for one last push on the bellows, surprisingly soft for raw stone, before he leaves you to keep time, and turns his attention to the blade.

[Rezantis]

Rez pushes aside his awe, and concentrates on keeping time with Ekim.  

In, and out.  In, and out.

[Brian]

The process is absorbing to you, entirely.  You watch, keeping the rythym, as Ekim carefully extracts bits of metal from each fragment, and sets them aside.  Now that you're part of this system, you can see that this metal is tired.

It's weak, and won't fight anymore, like it should.  Instead, he fishes some of the metal from the bucket at his feet you can tell is better ... but not as good as that tired metal had been.

This is then softened, like dough, and the gems (save the pearl) are folded into it, along with the tired metal.  This forms a lump that's even larged, and at the same time ... not as strong to your new-found smithing senses.

You continue working the bellows anyway, as Ekim allows this metal to cool a bit, to harden, and then refines it, right there, with his bare hands, the fire, and his shield, separating out the tired elements, and somehow, leaving only the original Archonae worked ore behind, the tired steel melting off the edge of the shield and laying on the floor, forgotten.

Then, all of the blade is removed from the hilt, and reworked into a single, massive ingot.  That ingot is slowly hammered into the shape of a blade.  You've read of Japanese swordsmiths folding blades hundreds of times to make the perfect sword, and of ancient smiths in the Arabian making swords stronger than any metal today ... and always their techniques were amazing and profound.

But with Ekim, it's not forging, folding, tempering, or crafting at all.  It's simply reminding the sword what shape it's supposed to be.

All too soon, his song fades to an end, and weariness seeps into your arms.  Phil has some time ago leaned back against the far wall of the forge, patiently waiting for you to finish.  The blade is still glowing slightly red, but Ekim makes no move to plunge it into the water barrel nearby.

And you can tell, even though that unity with the blade and the forge is fading, that this sword will not need to be sharpened.  Not now, and not ever.

But most importantly, when you look at the blade, you can see your lineage recorded on it.  And there, beneath the name of Hadrick Shuker, is Nathaniel Shuker.  It wasn't there when the sword was only shards.

And you know that Ekim didn't add it, either.

[Dracos]

Dracos sits by, watching, impressed by the obvious craftsmanship being displayed, his eyes bright, even though he tends towards silence.  He listens carefully, vaguely memorizing the rhythm for later reflection.

Dracos

[Brian]

Youd guess it's now late in the afternoon.  No matter how you look at it, though, this took a while.  It didn't feel like it at the time of the reforging, but it's certainly a long time now.

"We let the blade rest until tomorrow," Ekim says, nodding at the still-glowing blade.  "I will watch over it until then."

[Rezantis]

Rez shakes himself.

"That was . . . most impressive.  Thank you, Master Ekim.  I will return tomorrow, then," and he turns to Drac, an eyebrow raised, "Hungry?"

[Dracos]

"I'm italian." Dracos quipped back, rising.  "Shall we go ahunting?"

Dracos

[Rezantis]

Rez rolls his eyes at Drac, then gives a respectful nod to Ekim, before heading towards the door.