Blacksmith Quarters Novels & Stories

Now here he was a full grown man of probably twenty five now trying to get me in better shape than I was when I was his age. Marius returned, his facial expression had changed… it was tighter and even more focused than he had been. He nodded once at Damon. “We’ve got a possible lead. There’s a low profile blacksmith in Amber Brook reportedly sold a batch of trinkets to a rogue five days ago. The same style. No permits.” Damon’s gaze sharpened. “Trinkets? They’ve never used trinkets before, do you still think it’s a part of the ring?”

The air inside the lower forges was a sweltering suffocating wall of sulfur, coal smoke, and radiating thermal heat. Down here, deep within the subterranean roots of the Obsidian Hold, the rhythmic thud of heavy iron hammers striking anvils echoed like a frantic metallic heartbeat. But as Silas and I stepped off the stone lift, the sweating blacksmiths and forge masters immediately ceased their labor, dropping heavily to their knees on the soot-stained floor.

+500 XP] [Smith 2 has leveled up! Smith 4 has leveled up! Smith 3 has leveled up! Warlock 21 has leveled up! Warlock 4 has leveled up!] [Please allocate attribute points.] [The rest of your army have received +1 Int.] The rest was easy: they created a "bucket" out of rubies and strapped a thin rod made of Sapphire. After a couple of minutes, they retired the molten copper from the forge and poured it on a mold carved in the dirt after compacting it with earth magic.

Storytellers claimed corners, weaving tales of old battles, old curses, and new beginnings. At the edge of the square, near the smelting pit that had been set up for the collar‑melting, a quieter line formed. People came forward with objects. Some clutched tags and restraint rings. Some held folded contracts. One woman brought a length of chain, so worn, the links were more rust than metal. One by one, they cast them in. The fire there burned hot and bright, kept carefully in check by a team of smiths and ward‑workers. As each piece of metal fell into the coals, sparks jumped. Shapes warped. Edges blurred.

- Phil using the big gravel as anvil I start my work according to our ancient blacksmithing book, there are several stages in refining the metal/ore/crafting material HUNDRED REFINEMENT THOUSAND REFINEMENT SPIRIT REFINEMENT MIXTURE REFINEMENT SOUL REFINEMENT LIFE REFINEMENT HEAVEN REFINEMENT therefore it was my 1st time so I am in the most basic stage at hundred refinement using the iron ore, I heat them thoroughly and to my surprise, we've collected a bronze ore too!

“The other Quarters,” Marions answers. “That was one of our problems last time we revolted against the kingdom. I was trying to organize and lead too many humans by myself.” Sebastian’s breath comes out heavy. He doesn’t like how much Marion is revealing to me. “Over the past two decades,” she goes on, “we’ve separated into four sections: the First Quarter is here in the Northwest, the Second Quarter in the Northeast, the Third in the Southwest, and the Fourth in the Southeast. Each Quarter has its own leader, which also allows us options should one of the leaders be killed.”

This has the effect of increasing the clock speed by 2/5 of a second in a 24 hour period. The other two weights are responsible for ringing the bells that mark the quarter hours, these bells are seven different which sound together giving a harmonious tune, each one is made of a different magic metal being these, Cold Iron, Mithral, Adamantite, Uru, Celestial Bronze, Meteoric Steel and Marine Silver, on the other hand, the last bell made of 15 tons of Orichalcum is the only one that is touched every hour, marking the end and the beginning of an hour.

The blacksmith stall smelled like smoke and iron. I loved it immediately. Heavy tables were covered with tools, horseshoes, nails, and rough chunks of raw ore that glinted under the hanging lanterns. A few finished blades sat further down the display, their polished surfaces reflecting the warm festival lights. Bjorn wasn’t there tonight. Instead, a broad older shifter worked the stall, carefully weighing small chunks of ore for another customer. I hovered near the end of the table, studying the raw metals laid out on a cloth.

(Adelaide & Caelum) The rest of the crossing blurred into magma, heat, and distance. They passed more camps, more functioning forges, more trenches where glowing weapons were lowered into channels of treated slag and contract-brine so that molten sigils hissed into permanence along steel. Adelaide watched one smith draw a blade from a quenching trough and hold it up, the infernal script still glowing cherry-red along its length before the light faded to black metal. There was something disturbingly beautiful about it, the way purpose itself seemed forged into the weapon.

I said. My fingers ghosted across a simple but well-made black one. The wool was thick and tightly woven, promising warmth and invisibility. After paying the fifty silver, I stepped back out into the plaza. As I walked, the air grew hazy with the smell of hot metal and coal smoke, and the rhythmic clang... clang... clang of a hammer drew my eye. A small, open-air blacksmith shop, its heat a visible shimmer in the cool afternoon. I wonder… I found him by the gate, a shadow against the stone. He rose as I approached. "Success?"