Blacksmithing Seattle Novels & Stories

The heat hit me immediately – a wall of scorching air that smelled of metal and coal. "Shopkeeper, I'd like to have this item made. Can you do it?" I asked, pulling a piece of paper from my jacket pocket. A burly blacksmith emerged from the back, bare-chested with skin gleaming with sweat and oil. His muscled arms bore the scars of his trade, and his beard was singed at the edges. I forced myself to look at his face, trying hard to maintain a calm demeanor and hide any discomfort. Men's bodies were still unfamiliar territory to me, especially one so powerfully built.

“Essentially, I hope that you won’t go easy on me should we end up having to duel in the competition!” “Deal!” replied Gerald, who was already planning to do that anyway. After all, he wanted to have a taste of how strong the Homewood Sword Technique actually was. Now that Levi had specifically asked for it, Gerald knew he didn’t have to hold back any longer… It truly was a win-win situation. Regardless, the trio then continued having jovial conversations till they finished their meals. As promised, Levi took the duo to his family’s smithery right after lunch. The smithery itself was a landmark in Shontell, with the building looking like a gigantic sword that had been stabbed into the ground

Hence, Ze ended up waiting for nearly three minutes until the cooling red hot metal was stuffed into a barrel of water. Ben wiped his face and finally looked at Zen, who was patiently waiting the whole time. “What do you want?” the blacksmith boomed, and Zen stiffened. He smiled awkwardly and asked if the blacksmith sold any weapons for killing slimes. The stocky man raised a brow and studied his newest customer. Without warning, he stepped forward to lift Zen’s rather scrawny arms and hummed thoughtfully. “I assume you’re looking for a weapon for yourself?” Zen nodded and wondered what was wrong. Shouldn’t the NPC be opening up his shop option now?

While the Werewolf cities had their sleek modern designs and the Lycan capital had its grand architecture, Silvermist was humble but sweet and warm. “We’ve maintained our traditions despite the economic hardships,” Benjamin explained as we passed a group of women weaving intricate tapestries on wooden looms set up in front of a shop. They waved cheerfully at Benjamin, their eyes lingering curiously on me and Isaac. “We still make most things by hand—soaps, candles, textiles.” “It’s inefficient,” Isaac commented, but not unkindly. “You could increase production tenfold with some modern equipment. Maybe build a manufacturing facility on the eastern edge of town. It would create jobs.”

The moment he had fallen out of the forest was the moment he had left his old life behind and like a blessing from the goddess Rae found him. ☆ Teigen soon found that Rae was a blacksmith. He was responsible for making weapons, farming implements, kitchen knives and other tools for the members of the city and beyond. Mr. Rae owned a shack behind his house where his various instruments: his forge, anvil, his bellows and his work bench are stationed. Slowly but surely we fall into a routine, Mr. Rae wakes up early and goes to his work shack. In the meantime I clean his house, sweeping and dusting every surface till it was rid of dust. Mr. Rae spend all day, working, the noise of metal hitting

None of them seemed to mind him as they went about their duties. Zenas walked past the entrance into the hot interior. From the heat of the building, he guessed that a fire was burning, fire by which the blacksmith would melt iron to be shaped into weapons and shields. As he walked into the dark interior to seek whom to talk to a small figure bumped into him with surprising strength almost knocking him to the floor.

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.

Sparks leapt in the air as a broad-shouldered man hammered a glowing blade against an anvil. “That’s Jarek,” Sera said, her tone laced with fondness. “Best blacksmith in Moonveil. He’s been crafting weapons for hunting since before I was born.” The man looked up at the sound of her voice, his soot-covered face breaking into a smile. “Sera! And Lyra! I was wondering when you’d drag yourselves here. And who’s this?” “Selene,” I said, stepping forward hesitantly. “Ah,” he nodded, his eyes sharp and appraising in a way that made me straighten my shoulders. “New blood. Good. You’ll need something light and balanced for your first hunt.”

I was shoved inside a building by one of the guards. It was the blacksmith's dwelling place. The blacksmith forged and repaired weapons for the pack's warriors, ensuring they were well-equipped for battle. It wasn't just for the warriors alone. The hunters, gatherers, and even craftsmen were included. I had been here on several occasions, running errands. But each time, the heat from the furnace was hotter than the last. "She's here," one of the guards with me said to the head blacksmith, Benjamin Robinson. A man in his early forties, maybe with balding hair and wrinkles at both sides of his eyes.

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.