Sun Haven Blacksmith Novels & Stories

Mira got out of the Jeep along with Griffin. “Miss Red, it was good to see you again,” The older man greeted her. To the others, he was just an old man working with the outlaws. To those who knew him, he was a well-known businessman. They called him ‘The Blacksmith’. Nobody knew his real background or real name. He designed, created, and supplied weapons—guns, bow and arrow, swords and anything that made it into a killing tool. He did this for the right price. Nobody did a free job anymore because everything was a business.

Yet one day, they would be her subjects. The blacksmith stood dutifully at the anvil, his massive frame silhouetted against fire. His ashen, both by colour and the ashes of the coal, made some sense as to why his hair was tied back. Revealing a face lined with soot and scars. His arms, corded with decades of labour, swung a huge hammer, as though it were weightless, in a rhythm that seemed to shake the very ground. Sparks leapt like dying stars around him, but he didn't once flinch. This forge, like all forges, was run by the Wingless.

"This one is very amazing. Give me additional details about it. The blacksmith who forged that specific weapon grinned proudly. "This is our masterwork, the height of our abilities, Alpha's son. It's made of the best steel, forging it to be very sharp, balanced, and long-lasting. It's a unique one and quite expensive. No one else has this kind of sword in the whole of Sunshine pack. Leo was impressed by the blacksmith's passion and commitment to their trade. He picked up the sword and tested its balance by feeling its weight. This was the weapon he had been waiting for, and it lived up to his hopes.

I question. “You’re upset about something,” he suggests gently. “My mother is really sick, and everyone’s saying she won’t live much longer, I’m scared because I don’t want to be alone. But your story did help me to not feel so bad,” I say with a small smile. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You never told me your name,” I say carefully. “My name is Neron Black. I’m a blacksmith who works in the city. What’s your name, little man?” He asks, bending down to my level.

However, his expertise in forging iron and other minerals made it difficult for him to be replaced by other blacksmiths. As a baby, Berk was thrown away not far from where Bowen worked as a blacksmith. Bowen was a stocky dwarf with a long golden beard that was neatly braided. He loved creating and forging weapons for hours on end. His expertise was very well known throughout the human and non-human world. When he found baby Berk, who had nearly died of starvation, Bowen took him home. He gave the baby milk and carried him on his back when he worked. That's how Berk was raised. He became a skilled blacksmith just like Bowen, his adoptive father, The Genius Blacksmith.

“Our local blacksmith is a very mysterious Slayer, full of surprises, but a good fellow. He isn’t from around here but everybody adores him just the same. Oh, and have I mentioned he’s blind?” “Blind?!” Temujin and Aki echoed. “Oh yes, that’s right. Completely, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t challenge him to a spar though on account of that, for he can put any able-bodied Slayer to shame. Also, he very much prefers a simple and private life.” “Oh, I’ve heard of this blacksmith,” Sasha jumped in. “He’s the one who makes most of the blue Slayer suits by cooking the tree-drops in a stove. Somehow he knows how to combine fire and wind techniques.”

Just Ray stops laughing, wipes the red honey off his lips with his shirt, and moves around the metallic cave, trying to find something. “I’m not taking you—” “Why not!?” “I am not getting killed,” Just Ray shouted. “Just Ray, do not fret. No one will kill you,” I promised. “We will keep you alive forever, your honey is wonderful!” He eyed me suspiciously and moved piles of his treasures to the side, useless things until he found a life-saver. It’s black with various patches sewn in to keep it together, the metal rusting, the handle made of wood, and he rubs a strange substance on it to get it to open up.

Hrodgar’s smile was beatific. Kemp and Kenward walked through the city and towards the industrial side of town where the loud metal smiths and smelly tanners worked. They found one of the larger blacksmiths that had been recommended to them and owned by a man called Farsh. He was not the Master Smith but well respected. Farsh wore a thick leather apron covered in burn spots. A tunic of the same thick leather covered his torso and left his huge arms bare. His arms were enormous, as with most men in that trade, and the arms were also covered in thick, matted hair, much like those of some type of large apes seen in travelling side shows.

The male snapped before letting out a huff akin to what a petulant child would do when sulking. Sierra was quiet for a moment as she tapped on the tablet before holding up a picture of an elderly male. "Do you recognise this man?" "No." "Are you sure?" Sierra asked. "You've not even looked at the photo." "I'm sure." "Let the record state that Mr Thorn is unable to identify the male in the picture marked BM19. The picture is of Former Alpha Hal Cuzens who disappeared nineteen years ago from the Blue Mountain pack." The silence said it all but if it didn't the look of sheer panic on Nathaniel's face did. He had been caught in his first lie. Just like that, the tone of the interview changed, th

She smiled and showed her age with a few missing teeth. After a while, Ivar returned and took Yvayn on a tour. They went to the blacksmith, Ernor, on the eastern edge of town. Yvayn was right about the old man: his metal work was exquisite, even the hinges that held up the doors. “Ernor?” Ivar knocked on the open door of the smoky shop. Black iron tools hung on the walls. A large fire was in a pit just outside the door. A pile of coal was next to it as well as several shovels.