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Author Topic: The Way of the Hammer  (Read 1069 times)

eltalstroneves

The Way of the Hammer
« on: September 01, 2015, 07:24:27 am »
Well I'll take the bad with the good. During my travels from the mountains I've been robbed, nearly mauled to death by cougars and savaged by dog sized rats. The robbers got nearly everything while I was snoozing; My holy symbol of Dorand, my crafting certificate, my armour and my hammer. Just outside of Center I was set upon by viscious cougars with nought to defend myself but some flimsy leather armour and a measley mace. I would have met my death if not for a timely rescue by a wee halfling named Quenton. Before I could properly thank him he tossed me some healing potions and was off like a shot.Subsequnetly, I spent time looking for work in Center and was hired to do some extermination work at the craft hall. Truly this was a task sent by Dorand himself. How else can it be explained? And it was no mean feat. These rats were like ravenous wolves. My good fortune held however and a presumptuous halfling named Thorn aided me for three quarters of the reward value. I'm quite certain his parents named him after getting to know him for at least a year. But the reward for me was in seeing that the crafting hall was free from pestilence. In addition to the rats there were beetles the size of your hand and some unnamable, bloated queen insect. These were dispatched without difficulty but from the rats I contracted a sickness lasting several days and lay in convalescence in the bushes on the edge of town.The Lord Forge saw fit to add a further trial upon my recovery. While chatting with yet another halfling (there seem to be a fair few in this part of the land) named Kenzie,  a human woman named Mary proposed that, for a fee, we might help her to gather ingredients for her craft. I knew this to be a test of my resolve to further the pursuit of crafting in our world. This fine woman needed cooking ingredients that required treking half way around Mistone. It seems awfully dangerous to confront lizard men, trolls and enraged, moving trees in order to gather a few cooking ingredients but who am I to question the will of Dorand? It happened that the wee halfling was more than she seemed and although I had to protecct her by throwing myself in the way of rampaging trolls several times, she proved a worthy companion. I've replaced some of my personal effects now but I must purchase a set of armour and a crafting certificate. Most importantly, I need to locate a holy symbol of Dorand. 
"By my mother's beard!"
Wanark Thangahaz'a
 
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eltalstroneves

     A squat, grey figure
« Reply #1 on: September 15, 2015, 05:41:31 am »

     A squat, grey figure pumps the bellows hard into the furnace with a woosh and a roar. Sweat pours from his brow, dripping from his nose down into his thick, dark beard. The bristly hair of his hands and forearms is singed, and black smudges cover his skin.  For months he has delved deeply for ore, straining beneath it's bulk as he staggers from mine to smithy and then returns. The tenacious blue-green of copper ore combines with a black grime to stain his hands. A crooked, downward-curving smile cracks faintly through a stoney visage as shiny, molten copper combines with silvery, flowing  tin into neat rows  of bright, bronze ingots. Day and night he beats and bends the primitive alloy to his will, delivering brutal, metallurgical sermons with his hammer. Prayers to the Master Crafter murmur through quiet craft halls and smithies and as the seasons progress so  too does his skill. Like an automaton of magical origin he rises at dawn, labours trough the day and well past the sun's last rays. Slowly, diligently he beats his path from subterranean walls of stone and ore to the surface. Bench and bellows, furnace and fire,  hammer and anvil in the warm surrounds of the artisan's halls. These are the instruments of his religion. These are his sacred artifacts.

"By my mother's beard!"
Wanark Thangahaz'a