eachdraidh | Forge One

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Forge One - (Audio)

[The forge had echoed loudly from the sound of hammer on steel. Such had been the case for a week now, ever since Gendry had discovered the forge and learned he had the freedom to use it and its materials. He had fallen in love immediately. At the Crossroads, he had suffered a shambling forge that he'd had to largely put back together himself. The forge in Harrenhal had been better, but he was one of many who worked it. Tohbo Mott's own forge came close, but it lacked the size of this one. It was expertly crafted and spoke of a skill he could only imagine. His old master had talked of the forgs in Qohor and Volantis and how great they were. He could only imagine them being like this one.

And so Gendry had set to work. His half finished sword was completed. The blade was made sharp and glimmering. He did not bother himself with anything but the most basic of hilt and crossguard. Why should he? The sword had been forged from the only steel he could acquire. Now he had superior metal to work with and he imagined how he might forge himself a sword of the finest steel as could be found. And then, armor. A new helmet. Greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, pauldrons, and gorget. And why not? They were generous in their provisions and Gendry though to himself that when he had finished, he would look more a knight than even Ser Loras Tyrell. And then he would be more than just King Robert's bastard son born in Fleabottom. He would be a self made knight, secure and confident in his own armor.

A week in the forge. Drenched in sweat and smoke, with nothing but a damning heat as company. It suited him fine. He was hard at work creating a new helmet, after all. Indeed, he was so utterly devoted to his craft that he had not even returned to his bedchambers. He found the hard ground of more comfort than the feather soft bed provided to him and the distant heat of a cooling forge like a friendly reminder of home. And though he could not claim to have friends among his fellow arrivals, there were at least people of note that concerned him. Even if some, like Arya Stark, thought him as little more than a stranger.

And so he tried the locket.]

[Audio]

I found a forge. A good one. Better than any I've ever seen, at least. These fairy folk might be a queer sort, but they make for fine things. So I've been doing the same.

[He paused and wondered at his own message. Did he want to offer to craft armor and swords for others? No. And certainly not for charity. He only wanted to arm himself and make himself a knight. Once he had, he'd only need the forge to maintain what he already had or replace what might be damaged. So he keeps himself from offering something foolish.]

If there's other smiths about, you might find the place of use. [And then he lingers after that, unsure if more should be said. And so stupidly he can be heard lingering. Breathing.

And then it cuts out.]

[Afterwards, Gendry resumes his work at the forge, where he has discarded his shirt and set himself to the first steps of his new helmet.]

(ooc: prose and brackets are both welcome.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Go ahead.

[ She lifts the blade with ease, near enough tossing it into the air so that she could grasp at the bade and offer it to him, hilt first. The metal of her gauntlets are barely scraped by the edge of the blade - she is far too used to carrying her sword and she knows how best to treat it. ]

The slots for runes are in the hilt, one on each side. There is lightning and fire at the moment.

[He hoisted the sword in the air, one hand and then two until it was even with him. It was heavy, but it seemed so small a burden. The weight seemed right in the way short swords never had. He wanted to give it a practice swing, smash a target. But it was not his to do so with. So his hand instead lowered is hand to the ornamentation he had at first mistaken for jewels. But a more careful look showed they were something more. One was clearly reflecting the light, but the other seemed to shine even with shadow against it. Incredible.]

The man who made this knew his work well. [High praise coming from him. Was it better than something made by Tobho Mott? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it was different and Gendry envied her for having it.] These runes make the blade stronger?

He did. He was Qunari, a soldier race known for their steel and battle - I doubt anyone else could make one as well balanced and as fine as that one.

[ She nods her head, walking over and tapping each rune. The lightning one reflects her gaze, a sharp zap all the information he needs to know which is which, the fire one settled. She moves and runs her finger up the hilt, looking quite pleased with herself. ]

It is said that the hilt is red for the blood of the people it has killed. It was that way before I got it, though, so I cannot tell you if it is true. The blade has done me well, though.

[He did not recognize the name Qunari, but they sounded a dangerous people. Marveling, he touched the lightning rune and felt the jolt of power from it. He had seen a fire lit on fire through magic. But it seemed almost unreal for magic to be so... normal. Conventional. It was strange to think of a place where smiths would make their weapons ready for these runes as easily as they would for a jewel.

He turned the sword again, so the blade rested on the ground. He did not yet turn it over, for he had promised to see to its edge. Though he had not expected so large a sword at the time. This would take him longer than he expected.]

You took it from another?

[ She shakes her head, lifting a shoulder into an absent shrug. ]

It was given to me. I saved my city from an invasion and this was one of the gifts that I was given in return. The Qunari smith that forged the blade was dead, I think, otherwise I would have given it back to him.

[ She pauses, watching Gendry, before she crosses her arms. ]

In the eyes of the Qunari a blade is akin to a soul. It is a part of you, an extension of your self, who you are. If you fall in battle then it is the duty of your fellows to return the blade to your home, in offering to the leader - the one I met was the Arishok, the warrior. If you lose your blade then you are not allowed to return to your people until it is found and if you do you are killed.

[ She pauses for a moment, wondering if she is babbling - she is prone to it, sometimes, and she has to shake her head. No one here even knows what a Qunari is, why should their culture mean anything to them? She waves her hand, dismissing the topic. ]

Feel free to take a swing, if you'd like.

[He liked that idea. A sword being a soul. Other knights probably wouldn't understand that. But Gendry had it in his mind that now that he was here and able to make any sword of his imagining, that it would be his soul he would pour into it. A sword with a song in it. A soul in it. And maybe a place for runes as well.

He hefted the sword again, imagining as though it might be his. Perhaps this sword now held Marian's soul in it and that's where she gained the strength to hold it.

Gendry turned and swept it into a wide arc into the open air. He hefted it over his shoulder, then sent it into a terrible chopping motion that swept from shoulder to hip. This was not just a sword. It was a butcher's knife made huge. It was an instrument of power. It was a bull's weapon.

He turned back around.]

So this sword... it's the soul of some other Qunari. One who never made it home.

That is what they believe. It is Qunari made and I cannot tell you who it belonged to, but it is mine now. In the eyes of the Qun it is my soul now.

[ Perhaps that was why the hilt was red with blood; like her soul. The many she had killed in her time, the Templars, blood mages, Qunari and Tal-Vashoth, guards and elves and more. The blood that was on her hands had seeped into the blade and left it broken and dirty. ]

I've had it for three years, ever since I killed their leader and saved our city from their invasion. That is why they call me Champion - because I defeated the Arishok in single combat, forcing his people to leave.

[He eyes her critically, nearly asking how a woman could manage such a feat. Perhaps if she were built like the Tarth woman, he might believe it. But this woman was of no particular size. But strong.]

Must have been some battle. I've never been champion of anything.

It was. I could have died were I not regarded as Basvaarad - in the tongue of the Qun it means a person not of the religion that is worthy of being listened to and followed.

[ She reaches for her blade and twirls it easily with her hand, gripping it with both knuckles before she grins. ]

May I demonstrate?

[He nods and steps back, eager to see what she might do with a weapon more familiar to her than to him.]

Please.

[ She takes the sword and moves, holding it in her hand, before she moves and steps outside. It's easy for her to twist to move it around when there's more space and she moves quickly, slicing through the air and twisting the sword in her grip until she leaps to show off her favourite - a death blow. ]

[Gods, was she good. He envied her for that skill, though he knew it had been hard won through battle. She had mad speed and strength seem a natural combination. Still, when she had finished, he nodded approvingly.]

I don't suppose many men would survive against a blow like that.

Men, women, mages, Qunari... There aren't many people that dare to fight me anymore. It's almost a shame.

[ She moves forward, holding out the blade for him again before she smiles. ]

I have the etchings for runes. If we can find someone with the skill to enchant them perhaps we can give your blades a few.

[He takes the blade again, this time setting it aside where it can be tended to. For a sword that size, he'd have to call her back when he was done. This was no quick job.

But he looked to her surprised.]

Can you? Just like that? An elf told me he could make things magic, but that it was singing and not something mortal men could learn. [And though Gendry was willing to believe it, he did not fancy himself a singer at all.]

Why wouldn't I? If we're supposed to be fighting together I don't think holding back information is going to help us, is it?

[ She puts her hands on her hips and shrugs, smirking. ]

Find and enchanter and you can have my runes.

Never even met an enchanter. How do I know what to look for?

[It seemed a burden to have to go looking for an enchanter, in his opinion. He didn't even know what an enchanter was.]

Magic.

[ She wiggles her fingertips. ]

Magic. [He repeated the words, clearly unimpressed with the explanation or the added effect.] There's no magic where I'm from. Least, none so common where people put it on their swords.

Then you come from a very sad place. [ She pauses, then sighs and shakes her head. ] Or a very lucky one, depending on your viewpoint.

Sad seems more likely of the two. [Though not for reasons of magic, really. Nor does he bother to elaborate.] I'll do for your sword, as promised. You'll need to come back for it, though.

There's no need. I've a whetstone of my own and my blade is rather large. [ She waves her hand, shrugging a shoulder absently. ]

[Well, he's a bit disappointed at the chance not to handle it a bit more. But he nods.]

As you say. There anything else you're in need of?

No, I don't think so. If I come across any more runes would you like some? I was always taught to share.

[He nods.]

Gladly. Mayhaps the elf who can sing power into weapons can enchant them with runes as well.

[ She perks up with that. ]

A singing elf? That's a first - normally they're killing or crying.

Forge One - (Audio)

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