35 Glade, 122
The orders came in steady, from House Leukos to supply their lands high in the mountains, and now from other sources. None of the single-time orders would sustain him as the contract with the noble house would, but it was gratifying to see that his reputation was beginning to grow and interesting to work on projects that required some of his ingenuity. After finishing his gifts for the new year the young smith had settled into the steady work, trying to finish things on time without overtaxing his still-healing body.
Perhaps the ravages of threshold sickness would not have hit him so hard had he not already lost so much weight to the melancholy that had overtaken him in Ash, discouraging his appetite until eating was difficult on the best days. He'd lost weight to the point that, in retrospect, he knew he'd been unhealthy, particularly for someone who worked themselves into hours of sweat every day even in Frost. At the time something had told him that he needed to keep losing, be smaller. The muscle wasn't really something he could afford to lose, though it too had begun to diminish as the failure to feed himself compounded. Somehow, the time he'd spent in the Aetherium had put his mind back on the right track. He wasn't better, not fully, but he was walking back toward where he had been, rather than digging himself deeper into the darkness.
The cause of the mental illness was unknown, but it had started when Finn had been wounded. He had no proof, but Torin believed that it had been Arvalyn, though spire or magic, and likely both, that had pushed him down the dark path. There were plans to protect himself, and those he cared about, from the actor's abilities, and beyond that there were plans to... deal with him should the need arise. Torin was against starting violence, but his life had proven to him that he could not be against ending it. There was a new scar in his belly, two seasons old now, no longer raised and pink, but not yet the white of an old scar, to remind him that sometimes the best of intentions would not save you from having to defend your life. The truth was, the knife wound had been less life-threatening than whatever Arvalyn had done to his mind. The best defensive tool if one was forced into a dangerous situation was armor. It was a blacksmith's thought, he knew, but it could be applied to magic dangers too.
Aurin now wore armor that he could activate to protect himself in magical or mundane fights, Sivan now slept behind a shield that would keep out dangers of many kinds while he was vulnerable. Torin was working together with his firefox mentor to create a shielded space where they could do or store any number of things knowing they were safe. Now that he was thinking clearly the smith was beginning to put together the idea of a shield for himself. Not against physical danger, which he was very rarely in, but against the sort of malignant attacks one such as Finn's lover might enact on him. If he was successful he would likely want all of the people he cared about equipped with the design.
It would probably not be until the next season that he would begin the physical and magical work on the shield against Mesmer, but he was spending time studying the concept of both Mesmer itself, and the creation of shields and blocks. Kala had been able to suggest several books on the subjects and the Archivists had been helpful as well. There was no one with the rune that he trusted to ask questions, but he had worked with magics he didn't have personal access to before. It was expected that a runesmith be able to bend many types of aetheric power to their will.
Torin would speak to Aurin about using the man's new rune, once he had a better hold on its use, to craft the shielding items. The young mage he had hired to help make the gifts for Aurin and Sivan was a good man, in the smith's opinion, but they weren't friends yet, only business acquaintances, and Torin wanted someone he trusted fully for a project that might become something of a signature item of his shop.
His runeforge masters, both of them, had sometimes urged or suggested different specialties to him, but nothing had ever drawn him in. His first master had accepted that he did all kinds of work well so had never pressed him, his second had assumed that he had already been working on a specialty with his first teacher so did his best to ensure Torin was well versed in as many techniques as he could in the eighteen months he'd been the man's pupil.
As he'd started working for himself he had enjoyed all the work, even the often repetitive nature of large orders taught him things and leg him really settle into being a craftsman with a deep knowledge of his work. Things that could only be learned by repetition, only be learned by understanding each step so well you could perform it without thought were settling into Torin now.
That morning he'd gotten up and eaten a bowl of thick porridge with dried fruit in that Timon seemed to have developed a taste for (either that or perhaps Aurin had had a conversation with the boy about feeding Torin things that would give him lots of energy) and coffee, which he was developing a taste for himself. It had taken time, after moving to t he city, but Aurin liked it, so he'd started to have it sometimes. Tea was still his favorite for evenings and cold days, but coffee did give him a mental boost to start his work.
Walking out to the duel forges he checked to see what progress had been made on the building of the second story of workspaces over his two forges. He'd paid to have two put in, an alchemical lab and a tinkering space for clockwork and artificing. They were about half-finished, having tested to ensure the lower building, all of stone, was sturdy enough to act as a foundation for the upper floor, and then installing the base floor and roof. They were to begin work on the walls when they arrived in an hour or so. Torin would check the things in his runeforge first, then move on to the blacksmith work that would not be bothered by the sound of the builders. If anything, he'd thought, building projects and blacksmithing worked well together in that both were often loud, and having a sense of rhythm helped.
The pieces in the forge were simple weapons, becoming harder and more flexible at once, having their edges fortified with magic so they would never need the attentions of a whetstone. A knife could save your life in many more circumstances than combat, and in the harsh environment of the high mountains in which House Leukos made their home, having a blade you never had to worry about was one less thing to have to account for. He made weapons that were primarily for combat too, of course. There was never a lack of danger when you were far from the cities, though it was more often creatures of instinct threatening one's life than it was sentient intention.
Then again, with the Warrens a constant threat from below, perhaps people weren't really all that much safer in Kalzasi. Torin had never ventured into that place himself, but several people he knew had. Asking questions about the venture from Kala or Kaus felt like asking of something personal and sacred to their people, but he had asked Aurin about it. The answers he got had ensured he'd put all the skill he had into the creation of the shielding bracers he'd given his mentor as a New Year's gift.
His mind stayed on the idea, of protection, of service, as he checked the brace of daggers soaking in the aether, checked the viscerite that he was distilling for the next project. It felt good, having a rotation of work, one thing finishing while another began.
When the work was done, the overseer of the building project had arrived, Torin greeted him and offered him coffee but the man wanted to do his own check of the work finished the day before, so, moving into the blacksmithy, he pulled on his thick leather apron and gloves and began bringing the forge back up to heats that would melt fine weapon steel.
Movement from the house drew his eye a few minutes later as Timon walked over to the shop, unlocking and throwing open the back door as well as the main door so the Glade breezes could flow through the building and possibly entice in a customer or two. A man was supposed to come and pick up his order of a lamp that day, the first of such orders that resulted from the lamps Torin had made as showpieces for the shop. The one the man had ordered only shed light without the other qualities the shop lamps possessed, but the light would be perfectly steady and bright, without straining the eyes of anyone doing fine work. The man was a high-level clerk, so it would save his eyes strain even if it didn't heal him of any he'd already gotten.
Yes, the business was starting to take off, with help from many hands other than his own, but it still felt satisfying. It felt real now. Like Torin was really a Runesmtihg, rather than a boy hoping and pretending.
