New Year's Gifts: Dagger
Posted: Sun Nov 21, 2021 4:13 am
40-47 Ash, 121
It was the last day of the week, the shop was closed, Timon was out running an errand that would take him across the city. Torin had made sure he had enough money to buy himself a good lunch before making the return trip. He felt that he should be worried about the small adolescent boy but the truth was, Timon had grown up in Kalzasi and knew the city a great deal better than Torin did. He knew which areas to avoid and what trouble on the streets looked like in a much more instinctual way than Torin probably ever would.
The boy did not actually need to be absent while Torin worked, there was nothing to say Torin was doing anything other than the work he was paid to do. But today he had a lot of extra time, and with the schematics he'd found in the Academy Archives he was going to begin working on the present he intended to give his one, and only, apprentice as a New Year's gift.
It wouldn't be anything with magic abilities, or anything too flashy. It would be a little flashy, for both the purpose of a gift that gave Timon pride as well as something to show off to customers who wanted something with structural improvements who thought they wouldn't be able to afford anything made by a runesmith. The truth was, Torin could make items that changed temperature or had any number of magical additions, both practical and those merely for effect, but he could also make armor that simply didn't need cleaning, or weapons that wouldn't rust or need sharpening. Such things could be very useful to any number of ordinary people and while they would be more expensive than their entirely mundane counterparts, the costs would be defrayed over time by their use. At least... that was what he was hoping he could convince them of. With Timon's help, he might just be able to.
So, it felt only fair to make the lad something he could show off to make his point, not to mention the fact that Torin wanted to give the boy something nice that was his own. The smith knew what it felt like to be raised in a place that did not include biological family, where nothing really felt like it was ever his. Timon did not seem to feel that way about the home he and Torin were building, which felt good. Torin felt more at home because his apprentice did. Timon deserved nice things, books, a room of his own with all new furniture, and, now, a dagger worthy of any man in the city.
Torin stood out by his forge, he had purchased the things he needed to make the dagger, even agonized over whether to add a gemstone to the hilt. But, as much as he thought Timon might like that, the last thing he wanted was to get his young friend mugged within a week of receiving his present. So he had ash steel, good and strong to start with, it would take the toughening and sharpening well. Viscerite made to the purpose would be drawn from minor dragonshards when the time came, to give the blade, which would be hidden in a matching sheath, some color to show off its magical quality, and add the protections that would keep it sharp and working without the need to work.
He had started in the blacksmithy, heating and hammering the metal, forming the blade, honing it, fashioning the tang that he would wrap in tooled leather. The sheath would be metal too, with a place to attach it to a belt, also wrapped in tooled leather, when the time came. There would be nothing magical about what held the dagger, but it could still be pretty. He could spend spare moments etching and stamping the swirls he'd drawl out for the pattern into the good leather over the next few months before attaching them to both metal parts.
But the magic, the magic had to be done together; carefully, and right. With the blade in hand, sharpened enough to live down through paper, he went to his runeforge. First placing the blade in position into the kiln, checking and rechecking to ensure he had everything aligned correctly before moving to the forge itself. He added the shards he would use, humming in tune with one, and then the other, to remind them he had taken the time to get to know them before asking them to mold themselves into new forms, to apply their power in new ways.
It would take days, a whole week, before the songs of the shards had been fully incorporated into the blade, and he would have to check on them often. Returning between his other work, even if it meant having to give up on some of his other work and start over, arriving always in time to see where the magic was shifting and make the adjustments needed. It made sense in his head, but more so, it made sense somewhere deeper. Not his heart, not exactly, perhaps it was his soul. He knew that the soul was where runes attached when one with enough skill etched them into the body, bestowing magic into a living person. So, perhaps it made sense that it was the part of him that had grown, over all the years of his life, to hear and, in its own way, understand the song of the magic he manipulated into new things.
Over the days, he kept the work going, trying to remind himself that Timon knew next to nothing about the actual work that went into runeforging, even as the lad learned about its costs and profits from both Torin and the financial tutor he was learning under. It was impossible for him to know that Torin was working on a gift for him, and even if, somehow, he managed to figure it out, it wasn't as if the present would mean less if it was discovered early. Yet, Torin still tried to hide it. He did this by trying to act perfectly normal, which he wasn't especially good at, but any oddities in his behavior as he worked seemed to go, if not unnoticed, at least they did not lead the younger boy to suspect the truth.
He worked on other projects at the same time, of course, blacksmithing and runesmithing alike, but those were paid work. While he did his best with all his work, it felt different when it was for a friend. His hand often strayed to the pendant worn under his shirt, or, even the forge grew too warm, under his forge leathers only. It made him want to see, or at least call, Aurin more often, but it also helped him connect the idea of how Aurin cared for him, of how his old master had cared for him, with how he wanted to care for Timon. He would never be his father, would never inhabit that role for him as other men had for Torin, but he could be an older brother, a friend, a good mentor. The hope that Timon would choose to stay and work for him after his apprenticeship was over was one that fostered in his heart, but he would not try and make the other boy stay when he was a man himself. Preparing him for the world and letting him make his own choices were the best Torin could do for him, and he wanted to do his best.
When at last the magic had attached, one shimmering strand of lingering impossibility at a time, to the dagger, Torin let it settle, let the music find its new melody within the kiln. On the seventh day, when he could hear it; humming its new quiet content song, with tiny notes of smugness about it, as if it were inordinately proud of what it had become, he knew it was finished. Using the tongs that he had blacksmithed and Kala had scrivened he gently removed it from the kiln and laid it in a wooden box along with the sheath. The whole gift wasn't finished, as it would still take time to properly finish the leatherwork and attach it so the grip would be comfortable and the sheath would not be bare, the blade was set. It would not dull over time or use, it would not rust or grow weak as it was exposed to the elements, the bright blue, slightly swirling pattern that matched the folded ash steel's own natural lines would not fade over time. It would be as it was, for at least the lifetime of the one it was intended for. If there was a competent runesmith around when the magic did begin to fade, he or she could add new viscerite along those lines and renew the enchantments.
Torin was not the type of craftsman to hide how he did his work, to fold the enchantments under so another of his trade could not copy his work. If another admired his work that much, they should be able to make their own, and if no one did, the generation to come should be able to easily repair it, at least.
It was the last day of the week, the shop was closed, Timon was out running an errand that would take him across the city. Torin had made sure he had enough money to buy himself a good lunch before making the return trip. He felt that he should be worried about the small adolescent boy but the truth was, Timon had grown up in Kalzasi and knew the city a great deal better than Torin did. He knew which areas to avoid and what trouble on the streets looked like in a much more instinctual way than Torin probably ever would.
The boy did not actually need to be absent while Torin worked, there was nothing to say Torin was doing anything other than the work he was paid to do. But today he had a lot of extra time, and with the schematics he'd found in the Academy Archives he was going to begin working on the present he intended to give his one, and only, apprentice as a New Year's gift.
It wouldn't be anything with magic abilities, or anything too flashy. It would be a little flashy, for both the purpose of a gift that gave Timon pride as well as something to show off to customers who wanted something with structural improvements who thought they wouldn't be able to afford anything made by a runesmith. The truth was, Torin could make items that changed temperature or had any number of magical additions, both practical and those merely for effect, but he could also make armor that simply didn't need cleaning, or weapons that wouldn't rust or need sharpening. Such things could be very useful to any number of ordinary people and while they would be more expensive than their entirely mundane counterparts, the costs would be defrayed over time by their use. At least... that was what he was hoping he could convince them of. With Timon's help, he might just be able to.
So, it felt only fair to make the lad something he could show off to make his point, not to mention the fact that Torin wanted to give the boy something nice that was his own. The smith knew what it felt like to be raised in a place that did not include biological family, where nothing really felt like it was ever his. Timon did not seem to feel that way about the home he and Torin were building, which felt good. Torin felt more at home because his apprentice did. Timon deserved nice things, books, a room of his own with all new furniture, and, now, a dagger worthy of any man in the city.
Torin stood out by his forge, he had purchased the things he needed to make the dagger, even agonized over whether to add a gemstone to the hilt. But, as much as he thought Timon might like that, the last thing he wanted was to get his young friend mugged within a week of receiving his present. So he had ash steel, good and strong to start with, it would take the toughening and sharpening well. Viscerite made to the purpose would be drawn from minor dragonshards when the time came, to give the blade, which would be hidden in a matching sheath, some color to show off its magical quality, and add the protections that would keep it sharp and working without the need to work.
He had started in the blacksmithy, heating and hammering the metal, forming the blade, honing it, fashioning the tang that he would wrap in tooled leather. The sheath would be metal too, with a place to attach it to a belt, also wrapped in tooled leather, when the time came. There would be nothing magical about what held the dagger, but it could still be pretty. He could spend spare moments etching and stamping the swirls he'd drawl out for the pattern into the good leather over the next few months before attaching them to both metal parts.
But the magic, the magic had to be done together; carefully, and right. With the blade in hand, sharpened enough to live down through paper, he went to his runeforge. First placing the blade in position into the kiln, checking and rechecking to ensure he had everything aligned correctly before moving to the forge itself. He added the shards he would use, humming in tune with one, and then the other, to remind them he had taken the time to get to know them before asking them to mold themselves into new forms, to apply their power in new ways.
It would take days, a whole week, before the songs of the shards had been fully incorporated into the blade, and he would have to check on them often. Returning between his other work, even if it meant having to give up on some of his other work and start over, arriving always in time to see where the magic was shifting and make the adjustments needed. It made sense in his head, but more so, it made sense somewhere deeper. Not his heart, not exactly, perhaps it was his soul. He knew that the soul was where runes attached when one with enough skill etched them into the body, bestowing magic into a living person. So, perhaps it made sense that it was the part of him that had grown, over all the years of his life, to hear and, in its own way, understand the song of the magic he manipulated into new things.
Over the days, he kept the work going, trying to remind himself that Timon knew next to nothing about the actual work that went into runeforging, even as the lad learned about its costs and profits from both Torin and the financial tutor he was learning under. It was impossible for him to know that Torin was working on a gift for him, and even if, somehow, he managed to figure it out, it wasn't as if the present would mean less if it was discovered early. Yet, Torin still tried to hide it. He did this by trying to act perfectly normal, which he wasn't especially good at, but any oddities in his behavior as he worked seemed to go, if not unnoticed, at least they did not lead the younger boy to suspect the truth.
He worked on other projects at the same time, of course, blacksmithing and runesmithing alike, but those were paid work. While he did his best with all his work, it felt different when it was for a friend. His hand often strayed to the pendant worn under his shirt, or, even the forge grew too warm, under his forge leathers only. It made him want to see, or at least call, Aurin more often, but it also helped him connect the idea of how Aurin cared for him, of how his old master had cared for him, with how he wanted to care for Timon. He would never be his father, would never inhabit that role for him as other men had for Torin, but he could be an older brother, a friend, a good mentor. The hope that Timon would choose to stay and work for him after his apprenticeship was over was one that fostered in his heart, but he would not try and make the other boy stay when he was a man himself. Preparing him for the world and letting him make his own choices were the best Torin could do for him, and he wanted to do his best.
When at last the magic had attached, one shimmering strand of lingering impossibility at a time, to the dagger, Torin let it settle, let the music find its new melody within the kiln. On the seventh day, when he could hear it; humming its new quiet content song, with tiny notes of smugness about it, as if it were inordinately proud of what it had become, he knew it was finished. Using the tongs that he had blacksmithed and Kala had scrivened he gently removed it from the kiln and laid it in a wooden box along with the sheath. The whole gift wasn't finished, as it would still take time to properly finish the leatherwork and attach it so the grip would be comfortable and the sheath would not be bare, the blade was set. It would not dull over time or use, it would not rust or grow weak as it was exposed to the elements, the bright blue, slightly swirling pattern that matched the folded ash steel's own natural lines would not fade over time. It would be as it was, for at least the lifetime of the one it was intended for. If there was a competent runesmith around when the magic did begin to fade, he or she could add new viscerite along those lines and renew the enchantments.
Torin was not the type of craftsman to hide how he did his work, to fold the enchantments under so another of his trade could not copy his work. If another admired his work that much, they should be able to make their own, and if no one did, the generation to come should be able to easily repair it, at least.