The slow rise of a blade

It was probably a short few hours from when Masaki had met the young female monk that this story takes place. Since she he would have assumed showed him where the smith had been located and through a few things which lead to a couple of words being exchange between the man and woman smith, he was allowed use of the forge. Unfortunately he had been given a few hours at best to start the repairs and that was a little iffy. So with that he mind this is where we currently start. Sitting a few feet from the forge he looked at the hammer and smiled for a moment, pulling out the package and taking time to unwrap it and sat the fragmented blade onto the anvil. With slow movements he began to take off the top two portions of his kimono which revealed his bare chest, and the object of his pact- the strange marks on his body. From the angle of the flames light it seemed as if something had been gleaming under the tufts of his hair, his hidden eye scanning the metal in tandem before sighing and rummaging through the metal scraps of the area.

The metal had to be precise and almost of the same if he was going to repair the blade, it was fickle and almost as if it had been alive. A steel he needed that probably wouldn't have been found in this area, but one could only hope to see it. After a few moments of searching he found it in small quantities, enough to reforge the blade but nothing else to actually make it any different. Satisfied with his search he threw it into a special container sat to his right and put it into the forge, it would need to sit for a moment while he contemplated on how to go about this reforging. The blade to his recollection was made with one hundred and sixty-four strokes, a technique known to him to simply strengthen the blade. Simple was the method to making the blade, but would each stroke serve in making the blade new? Only time would honestly tell.

As the metal slowly began to melt into the form he needed he pulled from the back storage a simple book on basic smithing, something that he knew something about but couldn't help but know more on the art. He would never openly forge a weapon, but instead repair what he could and make new. Why not give new breath to a weapon instead of creating them? As he cracked open the book a small poof of dust exhumed the cracks and edges as he shrugged and read the prefix. With each simple flick of the page he was enlightened on techniques such as the reverse 32 strike to make a single edged blade more durable and other forms that made smithing look like a walk in the park. Such simple techniques deserved to be used so he sat the book down on the page that he was reading and checked on the metal.

At last the metal was at the acceptable temperature to meld with the blade. There had been one other piece he needed as he pulled it from a case and sat it down, the symbol for the blade. Sitting the blade into a grooved platform he began to slowly pour the metal onto the blade and allowed it to sit for a moment, the most simplest of bonds becoming tangible as the new metal and the blade linked together. Grabbing the metal clasps he allowed the blade to sit for a moment before grabbing the hammer and with a strong strike hitting the blade into form. Each strike reverberated through the shop as he focused slowly on the blade in front of him.

Through small flicks he could see it. Other blades and weapons sat on the ground as he proceeded to work. Many imperfect blades laid scattered on the ground, their form and shape were not befitting to the vision the young black smith had envisioned for them, by that he meant the female smith. He wondered why such a woman would do this, making blades upon blades for no one to use? He wasn't one to exactly question one's reason for doing something, but for a blade to not have a home...it was quite odd.

The words of the wise old man had reverberated within the mind of the new, and his strength waved within each strike of his hammer. Masaki had slowly almost made his promise anew. In his left hand was a hammer and in his right? The finishing product of a single blade that he had been working on for hours, the clanking of the last three strikes causing the blades subtle edge to finally become complete. Dipping the blade into the charred barrel beside him, the long hair of the male had been pushed to the side as he stood forward and looked at the hilt of the blade, both eyes finally within few as he smiled and thought of his brother.

"A sword mirrors its owner."

He allowed the blade to finally rest and be healed as he wiped the grim and sweat from his brow and smiled," Soon brother we shall meet and I will show you this blade forged anew...A new symbol that would no doubt make the male proud. Setting the sheath to the side he slowly began to go through the mix matched blades until he had seen a red hued blade setting around with its sheath sitting beside it. A curious thought came across him as he picked it up and without a doubt took it to the smith," This blade? Is it purchasable?," the woman feigned ignorance for the moment before telling him that the blade was cursed and sure he could, but she wouldn't finish it. The price was soon given and her eyes lit up before taking it back from the male and giving notice that it would take at least two weeks for her to finish if she was still alive. A smile placed upon his face as he went back and took his own blade, placing it upon his back and nodding.

He'd soon see her in two weeks indeed.

[Exit]

Claming all words [1,053] to the claiming of Stormhowl leaving [947] words left

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