27 – Smiths and Scoppers

Though there had not been any drifting sounds when the group had arrived at Hilda’s, by the time they were departing a faint, rhythmic, ringing carried through the winding pathways of Florn like some metallic chiming clock. This meant that, unlike the laundry, the group could find the blacksmith shop without the need for directions from a local. As they exited the narrow alley, emptying out into one of the main streets of the town, the sound grew louder and more prominent.

Similar to the Bee’s Bounty and Hilda’s Laundry, the shop had a simple, wooden sign, cut into the shape of an anvil swinging gently above the dirt street. A wide arched opening framed what Ren thought was the quintessential idea of a medieval blacksmith.

On the far side of the shop, next to a large pile of stone, sat a wide stone forge with a canvas bellows attached to along with with a smooth black shard sticking out of the sack. The coals already glowed and radiated heat in waves that reached Ren even from where they stood outside the shop. The walls hung with an assortment of metal equipment in various states of completion. Contrary to the piles of armaments, swords, and shields that Ren would have expected from such a place, here ends of scythes, pick axe heads, and hatchets lined the edges. Only one small area had anything resembling weapons with perhaps two dozen small arms in all.

A faint haze hung in the air, stray motes catching the early morning sunbeams, carrying with them the lingering scents of seared oil, sweat, and the barest hint of sulfur.

In the middle of it all stood a man as wide as two of Ren, his back turned as he hunched over an anvil, small hammer moving in steady, rhythmic swings.

It’s like everyone here is either petite or a freaking giant, Ren thought.

“Ho’ friend!” Jax called, pausing a few paces away from the broad man.

“Hmm?” The blacksmith halted, head tilted.

“Might we trouble you for a moment?”

Carefully, he lowered the hammer mid-swing and hung it on a small hook protruding off the anvil. Reaching to the side, he grabbed a long set of metal tongs, lifted the dull orange piece of metal he had been shaping off the dark block of iron, and plunged into a small barrel filled with a viscous liquid. Ren braced for violent sputtering, but instead, a small lick of fire appeared over the vat, burning in near-silence before winking out.

Satisfied, he turned to face them. He was clean shaven and younger than Ren would have thought—maybe mid twenties?— wearing a long leather apron the color of dried sap, dozens of long thin lines cauterized into the hide. Reaching into a small pocket, the man retrieved a small piece of stained cloth to wipe his glistening brow, huge forearm muscles rippling. “Mornin’ don’t recall that we’ve met.” Like Stubbs, the man had a rich baritone, if with a thicker accent.

Jax stepped forward, extending his hand. “We haven’t had the pleasure, friend. Jax Lar, a newly refined traveler.” He motioned beside him. “My cousin Kaylin Sael, and our friend Ren… well, just Ren.”

“Brant.” He clasped Jax’s hand.

How are these people not on steroids?

Brant spread his arms wide gesturing to the shop around him. “And, if the clues ‘ave evaded you, I’m the local blacksmith. What brings you to Florn?

“We’re passing through on the way back to Meridia,” Kaylin said. “And we heard from Stubbs that you made fine equipment.”

“You see, our friend, Ren. Well, we got into something of tight spot.” Jax added.

“Terrible situation with some nasty encounters with brood scorpions.”

“And we’re on our way to Scopper farm—guild contract you see.”

“Of course, we can’t go back out when our friend, here, can’t properly protect himself.”

Man, those two can really get going, Ren thought.

Brant crossed his thick arms. “You realize it’s an hour after dawn, right?”

“Umm… Yes?” Kaylin said.

“That’s a lot of talking for so early.”

“Oh, I—”

Ren smiled, stepping forward. “I couldn’t agree more. When you’re ready, I’d love to see about a sword. We’re happy to wait.”

Brant examined Ren, then nodded before turning to retrieve the half hammered piece of metal he had been working on. “You can wait over there, shouldn’t be long.”

Ren stepped to the side with the other two, the heat from the forge continuing to billow into them as the hammering resumed. After a moment, sweat beaded on his forehead, reminding him of the countless hours bent over a boiling pot.

Beside him Kaylin fanned her face, working—and failing to dissipate the oppressive heat. “I’m going to wait in the street if it’s all the same to you both.” Without pausing for a response, she walked back out from under the awning to lean against the building on the far side. Her hand glowed a dim white as she moved it around her face like some arcane fan, resting her tall staff beside her.

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After several more minutes, Brant completed the piece in front of him, quenched it one last time, and turned back to Ren. Jax was busy meandering around the shop, looking at the myriad of metalwork.

“So. You need a weapon?”

“Like my companions said, I broke my other one,” Ren said, his mouth a half grin-half grimace.

“How did someone your size break forged iron?”

“Ah, it was… well… wood.”

“So a stick, not a weapon? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m backed up for a couple days.”

“Stubbs mentioned you might have something basic already done. I’m more than happy to pay for a temporary one. Especially if you are also willing to make something a little more… custom.”

Brant motioned to the side wall. “Happy for you to at least take a look. And if I can make it and you can pay, then I see no trouble with it. Let me know if you see something you like.

Nodding, Ren joined Jax by the thick wood and plaster wall where two dozen armaments hung. Several hatchets and axes were displayed along side a few spear heads, a single battle axe along with a dozen or so blades. Fully half were some version of a traditional broadsword and four others were a kind of dagger. Out of all the options, the only single edged blade was a curved scimitar, starkly out of place among the other arms.

“So, what do you think, Jax?”

The big man grunted. “Not a lot of choice.”