Hephaestus
Posted: 26 May 2014, 08:07
At the other side of the room from the shop where many of them gather, Axel marvels at it for a moment. The way parts of it glow in the dim lit place between two counters. The room itself is rather quiet, there aren’t as many people there. They must all be out doing other things, not that he really minds. He enjoys the silence of the room. The coals in the forge, they burn with embers of a recent fire, meaning that someone else has used it for some reason or another. It could be to have made weapons to weapons or to have made ammunition. The vampire doesn’t honestly care if someone else uses it, or how well they use it. There’s something there for him, something more than just making things for others or for himself. Axel doesn’t feel he has the ability to write anymore, and the forge offers him another creative outlet. He sees it as a vent, in the way it glows, in the way the hammer strikes heated metal until it’s a certain shape.
From the shop, Axel makes a few steps to the other side of the room. While he’s not ignoring the others in the room, he can’t see them from this myopic state of being. It’s as if he has tunnel vision and the forge itself is calling to him the loudest. Everything else around him is just a low hum, like a bee buzzing in the distance. The male gets closer and closer to the warm forge, not hot enough to do the tasks that he wants to do. His hands move over the anvil and then places his hand close to the kiln to check the temperature without touching the interior of the thing. Lifting the hammer, he inspects the blunt surfaces to make sure that it’s going to create warped surfaces in the materials he’s working with when beating on them. Everything appears to be fine, so Axel takes the rather large case behind his back and lays it open on the ground.
As the case opens up at his feet it is gilded on either side with felt, the contents of the box are steel, with a pommel and sharp edges. Blocks of metal also lie there, and he grins down at the bit that he’s collected over the past couple of weeks. Some of the blades that he has are of very little quality but they’ll be okay for practice. He doesn’t even care if they’re good, just wants to make something, create again. Placing some coals into the kiln, he sets a match and lights the fire. His foot starts to kick the fat, stoking the fire from underneath. The blaze gets hotter and hotter, until he has to close the metal door separating him from the flame.
In the Norse culture there was a being named Wayland, the smith that created things for the Gods of their mythos. It’s true that in that mythos, many of the great weapons, the weapons of the Gods, were created by the Dwarves. Still, Wayland was a crafter. Axel knows very little of the myths of that culture. Continuing on his thought, he lifts a cast to his blade and then drops the blade-filled rock into the kiln. The Romans had Vulcan, if he remembers correctly, that made weapons for the Gods. He was also the God of lava and volcanos. Axel pulls the casting out of the kiln. It’s hot, not cracking, but very hot. He eyes at it, giving it a moment or two to cool naturally so that he doesn’t break the metal inside. Smacking the stone with the hammer he knows that the metal inside will break away from the stone inside. He can see how molten metal would look like lava, and thus the connection.
As he takes the slightly melted, slightly solid metal and then starts to look it over. He checks the metal for imperfections. Removing his shirt, he goes about putting on gloves and grabbing the tongs and hammer. Hephaestus… That was the god that Hera gave birth to. The god that she bore without help of Zeus. He looks around the room again before taking the hammer to the metal and starts to beat on the steel. Working it into a long shaft of rectangular metal. Soon Axel finds himself humming, in a pattern of ten syllables, making sure that his inflection rises every other beat as he hums. Shortly words are birthed from the quiet noises:
Glowing, heated iron made into steel
stolen from the kiln’s womb of smoke and fire
by a blacksmith with intent to anneal
hammering out the tones of a choir.
The metal rings with each and every strike,
notes, music changing each time the steel changed.
Would this be a sword, a knife, or a pike?
The different variations, oh how ranged.
Cooling and heating the iron ingot,
I will shape this into a keen saber,
like the many Gods this world has forgot
despite their pained centuries of labor.
I manipulate you, ore, to this blade,
stiff, solid, keen and completely handmade.
With this forge, I create eternal life -
Shining, slicing steel, stealing all blood
of which humanity seems to be rife,
designed to spill it, start a crimson flood.
Every swing of the hammer, closer
I come to what I was suppose to do.
Each striking becoming slower and slower
finally making this to something new.
My creation glimmers in the dim light
and it occurs that I must name it.
Something that will display all of it’s might -
Hera would be the name that would best fit.
To honor the source of this afflatus,
in the name of Incarnate Hephaestus.
As his song comes to an end and he looks down at the blade, Axel tilts his head to the side and inspects it. The male twists the blade and then he swings it around a bit. It’s not the same quality as his St. James, but it’s more accurate and almost as powerful. It’s not great, but it’s his. He made it. A smirk comes over his face, not having to melt anymore more of his blades this evening, but he’ll return in time, when he’s ready. Once everything is packed up and back in the case, with the exception of the new blade, he puts the fire out and heads up to his hut.
From the shop, Axel makes a few steps to the other side of the room. While he’s not ignoring the others in the room, he can’t see them from this myopic state of being. It’s as if he has tunnel vision and the forge itself is calling to him the loudest. Everything else around him is just a low hum, like a bee buzzing in the distance. The male gets closer and closer to the warm forge, not hot enough to do the tasks that he wants to do. His hands move over the anvil and then places his hand close to the kiln to check the temperature without touching the interior of the thing. Lifting the hammer, he inspects the blunt surfaces to make sure that it’s going to create warped surfaces in the materials he’s working with when beating on them. Everything appears to be fine, so Axel takes the rather large case behind his back and lays it open on the ground.
As the case opens up at his feet it is gilded on either side with felt, the contents of the box are steel, with a pommel and sharp edges. Blocks of metal also lie there, and he grins down at the bit that he’s collected over the past couple of weeks. Some of the blades that he has are of very little quality but they’ll be okay for practice. He doesn’t even care if they’re good, just wants to make something, create again. Placing some coals into the kiln, he sets a match and lights the fire. His foot starts to kick the fat, stoking the fire from underneath. The blaze gets hotter and hotter, until he has to close the metal door separating him from the flame.
In the Norse culture there was a being named Wayland, the smith that created things for the Gods of their mythos. It’s true that in that mythos, many of the great weapons, the weapons of the Gods, were created by the Dwarves. Still, Wayland was a crafter. Axel knows very little of the myths of that culture. Continuing on his thought, he lifts a cast to his blade and then drops the blade-filled rock into the kiln. The Romans had Vulcan, if he remembers correctly, that made weapons for the Gods. He was also the God of lava and volcanos. Axel pulls the casting out of the kiln. It’s hot, not cracking, but very hot. He eyes at it, giving it a moment or two to cool naturally so that he doesn’t break the metal inside. Smacking the stone with the hammer he knows that the metal inside will break away from the stone inside. He can see how molten metal would look like lava, and thus the connection.
As he takes the slightly melted, slightly solid metal and then starts to look it over. He checks the metal for imperfections. Removing his shirt, he goes about putting on gloves and grabbing the tongs and hammer. Hephaestus… That was the god that Hera gave birth to. The god that she bore without help of Zeus. He looks around the room again before taking the hammer to the metal and starts to beat on the steel. Working it into a long shaft of rectangular metal. Soon Axel finds himself humming, in a pattern of ten syllables, making sure that his inflection rises every other beat as he hums. Shortly words are birthed from the quiet noises:
Glowing, heated iron made into steel
stolen from the kiln’s womb of smoke and fire
by a blacksmith with intent to anneal
hammering out the tones of a choir.
The metal rings with each and every strike,
notes, music changing each time the steel changed.
Would this be a sword, a knife, or a pike?
The different variations, oh how ranged.
Cooling and heating the iron ingot,
I will shape this into a keen saber,
like the many Gods this world has forgot
despite their pained centuries of labor.
I manipulate you, ore, to this blade,
stiff, solid, keen and completely handmade.
With this forge, I create eternal life -
Shining, slicing steel, stealing all blood
of which humanity seems to be rife,
designed to spill it, start a crimson flood.
Every swing of the hammer, closer
I come to what I was suppose to do.
Each striking becoming slower and slower
finally making this to something new.
My creation glimmers in the dim light
and it occurs that I must name it.
Something that will display all of it’s might -
Hera would be the name that would best fit.
To honor the source of this afflatus,
in the name of Incarnate Hephaestus.
As his song comes to an end and he looks down at the blade, Axel tilts his head to the side and inspects it. The male twists the blade and then he swings it around a bit. It’s not the same quality as his St. James, but it’s more accurate and almost as powerful. It’s not great, but it’s his. He made it. A smirk comes over his face, not having to melt anymore more of his blades this evening, but he’ll return in time, when he’s ready. Once everything is packed up and back in the case, with the exception of the new blade, he puts the fire out and heads up to his hut.