My body aches and itches as I awake on an uncomfortable dump of hay, the individual straws piercing past the tunic I threw on them and jutting into me as I shift around. My consciousness slowly coming to me as a desperate need to drink water fills my mind. It was horribly hot last night, and being forced to sleep outside because my adoptive uncle hates the smell of the cheap liquor I usually ended up drinking myself to sleep with. I barely roll off my horrible makeshift hay bed, grabbing my tunic and brushing off the sticking hay. (Update End. Restart in an hour.) "Ahh, you're up. Now we can begin training." I hear from outside the barn. I pick up my wooden sword and exit the barn. The sun's glare blinds me. In response, I lift my hand up. The next moment I'm on the ground with a pain radiating off my chest.
It takes me a few seconds to realize my mentor hit me with his wooden sword. "Pay attention." he snarkily says. I sweep my foot and hit his thigh causing him to hit the ground with a thud. "Little Bastard," he said with a slight grin. "Pay attention." I shrewdly said. We both chuckled. I got up and dusted myself off and I heard him say "Let's Begin."
I had my wooden sword in front of me. Knees and elbows slightly bent my dominant foot in front of my lesser and one word in my head. Win. He slashed at my stomach I was barely able to deflect it. He attacked again aiming at my head I sidestepped to dodge it and then I countered him. For a man in his fifties, my mentor was surprisingly agile.
He dodged it then thrust it towards my stomach I brought my elbow down as hard as I could hit his sword with a surprising amount of force and some pain in my elbow. I kicked him in the thigh or at least I thought I did.
The pain went jolting through my foot and it wasn't him I hit it was his sword. I looked down at my foot for a brief second then as I looked up I saw his knuckles. He hit my face as hard as he possibly could. I dropped my sword as I basically went tumbling backward. My nose was bleeding, my ears were ringing, my vision a little bit blurry. He was standing right above me blocking the sun out. He said with a belittling grin. "I win."
I honestly would've punched him in the stomach if I wasn't in pain. We waited about half an hour before we started forging. I've burnt myself quite a bit trying to forge, and the best thing I've created so far was a dagger with some irregular edges and a big bump in the middle of it. It broke as soon as it hit a wooden dummy. My mentor says that if I can create weapons as good as I handle them I'll have a good armory as well as a way to make some coin.
But I call ogre shit on that to me being able to create weapons is a smith's job, not a warrior's job. But I'm still forced to do it. My mentor drops about 5 pounds of bronze ore. "Whoa, how much was it?" I ask. "About 10 copper pieces." "Cheapskate" I mutter under my breath. "What was that?" he says.
I give him a blank stare trying to make him think I said nothing. I put the ore in a cauldron made of iron. The only thing my mentor actually decides to spend money on. I light a fire under the cauldron add some coal to it and get it hot. I put the bronze ore in an waited 5 minutes.
The bronze ore starts to melt making color the same as an autumn's leaf. We then poured it into the sword mold my mentor had prepared. My mentor told me that salt would temper it so I sprinkled it with some. We waited for it to cool and then put it in some Glistening, and refreshing river water to cool the sword down. Steam enshrouded my face.
My mentor carefully carried it to the anvil and gave me the hammer. He pointed at an edge," hit there". I decided to hit it with moderate strength. There was a satisfying Clink as the hammer sharpened the edge of the sword. I hit it a few more times in different locations screwing up about twice.
Then like almost always I managed to burn myself. I hit an edge of the sword that was still partially hot. Embers flew off and onto my hand. I pulled back managing to smack my mentor's face and stick my foot in a bucket, and then falling. Ow, my mentor gazed at me with his piercing eyes. He was clearly displeased with my actions. "Sorry," I muttered.
He looked back at the sword. "Get up," he said in a harsh tone. I lifted myself up and next to the sword was the handle, the grip and then the cap. "Make sure your hands are steady. If they are put on wrong, then the sword will make your hands blister when using it." I put the handle on a little crooked, not bad though.
Next, was the grip, in which I did horribly. He continued to glare at me. The cap was okay-ish. The sword did look good though, and it was satisfying to finish it. Now I kinda get why blacksmiths create swords. It is surprisingly satisfying!
We went outside and time flew. It was already dark out. I looked at my mentor, his eyes were distressed and cloudy. "What could have him distressed?" I thought. His voice cut my thoughts off. "Sleep in my bed tonight." I looked at him, He's never offered his bed. Something must've been going on. I went to bed and slept.
That night I dreamt about my parents. I remember my mother's golden hair swaying with the wind. We were out at sea. My father's charcoal hair stopping at the tip of his eyebrows. I looked at the vast ocean with intense inquisitiveness. I wanted to know what lies beneath the ocean surface but my father carried me to bed. Mother sang me a lullaby, eventually lulling me to sleep. I remember waking up on shore with pieces of wood next to me. My body ached it was as if someone bashed me with a shield. I was parched.
My face was buried in sand, and there was blood dripping down my nose onto my lip. I brushed it off and turned over. It was painful getting up but more painful seeing my mother's lifeless body. There was a sharp fragment of wood piercing through her chest, shining with blood. The blood slowly trickled down it and onto her blue dress.
I urged my body to get up and walk over to her. All I could manage was a few steps before collapsing a few feet from her body. Tears rolled down my face. I reached my hand out wanting to touch her, to hug her, for her to pick me up or lull me to sleep. But she couldn't. Not anymore. There were footsteps behind me. Something grabbed the collar of my shirt and dragged me backward. It was my father. I coughed a bit of blood and asked him "what about mommy?"
He looked back at me I could see tears streaming down his face. He responded "Mommy is gone now. It's just me and you."