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Author Topic: Fashioning Their Own Way  (Read 1887 times)


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Fashioning Their Own Way
« on: June 19, 2013, 04:35:00 AM »
{Ok, math that I should probably say don't check, Year T.A. 2917. Fritz 36 (12), Fili 58 (19), since I do figure this is about when Fritz would be allowed to wander and have any skill at hot metal and fire! But if too old just let me know <3 Also a better title probably exists but it seems to work for this seperate encounter of sorts, and yeah ignore length as well as its set up too <3}

With a veritable spring to his step, as much as a young dwarf his age could hold and still hold pride, Fritz made his way along from his home towards where his second favorite place of all was. The Forgery. For the longest time any and all sweet shops at the market stalls had been the lads favorite, but that was dwarfling stuff, and now Fritz looked forward to a just started training, but one he was showing promise at even this young.

Smithing. He should have known, he'd been carting about a toy hammer for ever. While training with any and all swords he could get his hands on, or his father let him borrow, was still the one thing Fritz was beginning to grow in determination to be the best he could be at, to continue the legacy set down by his brohters and father, making the weapons was just as fun if not more so.

At first, many had been nervous of a young lad his age wandering around fire and hot metal, and Einar had come to fetch him away more than a few times, yet time after time, Fritz proved a calm sense that could wander about and watch without being injured. Over time he'd been allowed to try his hand at a hammer and shown pointers.

Now, provided the weapon wasn't too big and he had his right sized hammer, Fritz was about a new mission he felt sure of. To try something all on his own. He'd yet to do it. He'd also yet to be by the Forgery when it was any kind of busy, coming by in early mornings or late, when only a few of the older and more inclined towards youth were about to show pointers. Many of the smiths about still viewed him a slight nuisance, though they knew of his father's trusted postion and would hold their tongues.

The Smith Master had just smiled as Anlaf's youngest came boldly into the Forgery this late morning. He carried purpose with him, of a literal sense. One of his brother's long swords he'd been practicing with, but which were still his brothers, had been bent, either in accident or battle. Fritz didn't know which, just that he was resloved to prove himself capable of fixing it all on his own and surprising his brother with it just leaned with it's pair near his bed fixed!

He could do it, too! He'd watched enough. With more dwarves about, it was perhaps seeming conterintuitive for the lad to be trying to work near the fire alone, but the semi-crowd was just perfect to hide behind and in as he made his way to an as yet unused spot.

Fritz had already come in prepared to get sooty (as he'd early on learned) and wore his lightest short sleeved tunic. Dags had already accidentally used it as a paint rag once, so it was already ruined and now what had been a gray sort of mix in wiping paint away had deepened into the fabric with the aid of soot and seemed just deeper stains of said soot.

Pulling the short sword from it's scabbard he had carried at his side, Fritz set the scabbard to the side and carefully carried the weapon over to lay along a section near enough to the fire to make his job easier (and perhaps keep him hidden) and provide enough room. Slowly, the rings of sound coming from his work being hesitant and in-between, Fritz studied and hit and bent, and studied again. Time in the actual fire was kept to it's minimum, and only for as long as needed, as he stood there, face turned slightly being mindful not to burn himself. Too much would undo the fine craftsmenship already on the blade. Fritz himself hadn't fashioned it, of course, but respected others works and only wished to fix, not fully refashion.

It had been in poor shape, though, cracked and split in many a place, even the hilt, lacking luster. As he became more in rhythem and use to his work, the surroundings of the Forgery about Fritz faded and soon he forgot he was hiding at all, allowing the rings to sound as loud as they were wont and only focusing on the slow work he did bit by bit.

Once the imperfections were fixed almost like new, Fritz even knew what to do next and went about polishing the sword to like new luster. Once the short blade and hilt both glinted, and Fritz could smile over a job well done, he plucked just one small dark hair from his head and tested the edge of the blade as he'd also seen done. It wasn't as sharp as it could be. Hmm...would his mother be even more worried than already pre-disposed no doubt, if he hauled it over to be sharpened next, the lad wondered, still just lost in his own world of simple trade.



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Fashioning Their Own Way
« Reply #1 on: July 29, 2014, 05:29:00 PM »
(OOC:  Apologies this is a bit short!  *steadily climbs out of the Pit of Owed Replies, apologising profusely for slowness as she goes*  The ages and your maths are both perfect! ~)

The pesky part of sword- and knife-toting was maintenance.  It wasn't that the prince didn't know his hammers, or how to keep a forge lit, or how to shape steel – he had had his fair share of lessons and practice growing up, as was the rite of passage of many of his kin – it was just that, well, he wasn't particularly good at it.  Which was frightfully disappointing, given that he was of Durin's Line and given that, following the Sack of Erebor, his Uncle Thorin had only managed to keep himself supported by his talent at the anvil.

Thus it was, ever eager to keep from embarrassing himself, Fíli had all but given up blacksmithing.  He focused instead on skills that he showed some talent for, seeking always approval rather than quiet disappointment from his elders.  Oh how he hated to let them down, and his flair for singing and music wasn't exactly something they could brag about over tankards of ale!  Fortunately the prince's skill in combat was also worth remarking upon and he wielded his father's dual blades with a natural grace that was honed by many many years of practice.  There were still decades of training ahead of him, and he had yet to test his mettle in true battle, but Fíli was determined to become the best warrior he could be, determined to make his uncle proud.

Which is what found him making his way through the mountain's corridors to the great forging sector.  It was here he would find someone to sharpen his significant arsenal and would wait while they did so.  As a prince, it was almost a given that the forge he stopped at would set aside whatever steel presently occupied their table in order to better accommodate the royal.  It would not go unnoticed by Fíli, despite having been treated with such reverence since his earlier youth.

Happy chance took him to the very forge where Fritz was working, though the prince did not immediately notice the youngest son of Anlaf.  Instead he began to converse with the Master Smith, gesturing to the knives tucked into his vambraces, the others tucked into his boots, and to the dual blades that hung from his belt, explaining that he needed them sharpened and that the handle of one of the knives required repairing.  As he spoke, his blue eyes scanned the working blacksmiths, out of simple curiosity and appreciation more than anything.  It was then that he noticed Fritz, whose focus seemed trained on the sword in hand.  Excusing himself, assuring the elder Dwarf that he would be taken care of, the prince made a beeline for the aspiring smith.  “Well look who it is!”  Fíli exclaimed cheerfully.  “How now, Fritz?”


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Fashioning Their Own Way
« Reply #2 on: July 31, 2014, 06:25:00 PM »
{Queue, I've never heard of such an absurd thing ^^ From long to a short & sweet post, as ever state if not enough ~}

A little more that side...but not too far. It was a hard assigned task for the lad. The number of blades injured by his over-enthusiasm did not truly bear to be recalled, but still he felt he did well all things and age considered! With a glance up and about, Fritz checked that he wasn't too noticed and no know-it-all Smiths would come point out in glaring detail all his faults.

Of course that was how one learned, but...they didn't have to be so...knowing about it! Never-mind the now fully trained Smiths did just know what they talked about and their craft!

The coast was clear at the moment and Fritz bent where the sword he worked at was leaned against the anvil, the all but upright position needed as he got at that one spot, almost like one would get at a spot of dirt, only this was harder to purge.

Who's sword was this again? Fritz tried to recall. yes, Einar! Hmm, best not mess up! Fritz would come off endearing as he ever did even when he didn't try for it, it seemed, and especially to siblings, but Einar was just so hard to explain things to even when he was fair about it! The oldest of Anlaf and Liv's brood just had that capable air that gave him such whether he wanted it or not.

With his back turned, Fritz missed Prince Fíli's arrival to the Forge and thusly his soon to come chance and upping of pressure both! Again, it could hardly be helped and was despite what a good friend the prince was.

Dark eyes trained to his work, Fritz carefully polished to check the dent even as the familiar voice sounded out! Wheeling about, Fritz only looked mildly startled and kept to his squat, upright position, if now turned, as this eyes widened and then relaxed, a half smile playing on his countenance before suspicious caution took over again.

Standing, the lad wiped at his hands as he regarded Fíli, "Don't tell my mother you saw me here, I'd just get fussed at", came before hello. "Dags neither, you tell her everything", wasn't exactly knowing but may have nudged the line of finding the fact a bit odd.

Then the lad smiled more normally, "But hail back yourself! What brings you by the Forge?", he asked, though he had an idea while still realistic about the facts of who would handle Fíli's many and important weapons.



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Fashioning Their Own Way
« Reply #3 on: August 02, 2014, 09:56:00 AM »
(OOC:  What is this 'queue' thing of which you speak? XD  Short and sweet works well for me! ~)

“Woa there, settle yourself!”  Fíli laughed at the young Dwarf's immediate suspicion.  It wasn't without good cause, really, being the youngest of a large brood and the son of Liv and Anlaf.  Liv, especially, was one for fretting and fussing.  “I won't say a word to your mother.”  The prince reassured with a lopsided smile.  Liv would not hear a word from him, though she seemed to have a way of finding things out eventually.  Not for the first time Fíli wondered if she had a network of spies in her employment, for nothing seemed to pass her notice for long.  Maybe her mother's instinct was just obscenely attuned.  “Dags on the other hand... I can try to hold my tongue but there I make no promises.”  He wrinkled his nose affectionately and shrugged his broad shoulders in apology.  Fíli didn't suppose he had kept anything from Dagmar in his life.  It was not a conscious decision, it was simply that she was his longest standing friend and confidant.  And she was lovely.  Well, perhaps there was one thing he kept from the sunny smiling maiden.

Fíli cleared his throat as though Fritz might have read that intruding thought and then ploughed on with answer to the lad's question.  “Dull blades bring me here.”  The prince shifted his weight and glanced down to the blades that hung at his hips, thinking also of the considerable albeit smaller arsenal he had hidden elsewhere on his person.  It was overkill, some said, but he loved the feeling of being positively bristling with weapons.  Fíli liked to joke it was to make up for his short stature.  “Dull swords, dull knives and a broken grip to be precise.”  Which were precisely what was keeping him from practising in the yard.  He preferred not to handle training or ownerless blades these days, not where it could be helped.  It seemed more important he focus on those he owned personally – those he might carry into battle one day.  Fíli arched an eyebrow.  “Don't suppose you could help me out, Fritz?”


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Fashioning Their Own Way
« Reply #4 on: August 22, 2014, 02:50:00 AM »
{As ever if he wouldn't have one of Folkin's swords with him, I'll just have it be a normal one, but he does carry them I think}

With four older brothers, Fritz didn't really need another honorary one even, yet it was hard to mind Prince Fíli's presence (especially since he'd been "coming around" since before the lad was born!) what with his amicable, easy manner and lack of blood relation that gave him a bit more grace with escapades and least he couldn't be yelled at in the same way as Koph could, though Liv tolerated little nonsense across the board.

The lad smiled at the prince's reassurance over keeping the secret, and rolled his eyes knowingly (well not really) at Dags being a lost cause, as he well knew!

"Well...give it your best then", he interposed lightly before turning all attention to what the prince was saying, mostly because of the words that came first and telling. Dull Blades...well of course, that was the most likely reason one came around a Forgery unless one was going to make something and...well Fíli was too good a friend for Fritz to compare between the two of them, no comparing.

After explaining the array of problems, the all too important question came, could he help him out. Fritz tried to not look too wide eyed stunned as his gaze shifted up to Prince Fíli. Him? Really?! Instantly he felt elated and worried with that odd mix of pressure a prince's set of blades just held.

Fíli might forgive him if things went wrong, but...would everyone else? Would he forgive himself? Fritz's stunned gaze traveled back down to the steel at the prince's hips, and then he realized it had been a few seconds and he hadn't answered! ", sure...", meeting Fíli's gaze again was when the answer took on a bit more strength, and the lad even found a smile. "Sure I could! T-thanks...". He was mostly sure Fíli would understand the latter.

He stepped forward, and was handed the first of the dull blades to start at. For a moment, Fritz just looked at it, but not in critique of the damage. He turned the even dull blade a bit, "Woah...this is good...", he glanced up, "Uh, not it being dull, of course, Whoever made it", he commented with a smile. So best not mess up. Even more so as he glanced down to it once more and noted more.

His gaze came up again, "It was your father's wasn't it?!", he could have kicked himself the moment the words left him! And swallowed, "I...I mean...Dags told me good things, ya know?", he went on softly, still hoping it wasn't bad of him to say or to have brought up. "She says he'd have found me hilarious, and I don't know if I should be insulted", maybe a typical brand of annoyed at not being given credit would do the mood good, though the words had been truly stated his way by his sister!

"I...I'll not mess up", he went on, nodding to both the prince and himself with it! Moving over to the anvil again, he laid the one of the twin swords at it and still just looked for a bit, then, with another glance up, motioned that Fíli could most certainly sit and watch and guard.

"Ok...I can do this", he casually told the prince with a small rub of his hands, then inspected if anything prior should be done before sparks started flying in guarding this most precious of blades. It was why he went for a small whet-stone and not the larger grindstone that could inflict damage.

There seemed little for it, though, and soon the lad's hesitant scraps grated out and he paused after almost every one to inspect, at times his nose so very near the blade, and cautiously making his way along. He spoke after a bit, for Fíli's sake while he sat there.

"So how's it going with real blades? Since I'm still at training swords and cant even use Einar's. I'm lucky to get to come down here! But what I mean is, well, I don't know actually. Do folks not hit at you because they think they'll maybe be beheaded if something went wrong". Fritz bent and swiped yet again.



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