Post by Clark Sanderson on Apr 4, 2013 21:35:34 GMT -5
Perhaps too much thought went into the design, all decorated with anvils, flames, tongs, hammers, and axes, all carved in a beautifully made Celestial Bronze blade. A tomahawk Clark thought to be fit of Hephaestus himself, not that he'd ever give it up. He gently hammered away in a corner area of the forge.
It was hotter back there, and he was sweating, he found that to be somewhat comforting, the natural perspiration of his body, enhanced and sped up by the work and environment. He was wearing a button up black t-shirt with a metal-working apron on over it, blue jeans on, and steel-toed work boots.
His mind was fixed on his project, and he was bent down, gently shaping the blade with a sharpener. He must've looked pretty funny, all serious, given he didn't really have a face for being serious. Anywho, he started wondering how often someone poured so much of their heart into their work, sitting alone in a workshop for hours working on one project.
He finally finished, adding a few minor details, painting on a special weather-impenetrable paint he'd created, merely out of boredom. He filled in the little carved areas with silver, giving the blade a wicked design. After a few moments, he dipped it into the barrel of water beside him, allowing the metals to fuse and solidify one last time.
He held it there for quite some time, slipping the finished product out, a fairly simple triangular blade design, a pick-like blade on the back, leather straps wrapped around the handle and bound for a grip, the silver inlaid designs listed about, and a soft, faint symbol of Hephaestus, combined together and stamped on the shaft of the weapon where the blades where the blade met with the shaft.
He sat there for a bit, and gather his tools, slipping a neat sheathe over the blade, grabbing his bag, and walking quietly toward the exit, a smile on his face.
He didn't appear to be leaving quite yet, in fact, he paused to set the weapon down, pulling a journal he kept to help remind him of what projects he had going. "Ooooh....k then....so...", he jotted down multiple lines quickly, and continued like this for quite a good few minutes until he suddenly stopped, slapping himself on the forehead, and writing down something else. "Never done...", he said, grabbing the journal and the tomahawk, heading out again.
It was hotter back there, and he was sweating, he found that to be somewhat comforting, the natural perspiration of his body, enhanced and sped up by the work and environment. He was wearing a button up black t-shirt with a metal-working apron on over it, blue jeans on, and steel-toed work boots.
His mind was fixed on his project, and he was bent down, gently shaping the blade with a sharpener. He must've looked pretty funny, all serious, given he didn't really have a face for being serious. Anywho, he started wondering how often someone poured so much of their heart into their work, sitting alone in a workshop for hours working on one project.
He finally finished, adding a few minor details, painting on a special weather-impenetrable paint he'd created, merely out of boredom. He filled in the little carved areas with silver, giving the blade a wicked design. After a few moments, he dipped it into the barrel of water beside him, allowing the metals to fuse and solidify one last time.
He held it there for quite some time, slipping the finished product out, a fairly simple triangular blade design, a pick-like blade on the back, leather straps wrapped around the handle and bound for a grip, the silver inlaid designs listed about, and a soft, faint symbol of Hephaestus, combined together and stamped on the shaft of the weapon where the blades where the blade met with the shaft.
He sat there for a bit, and gather his tools, slipping a neat sheathe over the blade, grabbing his bag, and walking quietly toward the exit, a smile on his face.
He didn't appear to be leaving quite yet, in fact, he paused to set the weapon down, pulling a journal he kept to help remind him of what projects he had going. "Ooooh....k then....so...", he jotted down multiple lines quickly, and continued like this for quite a good few minutes until he suddenly stopped, slapping himself on the forehead, and writing down something else. "Never done...", he said, grabbing the journal and the tomahawk, heading out again.
