Clang, whoosh, hiss, clang.

The song of the forge echoed throughout the sweltering building, the sounds of the fire roaring and the clang of metal was background noise to Jayce as he groaned, wiping sweat from his brow and smudged coal over his face. He stepped back from the anvil, examining the blade he had been shaping for days. It was nearly complete, glimmering faintly in the dim light, but it still lacked the final touches that would transform it from mere metal into a work of art. He was a skilled blacksmith, sure, but most of his time was spent tending to his forge. Speaking of which, he turned around to let the blade sit in the fire and grabbed a bar above his head, grunting as he pulled hard to stoke the flames of his forge. He hissed, doing it another few times until his arms burned. Sweat dripped down his back and arms, hair damp with it as he let go and rolled his shoulders. Noticing it was time to remove the blade from the fire, he walked over and grabbed his tongs, pulling the blade out and dropped it onto the anvil.

This was a pleasure project really. He was done with everything and had a few hours to himself for once. He knew it wouldn’t last long though, but he’s been progressively making a nice blade. A damascus steel hawksbill blade with a nice polished bone sheath that he’s been saving for the right knife. The process was tedious, yes, but he adored doing damascus works.

Clang, clang, clang.

The blade took shape the harder Jayce swung his hammer, grunting softly with each swing and resounding cling after. He pulled it back and held it up, looking at it with a slight satisfied smile. “She’ll look beautiful, that’s for sure.” He muttered, dunking the blade into a keg of water. It hissed, but didn’t crack. He was thankful for that. Pulling it back out, he wiped his forehead with a dirty gloved hand. He didn’t care much anyways, there was no way to not get dirty in this job.

Setting the blade on a table, he grabbed the bar again and pulled down, whole body moving with the pull.