Rise of the Living Forge

Making an entire smithing method from scratch proved to be ever so slightly problematic. Seconds turned to minutes as Arwin leaned against the anvil, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation.

He rolled an ingot of steel in his palm idly. Sweat had long since soaked his shirt and the smell of hot sulfur and metal had ingrained itself into his clothes like a second skin. Wallace had taken to banging away at something in the corner of the smithy — Arwin wasn’t sure if the dwarf was actually doing anything productive or if he was just bored and trying to pass the time.

Finding what comes naturally to me is easier said than done. There are a lot of different interpretations of natural. Is it the one that comes easiest?

That would have been just relying on the Mesh for everything. Nothing was easier than turning his own brain off and just swinging where and when the Mesh told him to. That was obviously the wrong path. He’d figured that out long before meeting Wallace.

Any path he took had to be one he forged himself. The Mesh’s guidance was nothing more than a tool. Arwin refused to let it become a crutch again.

Not the easiest path, then. But what else? The thing that feels the most comfortable? But how different could that even get? Wallace made it seem like Dwarven Smithing is really unique to everyone, but how unique can you get when you’re just swinging a hammer?

Arwin wasn’t typically a betting man. But, in this case, he was more than willing to bet that Wallace had more in mind than him just smacking metal with a hammer normally. There had to be something more to it.

Heaving out a huff of air, Arwin pushed himself upright and stood up. He brushed himself off and wiped his brow with the back of a sleeve as he studied the flat face of the anvil waiting for him.

There was one thing for certain. He wasn’t going to make any progress just sitting around and thinking. He’d never been one for that. Lillia was a better planner than he was. He was just good at doing.

But I can’t just plunge ahead completely blind. There’s a difference between looking for inspiration and being an impatient idiot. I need to take stock of everything I can do that’s even vaguely related to smithing. Maybe that’ll give me an idea.

He did have a fair number of tools to work with. Arwin dug through his head and gathered his thoughts on every single crafting related ability he had, no matter how useful or detrimental it initially felt.

The Mesh can guide me while I work.I can smell the quality of magic in an item.I can hit things really hard.I can get hit really hard.I can pick up the general desires of metal. I can speak directly to magical materials through visions. I’m resistant to magical effects that affect my mind.I can eat magic. I can infuse items with parts from monsters and bring out their desires.

He certainly had a hefty list. Wallace had been pretty impressed with his ability to craft with organic materials — it was something unique to his class, but Arwin wasn’t convinced it was enough.

“I need to be more. I can’t just be one of my traits. Smithing is more than just a single element,” Arwin muttered to himself. There was no way his goals were fully encapsulated in just a single one of his abilities. If it was so easy to emulate dwarven smithing, then everyone would be walking around doing it.

Wallace had already made it more than clear that everything was about properly connecting to the materials he was working with. He infused his power into the lava around him. He listened to the song of the metal and harmonized his own song with it. Everything boiled down to coming to understand his materials as closely as he could. A thoughtful expression crossed over Ariwn’s face.

But it’s more than just my materials, isn’t it? The lava doesn’t go into the metal. It’s a tool, but I need to be in complete harmony with it in order to feel the materials within correctly. I have to understand everything I work with as if it was my own body.

The words rung true in his head. Understanding had been the most instrumental part of his progress. He’d been able to do the least when he’d just done what the Mesh had said. Every step he took toward taking smithing into his own hands brought him closer to making better weapons and armor.

Is it about establishing a perfect understanding between myself and the metal? Cutting everything else out so only we exist?

A small frown pulled across his lips. Some of the best work he’d ever made had been when he worked together with Lillia. She’d been an enormous help in providing power and intent to help ensure the item turned out the way they wanted it to.

That went against the theory that it had to just be him and his target. There was something more to it. He couldn’t just rely on Lillia every single time he crafted something, of course, but isolating himself wasn’t the path he wanted to take either.

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Arwin ran his thumb over the rough steel ingot in his hand, feeling every single craggy groove within the metal. Murmured desires brushed across his ears as they always did. The metal had hopes and dreams — but they weren’t independent of the rest of the world. It wanted a purpose, not to be perfect in a void.

“You going to do anything?” Wallace called, his voice splitting through the air. “Or are you just going to stand there shitting your pants?”

“I’m thinking.” Arwin peeled his gaze away from the ingot to look at Wallace. “I’m not trying to jump into this like an idiot.”

Wallace let out a snort. “You are an idiot.”

Arwin sighed, but the dwarf spoke again before he could even figure out if he wanted to give that a response.

“Does a fish walk?” Wallace asked, tossing his dagger from hand to hand as he walked back across the forge to stand beside Arwin. “Does a monkey swim?”

“I’m pretty sure some monkeys can—”

“You’re missing the point,” Wallace snapped, prodding Arwin in the chest with a burly finger. “Do you know what makes a dwarven smith what they are, lad? Is it talent? Is it their great burly muscles and handsome faces full of black bushy beards?”

Arwin’s eyes narrowed. He was pretty sure Wallace was just describing himself.

“No?”

“No is correct!” Wallace poked Arwin again. “It is passion. We are the best smiths because we care the most. We do more than hammer metal, boy. We bring it to life. That is our purpose, and we love it. But do you know what happens to passion when you pick it apart with a fine comb? When you pause to wonder if you can instead of simply doing?”

“You avoid making a mistake?”

“You avoid becoming yourself,” Wallace corrected. “Mistakes are inevitable. Failure is the road which leads to success. You’ll never get anywhere without screwing up.”

“I’d normally completely agree with you, but I don’t exactly have infinite time or chances here.” Arwin set the ingot down on the anvil and crossed his arms. “Or have you forgotten we’re going to have to fight if you don’t like what I make?”

“See, there’s your problem.” Wallace shook his head. “Let’s think this through, oaf. Between you and that lass of yours, who makes the better plans?”

“Lillia. No doubt about it.”

“Very good. That is because she is not a smith. She’s a schemer, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But when you’re in a fight — when do you perform best? When you’re trying to come up with some fancy plan?”

“I try to leave that to Lillia as of late. I’m better at just hitting things,” Arwin admitted. “I don’t think I’m that bad at plans, but—”

“Don’t want to hear it.” Wallace lifted a hand and shook his head. “I’m not satisfied with ‘not that bad’. Are you? Is that all you aspire to be?”

“No.” Arwin blew out a breath. “Of course not.”

“Right. So you know what gets you the best result in a fight. Fighting.” Wallace beat a hand against his chest. “Plans are important, but you aren’t the best at making them. That’s why we don’t fight alone. Everyone fulfills their role. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I’ve had a similar discussion with them before,” Arwin admitted. “But what does this have to do with me not thinking about what I’m doing? Planning and making sure I don’t get myself killed because I jumped into something are two very different—”

“We agree that you find yourself best served doing what it is you are actually good at, and that following passion and instinct serves you better than thinking everything through for an hour under normal circumstances. Am I correct?”

“Well, yes. Under normal—”

“What makes you think that suddenly changes because you’ve only got one chance?” Wallace cut Arwin off once again and arched an eyebrow. “If you find the best results when you act on instinct in every other scenario, then why do you think it’ll suddenly change just because you’ve got less time? It’s the same damn scenario. Nothing is different.”

Arwin blinked. His mouth parted slightly, then closed. He couldn’t think of anything to refute the dwarf’s words.

“I — huh. I suppose you’re correct.”

Wallace smirked and clapped Arwin on the shoulder. It would have been a bit easier to take him completely seriously if he hadn’t had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach it.

“I generally am. Nothing wrong with planning. Nothing wrong with following passion — but there is something wrong with trying to make yourself something you aren’t. There’s a time for thinking. This ain’t it.”

With that, Wallace turned and headed back to his corner of the smithy. Arwin stood by the anvil, a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched the dwarf leave. He looked back down to the bar of steel lying in wait.

No planning… I don’t know. When I fight on my own, I do end up performing the best when acting on instinct. But when Lillia is there to help plan things out and give us a real strategy, I’m even more effective.

Maybe coming up with a complete plan myself isn’t the right move, but I got incredible results when I worked together with her.

Arwin’s eyes widened as an idea rolled through his mind. That was it. The advantage he had that no other smith did. Working with Lillia — but not just her. If he could do it with Lillia, then he could do it with others. Other people… and other things.

“I can speak with materials,” Arwin muttered to himself as a light lit behind his eyes. “Not just the ones I’m smithing, but the ones I’m using.”

“What was that, boy?” Wallace asked.

A smile crawled across Arwin’s face and he turned back to the dwarf, picking up the Mithril and steel bars. He knew what he had to do.

I’m not meant to just use a forge. I have to become one with it. And if I’m going to do that… I know just the place.

“I know what to do, but I’m going to need a little help.”

“Oh?” Wallace tilted his head to the side. “I’m not crafting it for you. No help from other people. That defeats the point.”

“Not that kind of help.” Arwin chuckled and slipped the metal bars into his pockets. “I need you to come back with me to the Infernal Armory.”

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