Chapter 4.3

Urinoa led the way as they moved from the lobby and further into the building. The spacious hallways were clearly made with the tall, broad frame of a Vulcan in mind, which left Soren and Syr looking quite small in scale to it while Urinoa was even smaller in comparison to it. Some of the rooms they passed had a notable heat passing through the doors, no doubt rooms meant for forging and what not.

Eventually they reached a rather ornate door further down the passage, Urinoa gesturing for Soren to open the upper doorknob… and they were immediately met by the sound of metal slamming into metal.

From the door, the room spread out into the wide space of a blacksmith’s forge. Room for boxes of materials in one corner, enough space to ensure there would be little danger to those who may observe the process. Pipes running along the ceiling and to the burning furnace that washed heat throughout the room, hissing with steam that was then sent upwards to escape the building. Multiple racks of finely made weapons of all kinds were arranged at one of the walls in various stages of completion, from bare blades yet to have their hilts or hafts installed, to weapons all but finished except for final detailing.

And standing at the main forge, hard at work with enchanted hammer slamming into the burning metal set to his anvil was the forge master himself.

Towering above those who had entered, his tied back, braided hair burned as red as the fires of his forge, a shortly kept beard defining his strong face, and his eyes a burning amber so intensely focused on his task one doubted he even noticed his visitors entering. The muscles of his large arms bulged through the sleeves of his work clothing with each swing he took, skin tanned from excessive time at the forge and marked by numerous scars telling of the former life of a warrior.

“Excuse me! Dómhall, it’s me! Little Noa!” called the gnome, her face souring as she failed to get the attention of the working smith. “Absorbed in his work completely again, eh? He’s always like this.”

“Not so absorbed I can’t see when someone enters my forge, Little Noa,” a deep, rumbling chuckle came from Dómhall even as he continued to hammer away. “I’m almost done with this blade; we can speak once I get it cooled and on the rack with the others.”

“Sure sure, take your time ya’ old bull, we can be patient.”

“Take a seat you three, feel free to observe.”

A convenient set of chairs was indeed nearby, the three visitors taking them to watch the smith do his work. There was a mesmerizing, methodical way that Dómhall hammered away that kept attention on his work. The runes of his hammer gleamed with every strike to the metal as he gave it shape with each blow, the hand holding the clamp on the blade masterfully moving it with care and precision to match the pace of his hammer.

There wasn’t even a bit of chatter from the three observers as they watched the man do his work, silence brought by the sensation of watching someone who was a master of their craft so easily go about their process so naturally it became a flow of actions.

The thing that finally pulled them out of that trance was the hiss of steam as Dómhall drove the blade into the cooling vat.

“And there, I can get to the inlays when we’re done,” Dómhall drew the cooled blade and let it rest on the anvil, giving his hammer a spin as he turned to his guests. “Sorry for the wait Noa, work is work. And these orders for the Zenith crew are being pretty time consuming.”

“Oh, I’d imagine,” Urinoa chuckled as she stood on her chair. “You and the boys must be on full time orders with the size of the order being sent out. How’s it coming along anyway?”

“Most of the forged components are about done, that blade I just finished up was one of the last we needed. We’ll be getting to the fittings and final inscriptions tomorrow. How’re things looking on the transport end?”

“Ah don’t worry, the Hunter’s Guild has the payment arranged and’ll be sending their convoy to pick everything up on time. I’m basically just here to help run inventory on the supply. Buuut…” Urinoa looked to Soren and Syr. “I think these two can be attended too first. We can talk business once they’re on their way.”

“Hahaha, of course, of course!” Dómhall wiped his hands off on his smith’s apron, turning to Soren in turn. “About time you got here. How was the job in Vanira?”

“Usual fare helping out the College,” Soren remarked. “Some more testing on the latest go at Armaros Drakes and what not. Actually, had to fight another one after getting back ‘cause it got smuggled out. The little miss here lent a hand.”

“A pleasure to meet you. Syr Fleyldis, at your service.”

“Dómhall Emberstone,” a gruff yet somewhat expected introduction from the Vulcan. “Since Noa and I got business, let’s try and be quick about it eh? How’s Hyperion holding up?”

“No problems at all, as usual,” Soren drew the sword, handing it over to the Vulcan. “She’s a magitech sword made by you after all. I doubt even dragon scale would damage that blade when I fire her off.”

“Can never be too sure,” Dómhall set the sword onto his anvil as he eyed if over, running a hand along the blade, causing the runic markings on the flat to softly glow under his touch. “Ms. Fleyldis, care to hear the story about how this blade came to be?”

“I admit I’m curious.”

“Oh, here we go…” Soren rolled his eyes, but his tone was one of amusement.

“It starts with the old traditions of the Sword Saints,” began the smith. “Those who founded the Academy were the finest masters of each martial school across the world. Laguna, Vulcanus, Zhen, Asmora, Siatzor, and Vanir. Six Styles, Six Saints. It became tradition at the academy then, that those who were considered worthy to also gain the rank of a Sword Saint would have special blades forged for them by some of the finest masters across the world.”

“He really likes this story,” Urinoa whispered, Syr giggling.

“Hush now, small one,” Dómhall’s rumbling chuckle was met with Urinoa snickering. “For this blade though, it’s one of four I forged some years back for such a ceremony. A rare year where for once, the SSA didn’t get their coveted new Six Saints to add to their number, only four. Four young swordsmen who were able to prove themselves worthy of the title, and so, only four blades… only proving themselves though, after an expedition through the Ascian Ruins beneath the Academy that are used as the testing grounds.”

“You’ve been to those kinds of ruins before?!” Syr looked to Soren with an appalled gaze, the Freelancer giving a sigh.

“The only reason the ruins are used is because they’ve long been cleared out,” Soren said. “Though… let’s just say that year, me and my fellow would-be Sword Saints uhm… stumbled onto something.”

“A Destructor-class Ascian Automech,” Dómhall’s statement brought Syr to go wide-eyed, her ears fluttering as she stared at Soren in sheer disbelief. “The kind of Automech that Vulcanic and Dwarven Artificers drool over trying to recreate thanks to their sheer complexity and power. And four idiot students happened to come across one because they diverted from the usual path used for the testing.”

“Almost died,” Soren remarked. “But… we also fought it because we knew if it got loose, a lot of people would’ve been hurt… wasn’t easy.”

“No wonder Manas said you have stories to tell!” Syr remarked, Soren looking away as he shut his eyes. “You need to tell me about that later!”

“Hahahahaha!” Dómhall’s raucous laugh about shook the forge from how bellowing it was. “If you want to embarrass poor Soren, go ahead and ask incessantly! He’s as proud of it as he is embarrassed for doing something so reckless. However, since they succeeded, the masters of the Academy had an idea: Have their swords forged out of the armor of the Automech, as proof of their accomplishment and a reminder of what they were capable of.”

“I did hear Manas mention that sword was forged out of Automech metals…”

“Indeed,” Dómhall ran his hand along the blade again. A prideful gentleness was behind his touch. “And I was the smith who got the honors of doing so. Ascian Automech armor is almost entirely made of incredibly rare orichalcum alloys, the kind we still don’t have the means to reproduce today… well, aside from Hihi’irogane ore found in Yamato, but they aren’t keen on exporting that stuff. A smith’s pride is getting to make a weapon out of the best materials to be found, and I got to forge four blades out of the stuff.”

“Is there… something that makes Soren’s sword more interesting then?” Syr asked, Dómhall nodding. Soren took the turn to speak next, however.

“Part of it is because, as you were able to guess, I’m trained in the Continuation Style, which is a variant on the Lagunan Style with some elements of Vanir and Zhen mixed in. As a result, I needed a sword with a bit more… refinement to it. Something to use with a style that blends magic with swordsmanship like mine does.”

“It’s all in the crystal core here,” Dómhall gave a press to the sword’s trigger, causing the panels near the crystalline core built into it to open. “It’s the same thing that was powering the very Destructor we salvaged the metals from. Ascian metals, an Ascian crystal to empower them… Hyperion is my magnum opus as a smith, even its sister blades don’t boast the same power it does. As such, I’d throw this kid into my furnace if he ever stopped bringing her back to me to make sure she’s in the best shape possible.”

Dómhall released the trigger, then flipped the blade around, holding it out to Soren. The Freelancer reclaimed the blade with a respectful, slow grasp.

“You’ve done a good job at keeping her in good shape, no need for some touching up this time. You good on oils and tools?”

“I’ll get new vial on the way out,” Soren chuckled as he placed the sword back to its sheathe. “Glad to know I’m still safe too. Also, I wanted to ask if you know someone who specializes in magical catalysts. Syr here has her own special little graduate’s gift in a staff made of silverwood, so she’s gonna need someone good at Weaving to do checks on it.”

“If you would be so kind, of course,” said Syr, giving a respectful bow of her head. “I’m no slouch at Weaving myself and can do basic maintenance on my staff just fine. But it never hurts to have a master’s touch, of course.”

“Hmm, a master Weaver for a College made staff, huh?” Dómhall started scratching at his beard as he slipped into thought. “Ah, right! You’ll wanna visit a shop back in the Guild District. It’s run by a friend of mine from Vanira, her name’s Carys. Her shop is a reliable source for things mages in general need, like spell components and catalysts. She’s also a former Weaver who did work with the College, so if you need someone to check a staff made for a graduate like you, go to her. I’ll send her a message so she’s expecting you. Not much one for surprised, that woman. And her shop’s name is The Autumn Leaf. You should find it on Ainsel Avenue.”

“Thank you very much,” Syr bowed her head again. “I suppose we may have passed by the place when Soren and I visited the Silver Scale.”

“You seen any others besides Amber Dawn and Silver Scale?” asked Urinoa.

“Not yet… though they may be the two I’m most interested in. I’m planning to do some extra research before I really make a final choice though.”

“Well, I’d suggest not taking too long,” said the gnome. “It’s a big choice, and one you want to take time on… buuut, depending on your goals, also not one to dawdle over. It’s careful consideration for sure.”

“So, everyone keeps telling me,” Syr chuckled. “Well… should we be going? You two do have business after all, and I’d hate to take up time you two clearly need.”

“Oh please, it’s nothing at all!” Urinoa chuckled. “And hey, if you ever need someone to help you appraise things you find on your future ventures, don’t be afraid to call yours truly! Appraisal is one of my best talents, and I have quite the interest in old era relics. I’m sure I can help get very good prices for some finds.”

“Greedy as ever,” Dómhall shook his head. “When you find the time to visit Carys, be sure to pass on my regards. And Soren, remember, clean and oil the blade at least every couple days even if you’re not doing much fighting. Those magitech components won’t conduct well if they’re not cleaned out.”

“You’ve only told me a dozen times,” Soren snickered, then shaking hands with the smith. “Good luck on filling out that order. And hey, if luck has it, I may just be heading to the Zenith Frontier. Noa’s little rumor’s got me interested in what could go down.”

“Well then, good luck you two!”

Urinoa waved the two out as they went for the door. Soren went about doing as he said and bought a vial of blade oil before they left the smith. And Syr was quick to make her complaints about the noise once again as they headed back to the train station. And after going so far, Syr was welcome to the idea of simply heading back to the Amber Dawn to get some rest in and start thinking things over.

She had plenty to consider now after all. Best to do so while relaxing somewhere.

-----

By the time evening was rolling around, Syr found herself with eyes locked to the holo-screen of the convenient computer within her temporary room at the Amber Dawn. Such a terminal was proving to be a wealth of information for her to dig into, having spent a few hours since returning looking into the different Guild Halls around the city and locations of other places that would likely be of use to a mage like her in the future.

And yet, even after hours of looking into other Mercenary and Investigator Guilds that could likely fit her interests, she found herself instead thinking back merely to Amber Sky and Silver Scale.

They’re probably the best choices I could make… thought the Alf, stepping away from the computer and sliding onto her bed, merely staring up into the ceiling. Sure, there’s other mage-oriented Guilds I could join, but like I’ve been told… it’s about my aims. Seeing the world, digging into its history… but also… testing myself as a mage. Proving myself to more than just the people at the College… that I’m more than some Priestess who can coast along with her natural talent.

With a sigh, Syr sat up, looking out of the window and to the city beyond once more.

Still… I didn’t expect Silver Scale to be run by someone my family knows… must be some kind of luck to run into one of Father’s old friends. He absolutely knows what’s going on… at least I know he won’t go and blow my secret… Syr stood and opened the window, leaning out so the air could blow through. And then there’s Soren… after hearing about how his sword was made… I’m more certain about it now than I was. Crystalline eyes that flow with ether, and somehow coming across an Ascian Automech in a place that should have been safe? It has to be… he has to be one of them.

Looking out to the sky, Syr’s eyes soon locked on the small but notable silhouette against the twilight sky. Anyone in the world would know about the Flying Cities. Mysteries as eternal as the Ascian’s they knew built them. Yet another thing she desperately wanted to know more of, to find the answers to, through one means or another.

Stepping away from the window, Syr flopped back down to the bed, letting all her breath leave in a deep, contemplative sigh. After a few quiet moments, she opened her eyes, and soon, a calm, assured smile spread across her face.

“I just need to make the choice that makes sure I’m around him… maybe this is its own kind of luck. Could it be fate at play? Maybe… hmhmhm… I suppose now my choice is made.”