2 Coming of Age

Kalinar Storvath watched his father hammer away, the heat of the forge making him sweat even though he was watching from a distance. He loved the rhythmic beat of hammer against steel as his father willed yet another weapon into existence. However, this sword was special for it was his. Just like all in his family upon turning the age of fourteen it was time for him to receive his own sword.

He entered the forge and his father waved him over. Kalinar walked next to his father and asked, "How is it coming along?"

His father smiled and replied, "You tell me." Kalinar had been preparing to become a blacksmith since he was eight, and while not as good as his father in direct craftsmanship, he was his equal when it came to recognizing good craftsmanship.

"The metal is holding its shape well, and appears well tempered. Assuming you've used your own special techniques then the blade should hold well for cooling." He noticed his father grin but just for a moment, it was enough as he knew that his father was not one to show approval and following this trend he simply nodded.

"Just one last touch before the cooling." Kalinar knowing what he meant took a knife off the wall. The Storvaths had a tradition when it came to making blades for individuals, they believed in the ancient art of blood binding. Kalinar cut his hand and squeezed his hand and slowly let his blood drip onto the blade, listening to the sizzle.

After the ritual his father quenched the blade and after checking for cracks was satisfied to find none. He pulled out the hilt he had ordered, "Now for the final touch." It wasn't a grand hilt but it was by no means simple. The cross guard was slightly angled up to catch swords and the pommel had a jutted out for bashing but, Kalinar noticed an engraving but unable to read it, he asked, "Father, What does the engraving say? I've never seen that language before."

His father nodded, "Nor would I expect you too, it's an ancient tongue known to very few. It says 'Gray is the Balance of Order.'" Kalinar knew not why those words resonated with him yet in his soul they found a resting place. As his father handed him the blade he looked at his reflection and saw his sickly yellow eyes.