Thwack

With enough time having past for the bronze to cool, giddy with excitement I cracked open the wooden framed mold and dumped out its contents. Peeking out from the pile of clumped sand, was the tell-tell warm, coppery-brown hue of bronze. Tapping the metal first to make sure that is was cool enough to handle, I pulled out the bronze knife. Its still rough, slightly pitted surface already reflecting the sunlight.

Taking the brand new somewhat shiny bronze knife to the cooking area, that was still swarming with the frightening sight of a group goblins ravenously tearing into meat and went to the large flat rock I had used previously, and stated beating the shit out of the freshly minted knife.

The loud bangs drew the attention of everyone around me, and Zarra seeing me callously beating the new, shiny blade, called out to me with a bit of panic, "what are you doing? Why are you smashing the knife?"

Calmly, while continuing my best caveman impression, I replied between swings, "this kind of … metal doesn't hold a …. temper. So to harden …. It, you need to do what …. is called work hardening," pausing my swinging before turning to look at Zarra and finishing with, "otherwise known as smashing it with a rock."

Taking the now scuffed and pitted blade with me as the shocked and confused faces of the goblins fallowed me as I took out one of the harder fine grit stones from my trip and sitting next to one of the large clay jugs that the goblins had made in my absence that were filled with water. I started polishing the blade and slowly adding a bevel.

After lots, and lots, and lots of drawing the blade back and forth over the stone, occasionally adding water, I finally had a nicely polished blade with bevel coming to a shape enough edge to shave. During this most of the goblins finished eating and realizing that this would take a while to finish hand wandered off to work on other things.

Realizing that I had gotten a little ahead of myself, I took the blade with a still exposed tang outside and selecting one of the decently large branches that had been accumulating as the goblins gathered them to feed their growing pottery addiction, I sat down to make a handle. Instead of using my knife, I envision a blade of air like the one I used this morning, but only extending past the tip of my finger a few inches and vibrating back and forth quickly.

Slowly lowering my extending finger towards the branch, as my mana drained away, and quickly blocking out two hand sized lengths of wood. Next, I carefully shaved the wood until it was slightly rounded and holding the pieces felt okay in my hand, I then carved out two holes along the in-progress handle. Grabbing a bit of the plane coper I shaped it into cylindrical pins using alchemy.

Having gotten to the assembly faze, I started melting some resin on one of the broken pieces of pottery near the fire, I spread it on the backs of the wooden halves of the grip, before fitting the copper pins and pressing everything together. Afterwards placing one side of the pins slightly protruding from the handle on the trusty flat rock and hammering it with another rock to cause the ends to balloon out, riveting the whole thing together.

Lastly using some of the softer course stones around, to sand the handle getting rid of the seams and making everything flush, then taking some of the fat from the meat skewers, I rubbed it into the handle to seal the wood.

Proudly holding up the completed knife, a 6 inch long, 2 inch wide blade with the taper curving to a point towards the tip. Excited by my completed work I went to the cave and started showing it off. Several of the goblins gave a mix of oohs and aahs, a greedy glint occasionally flashing through their eyes.

When the goblins started vying for the dagger, I decided that it would probably be best to let Nassa manage the knife. Considering I mainly made it as a practice piece, I wasn't overly concerned with what happened to it after it was completed.

Pushing through the gathering goblins I found Nassa sitting deeper into the cave, and after a simple greeting, I said, "I just finished the first metal tool, but I don't know how best to managed it for the benefit of the camp. I was wondering if you would decide how it should be used," as I presented the knife to her.

Nassa grabbed the blade from me and with a nod, she tiredly replied, "thank you, I will see that finds a good owner."

Having pushed the responsibility of the knife to Nassa, I left the cave with many of the goblins struggling to decide between fallowing me, or to go bother the elderly Goblin. Returning my working area, I immediately set to finally make a weapon I was familiar with.

The German Messer, a blade of both practicality and brutality, had always held a certain charm for me. Originally made as a poor persons' blade to circumvent sword carrying laws, before exploding in popularity and spreading across Europe.

I began the painstaking process of carving the Messer's shape out of wood . With each careful cut, I followed the contours of the blade, using my knife and crude stone tools to etch the design with precision. The scent of the oak filled the air, mingling with the lingering smoke from the furnace.

Time passed unnoticed, the sun progressing across the sky before kissing the horizon, as I lost myself in the work. Wood shavings piled up around me, like leaves in autumn, as I focused on each stroke, each detail, the knowledge of my swordsmanship from my previous world guiding my now somewhat practiced hand.

Mackinzie eventually coming to get me for dinner, hovered over my shoulder watching me work, before calling to dinner. As I put down mostly finished wooden sword blade, I turned to follow her, but the world around me seemed to slow as I watched a crude arrow streak through the air. The twang of the bowstring echoed in my ears, a sharp snap that signaled the release of death. The arrow hissed through the air, a sinister swish that sliced through the silence of the clearing.

My heart pounded, and time itself seemed to freeze as the arrow found its mark. It struck Mackinzie in the shoulder with a gruesome, wet thud. The sound was a sickening mix of a heavy impact and the air being forced out of her lungs. A grotesque crunch followed as the arrowhead pierced flesh and bone, and then a final, pained groan escaped from her lips as she crumpled to the ground.