A loud, repetitive clang could be heard in the air around the hillside. It was a sound sound. It had a perfect rhythm and beat to it that was perfectly consistent as you heard a metal object strike another metal object. A hammer, striking down on heated steal over the smith’s anvil. A smith of years of practice and training since he was a boy, continued to improve his craft little by little, inch by inch, strike by strike, clang by clang.
As one further went to the hillside they would find a secluded little house made of wood and stone. It was two stories tall and next to it was a small garden in full bloom, filled with anything that could be grown in such a small place from tomatoes to potatoes. A sign was perched atop the door that said “The Frontline” that indicated it was more than just somebody’s home. Was it an inn? Of course it wasn’t. You wouldn’t hear the clashing sounds that echoed throughout the hillside at an inn. It was the shop of a blacksmith.
If you walked in through the door a bell perched at the doors outer edge would chime to let the shop owner know someone had come in. There would be swords and lances lined up around the end of the shop with price tags all around it to indicate what their prices were. Limbless manikins were strategically placed around the front room to show case the armor available. Some were leather, some were iron, some steel, some copper. Some were plated and some were chainmail. Each labeled a price. You would also find two barrels in one of the back corners of the room. One was filled with wooden training blades and was labeled as such. The other was filled with other swords but they were labeled at an unreasonably cheap price. They were rusty and battered well beyond repair and melting them down would cause the rust to mix in and any blade made of them would be useless.
There was a counter at the back with a bell on it you could ring if you were seeking the smith’s services. Behind the counter was an array of masterpieces mounted on the wall. None of them had price tags on them but were well adorned and all had some sort of magic seal on them. It was a collection of masterful works that were made by the previous owner but never got sold to anyone. The current owner was good but not as good as to make the legend shattering pieces on display on the back of his wall.
To one corner you would find a door which opened to lead to a stairway to which you would find the smith’s living quarters. Next to that door would be an opening. Through that opening was the forge. The light of the forges burning flames could be seen through the doorless doorway. Inside lay what was a mess on the outer edges of building materials. A work bench on one side was the only place with some organization. One of the walls was gone to let air in to avoid overheating and to provide a way to escape should a fire start and get out of control. The 3 walls were entirely stone and so was the floor, unlike the shop which was mostly made of wood. Inside here you could see the smith staring down at his anvil with what seemed like disinterest as he struck the steel he held over the anvil with metal pliers. Yet he was not uninterested. He was perfectly focused on his blade as he put the finishing touches on it and dipped it into the water to cool. The steam billowed around as the water rapidly cooled the hot steel before placing it on a wood stand to allow it to cool, where many other blades already were. He heaved a sigh as his standard work for the day was done. He finished it early too and had no special orders for the day to work on. He grabbed a wet rag nearby and flung it over his face as he wiped the sweat from his unmoving and unflinching brow, thinking he might as well work on the garden for a while before going at a game of solitaire or perhaps just lying back and watching the clouds.
As one further went to the hillside they would find a secluded little house made of wood and stone. It was two stories tall and next to it was a small garden in full bloom, filled with anything that could be grown in such a small place from tomatoes to potatoes. A sign was perched atop the door that said “The Frontline” that indicated it was more than just somebody’s home. Was it an inn? Of course it wasn’t. You wouldn’t hear the clashing sounds that echoed throughout the hillside at an inn. It was the shop of a blacksmith.
If you walked in through the door a bell perched at the doors outer edge would chime to let the shop owner know someone had come in. There would be swords and lances lined up around the end of the shop with price tags all around it to indicate what their prices were. Limbless manikins were strategically placed around the front room to show case the armor available. Some were leather, some were iron, some steel, some copper. Some were plated and some were chainmail. Each labeled a price. You would also find two barrels in one of the back corners of the room. One was filled with wooden training blades and was labeled as such. The other was filled with other swords but they were labeled at an unreasonably cheap price. They were rusty and battered well beyond repair and melting them down would cause the rust to mix in and any blade made of them would be useless.
There was a counter at the back with a bell on it you could ring if you were seeking the smith’s services. Behind the counter was an array of masterpieces mounted on the wall. None of them had price tags on them but were well adorned and all had some sort of magic seal on them. It was a collection of masterful works that were made by the previous owner but never got sold to anyone. The current owner was good but not as good as to make the legend shattering pieces on display on the back of his wall.
To one corner you would find a door which opened to lead to a stairway to which you would find the smith’s living quarters. Next to that door would be an opening. Through that opening was the forge. The light of the forges burning flames could be seen through the doorless doorway. Inside lay what was a mess on the outer edges of building materials. A work bench on one side was the only place with some organization. One of the walls was gone to let air in to avoid overheating and to provide a way to escape should a fire start and get out of control. The 3 walls were entirely stone and so was the floor, unlike the shop which was mostly made of wood. Inside here you could see the smith staring down at his anvil with what seemed like disinterest as he struck the steel he held over the anvil with metal pliers. Yet he was not uninterested. He was perfectly focused on his blade as he put the finishing touches on it and dipped it into the water to cool. The steam billowed around as the water rapidly cooled the hot steel before placing it on a wood stand to allow it to cool, where many other blades already were. He heaved a sigh as his standard work for the day was done. He finished it early too and had no special orders for the day to work on. He grabbed a wet rag nearby and flung it over his face as he wiped the sweat from his unmoving and unflinching brow, thinking he might as well work on the garden for a while before going at a game of solitaire or perhaps just lying back and watching the clouds.
![Novice [250]](https://i.imgur.com/lrYlde6.png)
