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| Storytime |
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I sat in awe. The smells and sounds always bring me back, decades before I stepped onto the path of the world. I see the hulking form of my grandfather in his toughened apron, standing before the forge's light. His strong scent mixing in the air of creation that permeats his workshop. Long have I gazed into that fire, and watched the shaping of worlds before my eyes, worlds of steel and iron, lined with golden and silver rivers. A mortal walking by gods is how I felt at his fires. Clang, clang, clang. That was the lullaby sang to me for many nights, and my mother would come, walking through the soot with hardly a care, but never apart of it. No rogue ember nor airborne soot dared to fall on her. She would admonish grandfather for letting me stay all night, and he would just grin and continue the pounding and forming the shapeless to his will.
Mother understood of course. The metal was in my blood, forgefire burned in my mind and heart. Occasionally, Grandfather would sing during his work. His deep, rich voice givng praise to Halunaentetys for all the bounty she gives to her people. On very rare visits, he would set aside his work and have me come close to sit by his knee. These times were very special, ones reminisent of what he once had done with my father. He would recount the old legends and tales of our peoples, glories of the past and tragedies as well.
Still to this day, whenever I find myself in the forge, the sounds and smells take me back to that time. |
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| Associated Regions: Phocacia, Curmeah |
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| From the journal of Arung El-Garganth |
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Contributor: Mike Garland |
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