The Return of Elderfine

The town of Korma was the largest outer town of the realms, known for its grain beer, its artistry and, of course, sword makers.

In an unimpressive looking blacksmith shop, Hanna beat the hot metal forging it with her will and physical strength; the bellows of her forge providing the needed heat. This piece of work was rushed. She would use a standard mould, no sculpturing of the metal and the hilt would be plain. She’d used the finest raw ore, because she used nothing else, but without the process of heating and folding, heating and folding it would not be the strong sword it could be.

A few more strikes on the anvil with her favourite hammer and the job was done. She peered down at her work and it broke her heart to see the sword that could be something great just something practical. The town guard would pay well, though, and as the 100 year war drew to an end, she needed the regular income.

The sun was beginning to set, when a commotion broke out in the streets. The familiar clatter of steel reached her ears; a fight had broken out! Gormans Street, where her blacksmithy stood, was on the main street of Korma, so she would often have front row seat to personal feuds and if she was lucky she might catch a glimpse of one of her swords in action.

Then she saw it! It was Elderfine, the precision blade, wielded by Sir Gregory. It was her finest piece of work commissioned over 10 years ago and had taken her 2 years to forge. It was the pinnacle of all her efforts, folded 2000 times and bonded with the magic of the rite of Argo’s, this sword was one made for legends.

She wiped her cheeks, wiping away the tears of pride. The setting sun shone on the blade and runes seem to glow a subtle orange in that warm light. In that moment she remembered why she had chosen to take up the smithy on the offer to replace him; why she had given up a life on the road of adventure and exploration for a larger cause. A cause to make swords for the war.

Sir Gregory, sword in hand, faced down a large Frigarian. One of the largest of the race she had ever seen, in fact, but this is not what interested Hanna. The sword the Frigarian held was Banesblade, the butcher. It was the stuff of legend, made by Artisor the great, the most renowned sword maker in all the 7 kingdoms.

The two wariors fought swords clashing, striking. They parried and lunged, while Hanna savoured the experience of seeing Elderfine again in its element. She wanted to cry out, run into the street and take Elderfine, it was a thing of beauty, it was a once in a life time creation.

As the sun set the Frigarian lunged forward in a huge overhead swing. With nowhere to retreat, Sir Gregory raised Elderfine up to block the blow. The sword took the full weight of both the Frigarian and Banesblade. Sir Gregory buckled under the weight, Elderfine plunging to the ground as Banesblade bore down into his neck taking his life.

The battle over, Sir Gregory’s body lay limp in the street, Elderfine some how landing and lying on his feet. Hanna could hardly believe it, Elderfine had taken all that Banesblade could give and the blade had not dulled. While the wielder was clearly a simpleton, her blade had just become the thing of legend…at least in her mind.

The Frigarian wiped the blood on Sir Gregory’s cloak and Elderfine caught his eye. For a moment Hanna’s heart felt like it stopped beating. Would this warrior take Elderfine? How many more battles would it see and how many victories would it take? Would her work become legend?

The Frigarian sheathed Banesblade and folded his mass into a crouch, cupping a meaty hand under the pommel of Elderfine. He turned it over, carefully inspecting its unmarred state, then his eyes came to a rest on Hanna's mark. He paused a moment then looked up at the sign above her smithy. A slight smile flittered across his face and he stood, Elderfine grasped in hand. He paused a moment, looking back down at Sir Gregory, then with one swift movement, Elderfine sliced through his sword belt and this man mountain had relieved him of his scabbard.

Was it excitement or fear Hanna felt as he strode towards her? His eyes took her in briefly, then he was looking in at her smithy coming to a stop a few feet away from her. Hanna was by no mean small, herself, but this Frigarian towered over her by at least two heads and she felt like he could be twice her breadth. Yet the lightness and agility with which he moved belied his size.

“Why do you make such crude weapons when you can create the kind of magnificence I now hold in my hand?” He was looking at the guardsman’s sword, cooling on the bench.

“I have to eat,” she found herself replying absently while her attention was drawn to Elderfine.

He nodded slightly, then followed her gaze.
“It's been ten years since I last held Elderfine in my hands,” Hanna murmured, tenderly reaching out to caress the blade.

“Rest assured Elderfine will have a more capable master than its first. I know just the warrior to wield this fine blade” Then he looked pointedly at Hanna, “and now I know just the sword maker to craft the blade I came here for.”

He thrust Elderfine's scabbard into Hanna's unsuspecting hands and promptly drew Banesblade with his freed hand. Held side by side the significant difference in size could be seen between the two swords and it was apparent that Elderfine was not a suitable sword for a Frigarian, especially not one as large as him.

“Will you make another this fine, for one of my own? It would sit in size and weight between these two.” His rumbling voice asked humbly.

“Come inside, I will need to acquaint and re-aquaint myself with these two blades, then I can start today.” Hanna felt anticipation rising within her and her voice almost tremored, “By what name should I address you?”

“Armaros.”

Of course, this name she already knew, Armaros the undefeated, wielder of Banesblade. Only foolish men tried to prove their worth by starting a duel with him.

“I am Hanna,” she almost stammered.

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