Diet of Steel

By: Synbios Posted on: March 31, 2010

It was sleeping, when it felt the distinct sound of footsteps. Raising its head, it could barely make out an approaching shape of a Troll. It did, however, sense one thing: that this person was a friend, a very good friend, an incredibly-very-honest-to-goodness good friend. Feeling something solid placed on its paws, it recognized the item as something made of steel. A cold, delicious steel sword. Swiftly, the drooling mouth opened wide, and the blade was pushed into its infinitely hungry maw, to be digested with countless others of its kind.

Without so much as a burp, the humgii settled down. It was a good day for a steel diet.

---

Kavaya and Murad had just finished putting out the flames of the forge when they saw the Troll again. Sighing, Kavaya turned to him.

"The blade was not to your satisfaction?"

A shake of the head and a scowl were his only replies. Replies the three of them have grown used to.

"Ah well. Murad, if you please...?"

Snorting amusedly, the blacksmith proceeded to perform the required measurements of the Troll's arms and body.

"Gods, your arms are long. If I didn't know any better, Mhaldor must've put you through the rack for a year or two."

Snickering, the Troll replied, "All the better to reach out and crush them over the head." His brow wrinkling, he added, "Shouldn't you just record my arm measurements to make it easier for yourself?"

"Would love to, but given that people like you change over the years, I like each measurement to always stay...updated. Turn around, please." Murad began measuring the length of the Troll's back, before motioning him to sit on a bench. Nodding, the Troll obliged, blinking his eyes a few times as Murad began to stare intently at his face.

Concentrating, the blacksmith began to focus on the Troll, feeling for the Blademaster spirit unique to each practitioner. After a moment, he gave a brief nod.

"Alright, to forge your very own Blademaster sword," he gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like "again", "I need you to bring me the following: Ash from the tree that once held Three Moons, a lump of copper, and a fiery orange rose."

"Wait," the Troll said, "Remind me again as to how a rose will help with the forging of my bla..."

"DO NOT QUESTION YOUR BLADEMASTER SPIRIT!" interrupted Murad, startling the Troll. "Now go forth and bring me the materials I have requested from you."

It took the Troll several days to gather the materials, but gather them he did. Presenting them to Murad one night, the Troll stood back as the blacksmith began the delicate process of forging his Blademaster sword. As the hammer began to beat down on the alloy of steel and copper, the Troll opened his mouth to ask "What was the rose for agai...?" before a sharp rap on the back of his head, delivered by Kavaya, silenced him.

Murad, satisfied by the shape of the blade, then dipped the red-hot steel alloy in ice-cold water, mixed with ash, before sharpening it to a razor edge. The Troll stood by, eagerness in his eyes as the blacksmith began to add finishing touches to the hilt, handle and pommel.

"With this blade, which will mark your readiness for combat, I give it a name that will reflect its personality and its wielder's potential. I hereby name your blade...Holy Cats!"

The Troll, approaching to receive the blade from Murad, froze mid-stride. A wooden smile played on his features as he bowed stiffly. "Er...Thank you, Murad. I will...cherish this blade as I...uh, strike down my enemies with its...fearsome edge." The blade still in his hands, he then left the campsite.

Murad turned to Kavaya with a smile. "It appears that our friend likes his new sword. Finally."

"Aye," the woman nodded, "Never saw anyone with such an unusual reaction."

"I look forward to this blademaster as he makes his mark on the world." They grinned brightly, before turning in for the evening.

---

It was sleeping, when it felt the distinct sound of footsteps. Raising its head, it could barely make out an approaching shape of a Troll. It did, however, sense one thing: that this person was a friend, a very good friend, an incredibly-very-honest-to-goodness good friend. Feeling something solid placed on its paws, it recognized the item as something made of steel. A cold, delicious steel sword. Swiftly, the drooling mouth opened wide, and the blade was pushed into its infinitely hungry maw, to be digested with countless others of its kind.

Without so much as a burp, the humgii settled down. It was a good day for a steel diet.

The rosy aftertaste was a nice touch, too.