11-20-2023, 09:08 PM
Many months have passed since I first ventured to these lands. I've learned a lot - too much, even - in this time, that I found myself thinking that maybe it would be time to put words to paper. Document my thoughts, my findings. Start detailing the journey I've taken, the roads I've crossed... Life probably has much more in store for me, which is why it would be best to start from the beginning, and go on.
It's foggy, really. A lot of my earlier memories. I still remember being born to a family of smiths, growing up with them. We weren't too fancy, but we valued the craft. Both my father and mother were so passionate about improving their skillset, and as a young baby I... well, I don't remember, specifically. But I'm told that whenever possible, at least one of them was watching over me. By the time I learned to walk and talk, it was no longer necessary to hold my hands. And I didn't want it that way, either - I was much more fascinated watching the two of them at work. They both were so dedicated to their craft, each of them with incredible skill to back up that dedication (or maybe the dedication gave them the skill they sought). My father, he could take even the most ridiculous request and breathe life into it. I remember often seeing him in his study, countless pages of drafts piled up, anguishing himself till dawn to get a perfect design. My mother, she was a master of precision - knowing just how to make the metal shaped to the form she had projected in her mind. Each of them were incredible, but some of their best works happened while together, as sometimes a request would come in that needed their combined minds to make just right.
It was under their care that I fell in love.
I hadn't even reached double digits when my parents caught me swinging hammers into metal. Not raw though - this incident in particular, I was just a child clanging a hammer into a shield. They told me I looked so happy doing so... And I believe them. I wanted to become just like them, but I couldn't have explained how back then. Even now I still find myself wondering what part fascinated me so heavily. I like to believe it was their commitment to honest hard work - They always wore such serious faces while working, ones that didn't want to leave even a single detail behind. It was about their commitment to their craft, the search for improvement. Maybe that was it... regardless, I soon started receiving some training, as my parents seemed... well, at first they were concerned for the shield I was smashing. Poor little me didn't understand back then. But they were overjoyed to see that I was so interested in their craft. It would be a while before I could actually be allowed to work as they did, but I was allowed to watch a little closer, and they would explain to me what they were doing while working - at least, while working on projects that didn't require their full attention. Most things that they explained weren't special orders, just practice for them, and I was to sit and listen to them as they worked through it. I still practice the basics to this day, but I can cover that later.
Come thirteen and I was ready to learn to fight. A part of the training regimen that I didn't learn to appreciate until recently, really. My father brought me to the local guard to work on my skills with the sword - he really only had that connection through supplying them with the weapons and armor they required, as well as more intricate maintenance. So I was able to watch their training, as well as learn some swordplay myself. Originally I didn't have my heart in the training, as I mostly learned because my parents obliged. Father said that "you would need these skills", and at the time I didn't really understand, so I just kept obliging these lessons. They would, of course, help when it came to the hunts, and even the younger me wasn't that much of a slouch. But past hunting animals, young me didn't really spend too much time focusing on why I needed to learn combative skills.
At fifteen I would realize this. A beast had made its way into town, and my family, myself included, went to help the guardsmen push it back. I was still hotheaded, and I was using the gear I'd made for this. At this time I'd still been wondering why it was that what I made never passed father's inspections, and he would never tell me. It was rebellious of me to use my equipment, but I went for it. This monster, however, was strong. The guard were only barely on even footing with it, victory leaning towards the beast's side until we arrived. Equipment in hand, I started to fight as best as I could, hacking, slashing away. It was visible to anyone there that my lessons under the guards directly weren't taken to heart, as I mostly did what I liked, what had already worked when fighting game. I had nothing else on my mind, just fighting what was in front of me... until my hubris caught up.
The sword in my hands had not been used much at all, this one newly smithed after my last one had ran out of time from game hunting. That should have been a sign, but my parents were stern in their guidance. So stern that only when the blade of my weapon snapped off would I have come to understand. So strict with their conviction to make me learn that only when my shield was punctured, and my armor improperly affixed, did I realize what had happened. Fear ran through me as it gazed down upon my form, weakened, confidence and arrogance stripped... and then it fell over, defeated. Father and mother had been busy assaulting it while it focused on me, and the killing blow came shortly after.
The town celebrated that night in honor of the guardsmen, though they were busy recuperating after the fierce battle. Without their efforts my parents wouldn't have been able to take such a monster down - and I couldn't stand myself for being useless when the time came. I didn't take part in the festivities that night, because I was too busy despairing in my room. But at that time, they walked in on me. Walking up, mother took a nearby seat, while father, he... slapped me right across the face. The shock of it sent all my despair out the window as I looked into his eyes, confused, torn, until he spoke to me words that I remember to this day, words that I will never hope to forget.
"It is not the weapon that makes a warrior, nor the armor he wears. It is the soul he bares when he is needed."
I was confused, but he then started a proper lecture. The me who learned defeat had no reason to turn away in pride, and so I listened. Mother said nothing, simply nodding as he conveyed to me what it means to be a blacksmith.
It isn't about making the best armor and weapons. The incredible works of art I had come to admire weren't made because my parents sought an objective perfection. They wanted to create what was best for their client.
And the sword skills - they weren't for just hunting. They were so I could see the people who use what we make, to feel what they do in order to best create something for them. It was never a question of objective perfection... but a subjective one.
From that day my attitudes changed. I started dedicating myself to training properly with the rest of the guard, going as far as to spar with them to taste proper combat. I started to respect the metals that I laid my hammer upon, delicate in the process to make the best I can, but not for my own purposes - the best that I can give for others. If I found something to be best for me, then sure, I would use it, but it would be for me - not for the general public. As my focus returned, and I started getting more approval by my parents, the soldiers started to notice something was off when I fought - something strange enough that it was worth telling father. That something was that I was using magic in my fights.
I didn't know it was magic at first, but mother confirmed that I was able to use magic. Faintly, and definitely untrained. It was a while before they brought that up to me properly, because when they did, they decided that it was a journey I'd have to go on alone. The continent of Meranthe, where magi gather. I still miss them now, even though it's only been a year or less... but they were right. I did need to take this journey alone. I'd be learning much, much more soon enough...