Iron Master

Berra — Iron Master

????, Storm Season, Movement Week


Storm Season, Movement Week, Clayday Eve [[[s02:session-29|Session 29]]]


After walking Xenofos down the hill of steps, and jogging up to the Temple without her usual turn of speed, Berra goes to see if the Blacksmith is awake.

He is, of course, meditating. How can she tell? Well, by waiting for a bit, to see if his attention moves.

Berra always does that anyhow, on coming in. First, it would be rude not to. Second, it is damned dark in there and she likes to get her night vision before it turns out she’s talking to the anvil.

In the mean time, she thinks.

. o ( Shit. I just gave the sword away. Shit. )

. o ( What if that was wrong? )

. o ( …. Well, what’s done is done. )

. o ( Coo. The place even smells the same. )

. o ( I mean, it would )

. o ( … Damnit. Really craving fried crispy onions. )

. o ( Alright. Here. Clear the mind. And the feast was good. )

. o ( And… I wish he wouldn’t treat me better than he treats D’Val. )

. o ( He’s older. In two seasons. Did that happen all at once? )

. o ( He got my message. And it’s good advice. )

. o ( And he’s High Sword again. That does please me. )

. o ( But he’s… he likes me more now. Which I think doesn’t. )

. o ( He’ll find something bastardish to do. Soon. )

. o ( Hides. Door. Into darkness. )

. o ( Enter on knees. Eyes closed. Open them in the darkness. )

. o ( Not really a glow of flame. And it’s a bit cooler in here. I think. Than normal. )

. o ( Wait. Pause. Calm. )

. o ( Yeah, just a touch of glow. Banked. But it woke a little when I came in. )

“Was it the Air when I came in that woke the fire, Lord, or was it you?”

. o ( Shit. Maybe I should have greeted him first. )

. o ( Maybe he’s not with us right now. )

. o ( Maybe I should go wait for Lord Eril. )

. o ( I need to report to him. )

. o ( But he’s not here yet so I can’t. )


. o ( You sound like a Duck I know. )

“My sword was wounded. I’ve been told you should be the one to repair it.”


“It was the Eternal Battle. A Dragon did it.” Berra waits for permission to unbuckle it, or even to move.

“Even so. Show me”

She takes off the sword, with its home-made scabbard jury-rigged from her old armour and improved over the season, and draws it, putting the scabbard down, so that she can offer the sword on both hands, hilt towards the man.

. o ( shut up shut up shut up he knows best shut up )

He takes it, hand stroking down the blade affectionately, then taking it to the anvil

Berra looks genuinely sorry, but a moment later, says, “It’s too big for me to carry, and it’s for his cult anyhow. I’m going to give it to the Temple. I was going to ask you, but I saw him first, and… well. Him.”

. o ( Should have thought. )

. o ( But… He’s worthy. Only… should I give up an honour like this? )

He starts filing and battering. It’s not like bronze at all

Berra watches, letting the movements calm her thoughts. Only part of her is listening for Eril’s return, and then none at all. Her breathing relaxes after a few minutes, and she stays on her knees. Deliberately she closes her eyes to blank her mind.1Special on Meditation.

“When swords were made in the god-time, there was no pause between the decision and the making.” Berra blinks her eyes open.

“The space of a sword was there before it was a Death.”

She looks around while she considers that, which is both obvious and terribly important. Her eyes fall back on the anvil. “He’s called Torch.”

It does not occur to her to ask if the Blacksmith already knows that.

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    Special on Meditation.