Blacksmith and the Beast

[Lord General Maahes Asad-Aziem]

It had been so long, Maahes felt, that he had been down the path of the Iron Smith's Forge. An open sore like a wound in his heart for a smith he had almost forgotten. The sounds of the forge hard at work, put his mind at ease as he knew his army would never go without--so long as the working of metal continued. Yet, a bittersweet feeling washed him, like the black tar across a workman's hand as he wondered where Jack had gone. Though he had left Shaden, perhaps pregnant with his child, he had left his best friend as well. There had not been a day that passed his day would end here from the work in the barracks to wait while his friend finished his latest project. Yet, a lesson learned Maahes was not one to live in the past.


He had heard great word of the tradesman that now forged his own art, but perhaps even more of the son who now bore the Griffin colors. Kendrew had taken a new squire, the son of the Smith, but with talk of the knights the son of a prince. Lucius in a short time had built himself such a name, that the Lord General would have no doubt history would have it's part of the young knight.


Entering the shop, Maahes always filled the space he would take, but as always tried his best to ward away any unwanted attention. However, eyes would pass in the Beast's direction, and the massive hands of the man would clutch the small bit of paper he held within his grasp.


"I..uh.." Lord who knew he was so damn shy, "I've come to a-quire." A new word to the Egyptian born vocabulary as his lessons had him improving. "To make of a weapon... A sword.... For my boy." Yeap. Was anything more needed. The room had fallen silent, and was it such a crime for Maahes to anticipate a fight? That's how it was done back home.

[BlackSmith]

Like so many others, The Smith was working hard to have a new life, one that he felt would make him a better man, a decent one and one who did not have to prove anything beyond the metals he forged. His son had over exceeded any expectation he had for him, becoming a much better man then himself with his duties, his goals and his life. For sure, Lucius did not bare the sins of the mother, nor did he bare the sins of a father.

The metal clanged as he pressed the hammer down making sparks fly up from the orange glow. Muscles flexed and coiled in his skin, strengthening themselves to bare the pressure of each hit and pound as it sent a jolt up his arm every time he slammed it down. To his left, another burly male worked on a set of arrows, sharpening them up with the grinder as he stood over it and was careful with how he pressed the edge to the spinning stone block. The shop was warm itself, which to many was a nice relieve for a few moments from the cold. The smith and his other worker had long since left their tunics in the back, replacing it with aprons made of thick leather to spare their chest from the hot sparks and ambers that went flying. That left a good deal of their chest, arms and back exposed though to anything that might come to it. The smith was easy enough to spot, for he held a thick cross tattooed into his back, which flexed and moved when he did. Covered and sweat and detailed to a more realistic nature that was harder to find, he was surprised no one questioned it.

When the door opened, the lad up front -who was no more then twelve- Hopped from his chair and then paused as his dirty face looked up at the giant male before him. His green eyes widened as he stared and his small mouth parted in an awed expression. The smith turned around and stopped pounding on the sword to shape it as he heard the rumbling voice even though the sounds of the metal. Pushing the sword into the water, it hissed out and simmered it before he pulled it back out to show the blade no longer glowing orange. Placing it to the side carefully, he moved up towards the lad and tapped his shoulder. The lad was broken out of his spell and went running back to his books to finish practicing his writing. Standing at 6'3, Maahes had a good few inches on the smith, but that did not seem to stop him from speaking to him as a customer.

Dark eyes glanced down tot he paper that was clutched in the man's massive hands, before he looked upwards to the face. ``Of course Sir. Is that parchment the design you have in mind? Might I see it? We can make better plans once I know what you have in mind.`` The smith reached out his hand carefully, though not with fear, more with respect. He did not try to take the paper, but instead turned his hand upwards and awaited for the large male to hand it over. The smith's face was calm, business like. Some people were very funny about their own designs and he was not here to judge their ideas, simply make them work.

[Lord General Maahes Asad-Aziem]

Maahes had always been a true lover of the arts, though it would come as a surprise to many who in fact knew nothing of the man beyond his rough exterior. Even Ealora, his wife knew little of the softer side beyond their bed, and quiet romantic moments. However, inside every great knight was a heart of many passions correct? It had always amazed him at how true those words were--here in Skye.

"No..it is not a design." The last word running from his lips like a foreign object rolling down a hill, "It is his name." Extending his hand, he offered the man the paper, the written letters clearly the handwriting of a woman. "I did not want to get it wrong." He admitted with a small..very faint smile as his hand returned to press upon his hip in a lazy, nervous manner.

"It is coming upon the date I found him. He has--had a hard time. More so since he left three years ago." Why? Maahes was in fact too ashamed to admit. However, it was a road father and son needed to travel alone. Here within the eyes of the other, perhaps he was speaking to the one person on the Isle who could truly understand.

"I just want him to feel he belongs, and that I am proud of him. Proud to have him, and proud he has chosen to serve along my side." Easing into the roll that was provided before him, he gave the respect where it was deserved, and the fact the man spoke to him no different then he would any other Maahes was thankful. "I will pay of course.."

[BlackSmith]

Accents came in all types around Skye it seemed. The smith was a man of knowledge, but this accent he did not recall hearing much of, even in Rome or the many other places he and his son had traveled. It was something to be noted, along with the male's attire, how his hair was worn, how he stood and presented the parchment to the smith. A name? Well then the design would simply have to be spoken or drawn here on the spot. ``I find writing it down helps me to remember as well. Sometimes the mind is holding too many things at the moment, to remember something that should be simple.`` He smiled softly back, though not enough to show teeth. Even through the hairs along his face, the dirt caked in patches and the sweat that covered every inch of bare flesh that was exposed, it was pleasant, or calm.

Found him? His son? The smith wanted to ask questions, but that would be prying and some people did not wish to say more then they already have. For a time, the smith was silent, looking to the paper and reading the name. GALEN. When the larger dark skinned male said he wanted him to feel as if he belonged, the Smith rose his head to look up at the male who had a good few inches on him. Make his son feel proud...there was something a good father should want to do when it was deserved rightfully by the son. ``I understand completely. You are a man of few words, so you wish to show your son how you feel with an action or object. There is nothing wrong with that my Lord. I will do my very best to make something you both can be proud of. Payment is not asked for until the work is done and you are satisfied with it. Do I speak the name correctly when I say it as ' Gay-lynn ' or is it ' Gah-lean '.`` He waited patiently for Maahes to correct the right way to say it as he leaned over under the stone to pull out a parchment and quill within an ink jar. Moving it to the flat area of the stone, he waited for the male to finish before asking the next set of questions.

``What kind of sword would you like to have made for your son? If you would like to take a look around and see a certain design, or have one in mind, we can make a fast sketch of it and then I will start building. Also, choose the type of handle you would like on it. Is your son a tall man like yourself with strength or a shorter male with a more slender build? This will determined how heavy or light to make the sword.`` He waved towards the thick block of wood that was nearly half his size, against the wall. Whittled into it, were prices, styles and so forth. ``If you can not read the language of Skye, let me know and I will tell you what we have in the sense of swords.`` He said it all so calmly, not a hint of judgement in the words. Many could not read or write the language, most could not even read or write.

[Lord General Maahes Asad-Aziem]

The darkest spot in a man was his eyes, able to tear into a single nation with one look, but Maahes's amber eyes held countless stories of untold secrets--distant lands. Didn't everyone? Yet there would forever be a few things that would mark him as different, and keep him as an 'outcast'. By now all the kings men and all the kings horses came to respect the Beast for what he was, but very few ever took a notion to know the man beyond his profession. If only they could look through the darkest layer of his skin and realize there was a man much like any. A man who at the moment carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and the woman he loved in his arms at the same time.

"Gay-lynn." He spoke as he wondered slowly over the lines of weapons, seeing not only with his eyes but as well his hands; running his palm and fingers over the finishes. It would come across as strange to many, but one could not just 'see' the world no? "And un-fort-un-ate-ly," His accent struggling over the complicated word, "He is built like his bastard father short with little hands." Unlike his own that would wrap the hilt of a blade too much, as they were never big enough.

Though his words carried to the man he kept his attention on the designs unable to pick out just one, and would leave it to the fate of the smith. No doubt the man knew exactly what he was looking for. His eyes would travel over the written word and could make out the numbers just fine, but it would be the letters he would forever struggle with.

"He was not born mine, I found him while wounded and trapped from battle inside a cabin upon the land of Osteria, it was winter like this so much snow he could barely walk without going over his head." Maahes's hands slid into the pockets of his overcoat as he turned studied the different designs. "He could not live in the castle if he did not have my name, so I took him as my own, and made him the youngest Falconer on the Isle of Avaria, but always did I fear he would be lifted away... he was so small." He couldn't help but muse to himself. "but the birds loved him, and when they were all killed off in the war I knew a big part of him died too."

Turning then to face the man he motioned to the paper with his head, and corrected his stance, "You do as you see fit, I am not one of many creative ideas. I kill, there is very little art to come from that. " Always did Galen receive the tough love end of his father, and for the first three years was carried by the back of his shirt collar everywhere. However the child was thankful to have him, and would just sit patiently waiting to be put down...such a funny pair they were. Galen slept in the floor, with very little comforts save for when he was scared of Storms, and would be allowed ONLY WHEN IT STORMS to snuggle under the arm of a Beast. Funny how it seemed to rain a lot in Avaria.