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The quenching steam hissed and spat as the twice heated metal was plunged into a dousing bucket. The sharp crescendo of hammer on iron was a sound relentless; yet welcoming. It was the true heartbeat of the Forge.β
The Smith pulled the now rapidly cooling steel from the bucket. A momentary hush fell inside the shop, broken only by the rhythmic puff of the bellows, drawing air into the furnace pit. The bucket water, dark and slick with scale and carbon, continued to bubble softly, releasing the last of the captured heat.
She ignored the smoke and the dry heat that radiated off the flame pit like a living thing, a captured dragonet. Her eyes, permanently narrowed against the glare of the white-hot iron, focused on the delicate workpiece. A blade, a long, elegant dagger. Its edges clean, and its lines, true. It felt solid and keenly obedient in her tongs, with all the promise of sharp perfection.
A knife like this was not meant for cutting bread.This was a tool meant for extraction, whether of information or life, was a choice left entirely to the client.
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