The Blacksmiths Misadventures
Copyright© 2016 by path4334
He gave a sigh as he wiped the cobwebs out of his eyes. Sighing and grunting all the way out of his bed and out of the house. Sun-rays would beam into his face with pride. He gave a curse as he teeter-tottered over the edge of his porch, the sun blinding him. A rising sun could be considered the dawn of a new day. How about the beginning of the morning? Birds chirping and singing – spreading their ''morning-carols.'' The village would awake with a bundling amount of excitement. Children would run around – troubling their moms as they tried to keep their children in 'line' while fathers would be out working or bartering for items and objects of value.
''Busy as usual, eh?'' He looked around with a frown on his face. Crowds always pissed him off. Why would he want to spend his time walking through huge amounts of people? It takes to long to get to one of the frigging stands!? Just thinking about the long walk to his shop would transmit shivers up his spine. He took a few steps away from his house, before a child ran – and stomped – over his feet, spilling food onto him along the way. Also, curse the child that spilled water and food on his clothes! Better yet, curse the woman who had the audacity to glare at him! HIM!? Her brat is the one that spilled this crap?! He glared right back at her. How dare she mock him with her taller body? A lot of things wanted to escape from his lips but he bit his tongue instead. The mother turned her nose up and turned on her heel, her arrogance preceding her. 'That's right, keep moving you dumb bitc-'
''Whew, that broad is a looka ain't she?'' The speaker interrupted the Blacksmith's thoughts. Wiping the sweat – that magically appeared out of nowhere – off his forehead.
''Stop licking your lips like a dog.'' The short man grunted out with sarcasm dripping from his mouth. ''You look like a mangy mutt.''
''Don't be a hypocrite, you saw them hips, didn't you?'' The man gave a knowing smirk.
''All I saw was an ugly idiot, looking for a quick shag-''
''Hey!'' He interrupted him. ''I. Am a gentleman; I'm courteous, smart, and I have a lot of personality!''
''You're a gigolo, '' He shot back at him.
''Hold up, hold up just a second.'' The man gained a stern expression and pointed at himself. ''I'm more than just a gigolo, I can get any woman I want!'' The smirk that spread on his face was infectious.
''The only kitty you approach is dusty and WAY past it's expiration date.''
''NO! I have many kittens underneath my belt.'' The man gained an exasperated expression. ''Some are young-''
''-And some are?''
'' ... MATURE! THEY. ARE. MATURE!''
'' ... Gavin.''
''I'm sorry I asked... ''
''Nah, its OK, I'm just crying on the inside.''
'' ... Hey.''
''HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!'' The Blacksmith's grin spread and festered across his face.
'' ... I hate you.''
''Eric! Your father wants you!'' Eric felt his body come to life. He rolled to the side of his bed and gave a yawn as he stared at the book on his desk. Mythical Creatures. Eric rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times for more visual clarity. 'Ten years, I can't believe its been ten years. That book was supposed to be nothing more than a gift. Life sure moves quickly.'
Eric gave a startle, as he recognized the sound of his mother's voice. His brain rebooted itself and kicked him into overdrive. Quickly fleeing the room, tunic and boots in hand. He ran downstairs and stopped at the sight of his mom.
''What were you doing?! I've been calling you for several hours now! Your breakfast is getting cold!'' Eric scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. The tresses of his black hair hung to his shoulders. His mom was famous for her passionate spirit. She would always remind him why he loved her so much, and at the same time, she always reminded him how she could get on his nerves. Her intentions would always express how much she cared for him. She could be screaming at him one moment, and then hugging him another as she worried over his 'possible' boo-boos.
He walked past his mom – while she was still talking to him - with a smile on his face and picked up the plate of food. Two pieces of toast, a banana, and a glass of milk. 'Mmmmm, ' he subconsciously licked his lips. 'That toast looks good, especially that glass of milk.' He picked up the glass, almost reverently. Eric led the glass to his face and grimaced with disdain. 'Milk doesn't do too well throughout the heat.' His nose wanted to jump off his face and run off in fear.
''Eric! Your father is outside waiting for you!'' Eric gave an appreciative smile towards his mom and ran with his toasts and banana outside. His tall and lanky body frame would be the last thing she'd hear before hearing the closing of her front door. ''He's a lot like his father. He has his personality and character. If only he didn't inherit too much from him – I'd feel a lot better about his future. He's a daredevil, just like his father. Then again, that's probably one of the reasons I fell in love with his father... '' She regained control of her mind and removed herself from her thoughts. She shook her head and walked towards the spilled milk on her carpet. He should have woken up the first time she called. After all, milk is only as fresh as its drinkers.
Yards upon yards of plains were spread out within view. Beautiful grass were one of the main things Eric loved. When he was a kid he loved to run around the plains. Wind in his hair would fill him with excitement and a bountiful amount of joy. Feeling the grass stutter upon the force of his feet would fill him with power. As an only kid, some of his most cherished memories were experienced in these very plains.
He began his journey towards one of the barns. One of them held the horses; they had three of them. His destination was a different barn. It held different types of animals. Gates would separate them from each other, mostly to organize them for easier identification.
''Your slow-pace is irritating me. Stop ogling the sun and get over here and help me.'' Eric was barely aware of the fact that he was already at the barn. He gave a sheepish grin and- ''Stop grinning like a fool and get to moving!'' Eric swallowed the dust in his mouth and simply nodded.
His father was much like his mother – stern, unrelenting, and very harsh. Still, he loved them both and he knew they only wanted the best for him. However, sometimes he wanted to show his father who the real man was – both mentally and physically. For crying out loud, he just turned twenty!; he was growing tired of being treated like a child.
Robes were usually the clothes his father liked to wear. It was his favorite type of apparel. Dark blue with gray stripes adorned the robe as the main colors. It wrapped around his entire body, sandals would be the only things left uncovered. Eric always felt envious of his father's appearance. Could anyone blame him? His father's black hair fell to his waist and his calm nature contrasted with his character is a charismatic manner. Nonetheless, he assumed his duties and began with a slight smile on his face.
Cleaning the pens, patrolling the pens, and supervising the animals were some aspects of the job. It was a rather average day if he had to be honest. 'Well, it's still morning – so maybe I can go visit the Blacksmith when I'm done here?'
''How long until the borders are broken down?'' Eric gave a side-eye glance towards his father.
'' ... We have – at most – a few years left.''
''You used to be a Wizard, cant you repair the barriers yourself?''
''No, and this is far out of your 'realm' for any discussion.''
''I'm not a child anymore, do you still have to treat me like one?''
'' ... Lockup the pens and gates.''
''Where are we going-''
''It involves swords, '' His father interrupted, a light smirk on his face.
'' ... I'm lockin up.''
Eric loved swords. They were his favorite type of weapons. Something else he inherited from his father he supposed. Regardless, every morning him and his father would fight against each other in these very same plains. They would never use actual weapons against each other. They used sticks instead – safety comes first after all.
Eric gave an expression of felicity. His father's basement was filled with swords. The collection held all types of swords; short swords, bladed, two-handed, curved short swords, and many others. He preferred straight one-handed swords. Most of them were balanced and considerably lightweight. His arms were lanky and long, but somewhat weak. One-handed swords were perfect for his physical limitations. Height wasn't an issue for him, no, far from it in fact. Still, more strength would be on his birthday list.
It was somewhat decrepit looking. Wear and tear, from old age he supposed. Large amounts of display cases came into view. Eric's excitement propelled him between the cases. Maladroitness mixed with excitement gave his walk an awkward appearance. ''Wait a minute-'' Eric stopped in place and turned around with a quizzical demeanor.
''Aren't we using sticks this time? Y'know? Like always?''
''No!'' His father's gruff voice rang deeply. ''You, feel as though your being treated like a child? Am I correct?'' The loud decibels of his father's voice gave him an awry feeling.
His throat was so dry, swallowing dust didn't feel too good. ''Y-yes! Let me prove to you that I'm not just a little boy anymore!''
''Fine! Pick your sword and meet with me outside!''
'Opposites attract, or so they say. However, my father is just like my mother: stubborn and unrelenting. How in the hell did they fall in love with each other?.'
Before he could respond he heard the shattering sound of the basement's door being slammed. Eric stood alone in the basement. He frowned and sent the basement door a look of grim determination. His father always treated him like a child. He wanted to show his father that he could stand on his own two feet. Victory would come last. First, he needed to choose a sword.
''Hey Rick! Give me the usual!'' The Blacksmith's hearty voice rang within the diner, a huge grin on his face.
''Yeah yeah, I know; bread and mead for the midget!'' Rick shouted the order out to the other employees. ''Alright and what about ... you sir?''
Rick stared at his second customer with intrigue. Gavin wore a long brown trench coat. He left it unbuttoned so women could catch a glimpse of his GLORIOUS chest. Or, at least in his world anyways. Beneath the coat was a an unbuttoned black t-shirt. On his upper left-chest you'd see the tattoo of a hawk. His messy brown hair hung to his waist. Black baggy pants were stuffed into the creases of his boots. Along the pants were many red straps keeping the pants somewhat restrained.
''Hmmmm, I've never seen you before ... New in town?''
''Whaat?! You know nothing about me!? I'm the 'Glorious Gavi-''
''The only thing that's glorious about you is your stupidity.''
''Ignore the little goblin over there. My name is Gavin, I'm just a wandering traveler, no one special.''
''Then stop acting like you are: 'special.' ''
Rick felt his eyes twitch in annoyance. Good god, why couldn't he have gotten better customers!? Why did he have to deal with two idiots? Why couldn't he just get the order and find someone else to serve in his place at this revolting table?
''Shut the HELL up, and give me your effing order!''
Why couldn't he just say that and be on his merry way? 'This is grade-A bullcrap. I don't get paid enough to deal with jerkoffs like these-.'
''Hey ... Hey ... Hey, waiter! ... Are you deaf!?''
Rick gave a startle as he almost dropped his tab. He had the NERVE to be irritated with HIM?!
''I'd like some toast with some jelly, an apple, a glass of milk, and a glass of orange juice.''
'Please, give me an inch, I will take a frigging mile.' Rick jotted down the order while his thoughts clouded his mind and walked away from the table and into the kitchen. It seemed the customer wasn't always right...
'I wonder, what type of sword did father choose?' That question remained at the forefront of his mind. Well, that and along with all the other questions he had. ''Now that I think about it, I've never really seen my father actually handle a weapon before.'' Beyond the sticks, there weren't any other examples. Still, he knew his father could do some damage with a stick. Sticks could be used for bashing, defending, parrying, countering, or even – if sharp enough – stabbing.
'I'm gonna need to keep a moderate distance, if its a two-handed.' Eric meditated over ''what-ifs'' and if so, 'how?' Maybe, a scimitar? 'No, I don't think so. A scimitar would be somewhat out of character for him. Also, a scimitar has the advantages from some angles but, its very limited in some situations.'
'And ... there he is... ' His father's dark blue robe fluttered behind him, as he clasped his hands over the top of the pommel. His sword was stabbed slightly into the ground. His father's back was turned towards him, facing him. Lush green plains were spread out, all around them. There were no trees, no one would be able to hide from each other.
Eric felt a smirk spread over his face. ''Are you ready, pops?'' Eric's eyes narrowed at his robe. He was surprised, would his father be able to fight in a robe?
His father turned around with lithe movements. Moving gracefully in the long robe, the sword made it's presence clear to all that could see.
Eric felt his eyes dilate, his heart sped up, and his mind was on the fritz. His mind almost shattered at the possible capabilities of this sword. Every last inch of the weapon was engrave into his very psyche. How could he have known that he would pick that sword. Then again, it made sense he supposed. A two-handed sword became a nightmare he never wanted.
It was a simple two-handed sword. Eric wished he could use one. Strength is something he sorely lacked. His father was the same, but he was using magic to enhance his strength. He released a breath to calm his nerves.