Post by dbkillerex on May 16, 2012 14:59:44 GMT -5
Back in the day DB had a job for a few years at a blacksmith's shop in the industrial zone and would visit there as often as he could, to work out some anger and make plans for revenge. The hour was 5pm, late after-noon and the sun has not yet set on the busy city.
"Ferro comitante" Was the big sign above the door, meaning "sword for companion", it could not be more true. The windows flashed yellow every few seconds and after every surge of fire one hammer stroke after another were heard.
Dark eco pumped through his muscles, there was no use for a compressed air hammer as many modern blacksmiths did use. His every hit shaped the heated metal. He worked on the edges, hammering at the right degree he imparted a diamond shape on the material and made it spread to width. At the same time the hammer pushed the hot metal lengthwise, thus extending the blade. Just about done He thought, the surge of yellow eco burned at his arms again as he released another gust of heat. The flame huffed and the blaze rose high 'till the metal was bright again.
Finally he dipped the material in hot liquid salts and quenched it in another metal container filled with cold liquids. This process hardened the edges of the sword and let the center to cool more slowly- Allowing the sword to retain flexibility and grant the blade its "springy" quality. This process was coupled with the repeated hammering to make the external layers denser and less likely to chip.
DB than moved to the grinding belt to fine-tune the blade's shape and hone it's edges. Next he proceeded to shape the hilt and a ball of steel which was designed to be the counter-weight.
Finally he hammered-in the hilt and the counter-weight onto the bottom of the blade which he had also hammered to fit. Placing the blade upside-down he used a square of soft material to not damage the blade and hammered the hilt down the lengh of it using a metal pipe (so not to hammer down each side separately). He than fit the counterweight using his yellow eco like welding fire- He welded down the extra metal (The peen) from the very bottom of the blade under the counterweight to secure it.
Finally he applied Apoxy glue to secure a wooden handle onto it than fit leather straps onto it. Once taking a look in the specifications he also applied the black color to the handle and wrapped it in string to help it gain it's shape.
Leaving the paint to dry DB walked out the door from the shop to the dusty street and sat outside lighting a cigarette.
I didn't mean to end his life... I know it wasn't right. I need to get out of sight before I end up behind bars. I didn't mean to hurt him!, he was somebody's son. I took his life when I pulled out that gun... "RUN" He could hear someone yell from the crowd as it flee away from him. "Man down!" The harsh voice of a Krimson guard chased him through the baazar. "RUN" The boy told himself That's all I can do now...
He turned the corner and sprinted. Racing through the black, grimey streets of Haven the boy flew by stands and stores hoping to find somewhere to hide. Somebody please tell me what I'm gonna do...
"Pa-pa-pum" He could hear footsteps behind him
He hastened his pace when- SPLASH He tripped slipping into a puddle. This isn't water!.. He thought as his body hit the floor. It isn't workin' at all He came to realize and prepared for the worst
The kid than regained footing and ran right through the door of the nearest shop. Oh god.. He thought before bursting inside the shop and crouching down by the nearest corner. The boy had tunnel vision and could not care to look around and see who was present. He just closed his eyes and hoped to become invisible. "Where did he go?" He heard a Krimson guard interviewing witnesses outside. He opened his eyes to the sudden sound of the pistol falling from his shaking grip and resting on the hard floor.
"Damned KG's" Tossing his cigarette to the murky asphalt DB crushed it in silent frustration. He took a glimpse of himself, his cold hard armor, his defined muscles under the thin shirt. His eyes lingered to his left shoulder-plate, the one he's collected as a trophy from those wretched krimzon guards. The mesmerizing golden letters he spray-painted over their symbol assured him that his past is long gone.
He took a glimpse of the GPS on the monitor of his communicator and began pacing towards the signal. Time for one more stupid delivery...
"Ferro comitante" Was the big sign above the door, meaning "sword for companion", it could not be more true. The windows flashed yellow every few seconds and after every surge of fire one hammer stroke after another were heard.
Dark eco pumped through his muscles, there was no use for a compressed air hammer as many modern blacksmiths did use. His every hit shaped the heated metal. He worked on the edges, hammering at the right degree he imparted a diamond shape on the material and made it spread to width. At the same time the hammer pushed the hot metal lengthwise, thus extending the blade. Just about done He thought, the surge of yellow eco burned at his arms again as he released another gust of heat. The flame huffed and the blaze rose high 'till the metal was bright again.
Finally he dipped the material in hot liquid salts and quenched it in another metal container filled with cold liquids. This process hardened the edges of the sword and let the center to cool more slowly- Allowing the sword to retain flexibility and grant the blade its "springy" quality. This process was coupled with the repeated hammering to make the external layers denser and less likely to chip.
DB than moved to the grinding belt to fine-tune the blade's shape and hone it's edges. Next he proceeded to shape the hilt and a ball of steel which was designed to be the counter-weight.
Finally he hammered-in the hilt and the counter-weight onto the bottom of the blade which he had also hammered to fit. Placing the blade upside-down he used a square of soft material to not damage the blade and hammered the hilt down the lengh of it using a metal pipe (so not to hammer down each side separately). He than fit the counterweight using his yellow eco like welding fire- He welded down the extra metal (The peen) from the very bottom of the blade under the counterweight to secure it.
Finally he applied Apoxy glue to secure a wooden handle onto it than fit leather straps onto it. Once taking a look in the specifications he also applied the black color to the handle and wrapped it in string to help it gain it's shape.
Leaving the paint to dry DB walked out the door from the shop to the dusty street and sat outside lighting a cigarette.
I didn't mean to end his life... I know it wasn't right. I need to get out of sight before I end up behind bars. I didn't mean to hurt him!, he was somebody's son. I took his life when I pulled out that gun... "RUN" He could hear someone yell from the crowd as it flee away from him. "Man down!" The harsh voice of a Krimson guard chased him through the baazar. "RUN" The boy told himself That's all I can do now...
He turned the corner and sprinted. Racing through the black, grimey streets of Haven the boy flew by stands and stores hoping to find somewhere to hide. Somebody please tell me what I'm gonna do...
"Pa-pa-pum" He could hear footsteps behind him
He hastened his pace when- SPLASH He tripped slipping into a puddle. This isn't water!.. He thought as his body hit the floor. It isn't workin' at all He came to realize and prepared for the worst
The kid than regained footing and ran right through the door of the nearest shop. Oh god.. He thought before bursting inside the shop and crouching down by the nearest corner. The boy had tunnel vision and could not care to look around and see who was present. He just closed his eyes and hoped to become invisible. "Where did he go?" He heard a Krimson guard interviewing witnesses outside. He opened his eyes to the sudden sound of the pistol falling from his shaking grip and resting on the hard floor.
"Damned KG's" Tossing his cigarette to the murky asphalt DB crushed it in silent frustration. He took a glimpse of himself, his cold hard armor, his defined muscles under the thin shirt. His eyes lingered to his left shoulder-plate, the one he's collected as a trophy from those wretched krimzon guards. The mesmerizing golden letters he spray-painted over their symbol assured him that his past is long gone.
He took a glimpse of the GPS on the monitor of his communicator and began pacing towards the signal. Time for one more stupid delivery...
