New Millennium Cyanide Christ
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The acrid smoke was quickly rising above an old abandoned building on the outside of new Glasgow. Smoke that seemed to hang but for a second above the buildings several chimneys before the wind finally took hold of it and started carrying it northward above the great sea. But the great building wasn’t on fire, there were no flames billowing out of it, only smoke from three chimneys, one of which had been erected when the building was built and two others that had been erected by a certain individuals capable hands. The outward appearance of the building itself was one of brick and mortar, resembling quite a lot what one would consider a blacksmith shop.


Upon further inspection the place held a strange orange glow that permeated the windows of the establishment. Where most of the other buildings that surrounded it had snow clinging to the exterior and a lifeless look, this place seemed to hold the animals that passed by captivated. And then the peaceful picture was shattered by an ear splitting sound, the rough and sharp damning echo of steel hitting steel, over and over again, before quiet once again settled upon the landscape.


Inside the main occupant stood tall, a long leather apron hanging from his neck and tied around his waist, glasses covered blues for protection and large balled up bundles of cotton and fur pushed into his ears. The fire raged alongside of him as gloved paws turned the piece of steel below him, the gloves weren’t in good shape and on several occasions as he worked he’d jerk a hand back and wave it in the air before returning his hand to the steel. A large paw padded an air like bladder that blew air into the hot coals, before he pulled the glowing piece of steel out. The place where it rested was undoubtedly the hardest piece he had ever known to move, he had found it where it sat, and had reasonably built the iron works around it. A great strike came flying downward as steel was made to bend to his more than capable paws, with each strike sparks flew outward with diminishing intensity with each strike before the steel cooled enough and was thrown back to the fire.


The blacksmith was bending the metal over itself each time, folding it and then beating it outwards, over and over he worked the piece of steel. Hours went by, along with a stack of firewood, and charcoal, but as his final strike came down onto the anvil the once unusable piece of metal had been turned into a blank fresh piece of workable steel. The resulting piece resembled a small sword, no edge, no glorifying etchings or beautiful artwork, just a blank that had the potential to become so much more. The blank was thrown once more into the fire, keen eyes watching and waiting judging the temperature before a quick jerk brought the dull orange glowing blank out and his swift hands dropped it into a vat of water to his side. With a sigh he removed the glasses covering his eyes, well they were more like goggles, and along with his make shift ear plugs he placed them down and walked out into cooler air. The behemoth had finally worked on his shop long enough to create something useful. But the shop was by no means ready for business. True he had a furnace, makeshift bellows and the ability but he was still rounding up the tools and materials needed. For now though it was open finally, and he was capable of arming anyone capable of handling the weapons he created.

Hands sat atop his waist as he inhaled the cold air, tongue rolling out of his mouth in a pant, body desperately seeking to cool itself. If he had the ability to sweat he would have been covered in it but the only foul thing that clung to his fur was the smell of smoke and metal, and he knew instantly a certain lovely woman wouldn’t care for it when he returned home. But that was the price, he returned back into the heat to retrieve the precious little blank sword he had been working on. Cool enough now to touch with bare paws he turned it over in his hands, it was exactly what he had pictured her using. Knowing eyes looked upon the steel and knew it’s potential, knew where he would be going with this, and could envision the intricate patterns he’d work into the metal. Finally he had stayed in one place long enough since Dahlia had been abandoned to finally reclaim an art form that gave him great enjoyment.


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