Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction on this site. After much deliberation, I decided to start with the story I was most passionate about. I implore you to read this story, although the main character is an OC. If you read my profile, you will see my stance on them. I have, as well, made sure to have an actual historical basing of the character, and not just shoehorned in a first name followed by a color. Lastly, to avoid confusion with the character's name, it's very much like the song that Johnny Cash sang, 'A Boy named Sue'. With that said, please enjoy Forging Onwards.
Chapter 1
In a dark room, on a cold morning, there was naught but the sound of gentle breathing and a moving mass underneath a set of blankets. Until a loud, grating alarm pierced the calm, prompting the mass to lazily shoot a hand out and grab the scroll on the bedtable and drag it over to themself.
"Ugh. Five-fifty already?" the voice all but grunted, but all the same drug itself out from under the covers. "Another day, another lien..." muttered a young man as he oozed out from the sheets to stand up and trudge his way towards the bathroom. The piercing light of the soft yellow bulb turning on caused him to wince as he walked over to the mirror on the wall, moving a wash-cup with a label of C. Magnusson taped upon it out of the way to turn on the faucet. He looked up to the mirror to inspect himself, revealing a young man nearing his twenties with slight bags under his brown eyes layered atop ruddy salmon skin. The male had rough brown stubble upon his face and his hair was long yet not messy, as he had slept in his braid which reached down to the small of his back. "Gonna have to shave soon", he remarked as he cupped his hands and brought his face down to splash some water to wake himself up.
Drying his face off with a towel nearby, he began to move out of the room to grab his scroll from off of his bed, and then exit the room. A light switch was flicked, illuminating the hallway as he walked past the various hanging portraits on the wall, depicting various people. He glanced over to one as he passed, showing a smiling husband and wife with a bright faced boy in the center. The man in the photo was ruffling the child's hair, who couldn't seem to care about it.
The young man tore his gaze away and ignored all the other hanging frames as he walked by. "Really need to take those down, sometime. When I finally get a clear day for it", he said, knowing full well he wouldn't be able to. The stairs squeaked in a familiar pattern as he descended into the common room, ignoring all else while heading for the kitchen and flicking a switch on the wall on, lighting up the cozy looking kitchen. Yawning, he plodded over to the coffee pot and proceeded to pour in the coffee from a bag that read 'Atlesian Black' on its side.
A button was pressed on the side of the coffee machine, a light winking on as he retrieved his mug from the nearby dishrack. There was a graphic upon it with a tagline that was admittedly cheesy, reading 'There's only two types of coffee: Atlesian Black, and wrong'. It was set on the counter close to the pot as the young man set his scroll down, tapping his fingers upon the screen to bring up a radio app, and selecting one from the 'Favorites' list.
"Goooooooood morning Southern Mantle! This is the Dawn of the Redd show, with your host, Vlad Redd! Let's get this mornin' started right, ladies and gents!", the speaker squawked out. "Now, before we get into some nice and easy jams to start off this chilly, chilly day, I'd like to talk to you a moment about the fine, fine huntsmen and huntresses that keep our land safe!" The young man clenched his fist, took a deep breath, and released it. "Now, dear listener, what's the most important thing a hunstman has?"
"Hmm." The boy intoned. "Looks like they're playing my ad earlier than I wanted them to..."
"Is it their brave nature?", the radioman mused. "Is it their graceful way of fighting? Or is it maybe their shocking good looks? I tell you, folks, I've never met a hunstman or huntress that couldn't outshine the sun or rival the night sky with their beauty! It's actually none of those, 'cuz the most important thing a huntsman has...is their weapon!"
This drew a slight smile from the young man as he nodded slightly, almost bedgrudingly.
"Now, as amazing as our dear brave men and women are, we can't expect them to know everything. They may know the ins and outs of their mechashift weapons and how to carve those lousy Grimm to pieces, but making them? That's a whole different ball game, my dear listeners." The coffee pot chose this time to finish its brewing, and it was lifted from its mooring to pour into the waiting cup.
Cream and sugar were ignored, even a splash of milk was abstained from being introduced to the mix as the young man began to sip the brew to the sound of the radio host. "That's why we have our wonderful Blacksmiths of Atlas to serve all of your weapon and armorsmithing needs! In fact, one of the more exceptional cases I've ever heard of was down in a little town outside of the Black Wood." The man in the room paused his drinking to listen with greater intent to the broadcast. "Yessir, there's a young smith down there who's -get this- only nineteen years old. It's unbelievable!"
The brown haired boy smirked in satisfaction before bringing up his cup to sip at his coffee. "Even more incredible is the fact that they're running the business by themselves! So, hey, if you ever find yourself down in Southern Mantle and you need any weapons or protection, be sure to stop on by Magnusson Arms and Armor. Owned by one Carol Magnusson!" The smirk dissapeared.
"I didn't tell him to say my friggin' first name, damnit." Carol gritted out through his teeth.
"What a brave young lady, my dear listeners!"
The mug began to shake.
"But that's about all the time I have to stand up on my soapbox. Here's a nice smooth little number from the ever-beautiful heiress to the SDC name. Here's Weiss Schnee's hot single, 'Mirror, Mirror!' " A gentle melody began to play from the scroll's speaker.
*Tap*
The radio app was closed out as the boy sighed explosively. "I guess I shouldn't complain, any exposure is greater than no exposure." Peering from the kitchen, Carol looked into the common room where, above the fireplace, a picture was mounted of the older man in the frame upstairs. "I still think the worst thing you ever left me with was this terrible name." He grunted as he upended his cup and drained it, before washing it out and placing it in the rack to dry. "I'm a man, Brothers damnit, and people keep gettin' wrong idea 'cuz of you."
The scroll's screen lit up again as a sole finger danced across the display as he moved into the common room. "Alright, what's on the schedule for today...Chop lumber for the fireplace..." A glance was spared towards the outside.
Snowing.
Of course, what else would you expect of Mantle?
"Guess I gotta change first." Another glance was spared for the fireplace, seemingly longing to be filled with logs and set alight, the promise of merry sparks and a warm room altogether a tempting image. Carol's gaze traveled upwards, above the photo of the man and another of the woman, towards a short sword mounted above the hearth. A small inscription on the guard of the blade read 'Rex'. A glare full of loathing yet also pride was leveled at the blade as the boy turned away to move upstairs to change into appropriate clothing for the task at hand.
Carol found himself outside, standing before a stump with a small pile of wood retrieved from the woodpile purchased earlier in the winter, and a pile of split logs off to the side. "Gonna be spring soon. Prolly can start choppin' down my own trees for wood in a month or so." The brunette remarked in a gravelly tone. Placing a log on the stump, the boy looked up and down the street he lived on, noticing various people starting to mill about as they started their own day. "You can ne'er get this in Atlas, no sir." A group of Atlas combat bots moved by, prompting the boy to lift his axe and chop the log in half. "Or maybe you could. Bloody tin cans are everywhere nowadays..."
*Chop*
The sun was rising at this point, painting everything in a warm light as it roamed across the township. Looking behind himself, Carol gazed towards the Black Wood, so named as it was infamous in old times as a place for witchcraft and various nefarious arts. It rose imposingly out of the valley in the distance, at least a few miles away from Carol's house, with many houses and streets in between.
"Heh. Like magic exists. It was prolly just Aura and Semblances rilin' people up. Old Mantlers were dumb, I swear."
Turning back towards the street, he planted his axe in the stump to retrieve a pair of earbuds from his pocket and place them in his ears. Now, what do I wanna start my day off with today...?
"Oi! Young lady!"
The young man blinked at the voice shouting, attention drawn to an older man shouting. Shrugging, he went to go back to choosing his music.
"Oi, I was talkin' to you!"
Carol looked up to see the old man pointing agressively at him. A sigh escaped explosively as he recognized the individual. Old Man Gustav was what he had known him as, even when he was fifteen years younger. A crazy old coot, but a kind one. Used to serve in the Atlas military, and held a lieutenant commander's rank. Never talked about what he did, but then again, Carol never asked. He was nice like that, able to have a nice surface level conversation...when he wasn't trying to imply -and- fix whatever problems he thought the brunette had.
"What is it, old man?"
A wicked grin was alight on the offenders face as he spoke up again. "In all my years o' livin' in this town, I'd ne'er think I'd find a young lady as rude as you are! Why, in my day, I'd have you bent over m'knee with a switch! And it wasn't like those dern weak plastic ones you young folk have today, no sir, it-"
"Alright, old man, I get your point. You heard Redd's show too." The brunette's eyes rolled. "Now stop yellin', the kids are gonna think you're crazy." Well, crazier than normal, at least.
The older man crossed over the fence and shuffled through the snow over to the younger man, huffing all the way. "You know, you're still just a kid t'me. You're always actin' like you're older than you are. Always did."
An eye-roll was all the response he got at first. "Yeah, well, I didn't really have a choice now did I? And besides, you're always actin' younger than you are, Gustav." A smile alighted on Carol's face. "You really need to slow down, you're gonna break a hip or somethin'."
"Bah. I'll slow down when I'm dead. They couldn't stop me when I was a young'un, they can't stop me now." The old man paused, fumbling around in his pocket. He withdrew a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
"Hey, mind if I bum one of those? I left mine in the house, and it's about time for a smoke break, anyways."
Gustav went to hand one over, but paused as a wide smile grew on his face. "Y'tell me 'bout why good ol' Redd was talkin' about you this mornin, lass, and I'll be glad to give you one."
The young man turned off to the side, letting off a hot stream of breath. Just get it over with, Carol. "Sure. I paid for an ad on the station. Sent over an email, wired a payment, the whole nine yards. Problem was, their suits prolly ignored the fact I specifically stated to be known as 'C. Magnusson'." Carol turned back to the man in front of him. "Can't rightly blame Redd, they prolly don't tell him shit. Also, they moved the time earlier than I requested. Lotta huntsmen aren't setting out right about now. Selfish bastards prolly want their 'Beauty Sleep', or some asinine crap like that."
A hand was extended, as well as a grin that resembled more of a grimace.
"Now gimmie."
The older man shook his head, but handed a cigarette all the same. "Y'know", he started as he went to light the boy's cigarette, "you really need to get it outta your head that huntsmen and huntresses are selfish. They do a lot of good for us."
"Yeah that's fair enough. I mean, without them, who else would give us impossibly brave stories of running off and heroically getting themselves killed?"
A baleful glare was leveled at Carol while Gustav lit the cigarette for him. "That's not what I meant and you know it."
The glare was ignored as his grin faded. "Yeah, and you know how I am and the whole sordid shitshow that happened. Not important now, wasn't important then." The grin made it's return as Carol snarked back behind his lit cigarette. "Besides, I can ignore my personal feelings when it comes to making money. It's called 'Professional Integrity', old man."
Gustav shook his head. "Weren't you set out to be a huntsman as well? Whatever happened to that boy who trained his tail off with his dad, sayin' he was gonna be just like his old man?"
There was silence as a chill breeze swept over the two individuals, the outside world creeping in with the sounds of engines starting and cars passing by. Mothers and fathers wished their children a good and productive day at school, but it seemed muted and far away to Carol. "He grew up, Gustav. Realized that huntsmen are all out for their own personal glory." A grin grew on the boy's face, forced to alight his features. "Well, that, and forging is just too damn fun."
They took a moment to puff on their cigarettes, neither saying much.
"It's been four years, right?", Gustav spoke, breaking the silence.
"Yeah. And hey, thanks for the cigarette, but d'you mind doing me a favor and dropping it?"
The old man grumbled and looked away. "Fine. I don't think it's good for you to be bottling it up, though."
"You say that every time, gramps." This time, his grin became shit-eating. "Hey, maybe one of these times I'll listen though! You never know."
'Gramps' scoffed. "I can't even get you to admit you work too damn hard." Under his breath, he continued. "Damn picture of your father, I swear."
"Eh? What was that, old man?"
"Nothing!" Gustav seemed to crane his head, listening into the distance. "Oh, darn, looks like the missus is callin' me! I need to get goin', young'un!" The old man took off at a surprisingly quick pace, waving as he exited the property, receiving a wave from Carol in return.
Damn old bastard moves quick. Guess that's Aura for you, though. Carol rolled his neck, a series of pops echoing forth. Now, to finish this wood off with some music. The boy put in the earbuds and scrolled through his library. You know what? Today's a Pine Terror type of day, he mused as he selected a track named 'Strut'. Pocketing his scroll and losing himself in the music, he tuned out the world as he resumed splitting logs.
After all the wood was processed, Carol hauled it to the rear of the house where the smithy was located. Moving throughout the house to the common room, he peeled off the extra layers of clothing he wore and set them upon the couch. He moved on to the kitchen and retrieved a roll of bread from the pantry and filled a glass with ice-cold water. His scroll was pulled out once more, where he began reviewing his tasks for the day.
"Alright, so, I've got an order to replace a three inch blade for a spike on a weapon...quench process requested as ice dust for extra sharpness...ugh. At least they made the spikes have a mooring on their weapon. Sure would suck if they had to reforge the weapon entirely if it had a critical fracture..." The boy snorted in amusement. "Well, for them at least. That's paydirt for me."
Scrolling down, he noticed that the customer had requested multiple spares. Well, at least they're thinking of the future. He sighed and looked at the quenching process request. Still, though, Ice Dust? That's a one way ticket to a shattered blade. Now, how many did they...
Carol swallowed the hunk of bread slowly, the magnitude of the order sinking in. They want fifty?! By two days from now?! Brothers above, I gotta get moving!, Carol thought as he scarfed down his bread and pounded down the ice cold water. Tearing through his house, he reached the forge quickly and shoveled a few pounds worth of coal into the furnace and sparked them. He grabbed a hold of the bellows and pumped air vigorously into the furnace, afterwards then setting the bellows down and retrieving a pole of steel and maneuvering it over to his cutter.
You know, as much as I love the classics, modern forging technology makes it so much easier to do, Carol thought as he slowly cut off small discs from the pole. Still, looks like I'm gonna have a lot of work these next two days. A sigh emitted from the lone smith. At least it wasn't a rush order...
The small set of discs were brought over to the furnace, and one was picked up with a set of tongs to be placed into the furnace. Bringing the metal to a nice cherry red, he retrieved it from the furnace and placed it upon the anvil, and grabbed his hammer, bringing it high and striking the steel hard. This process continued for some time, until he found it was a suitable shape.
And now, we quench. Carol turned on the trough for the ice dust quenching on, and carefully set the rough blade into the mixture. Ice dust was unique in how it interacted with metal, not only cooling incredibly quickly but uniquely interacting with the steel to make it retain an edge incredibly efficiently, as well as being much quicker of a quenching process. However, the trade-off came in the fact that while it was sometimes remarked as being sharp enough to cut light, it was much more liable to fracture when struck from an angle other than the cutting edge as opposed to quenching it with standard water, or even oil quenching. Of course, it all depended on the quality of steel you used, but that was besides the point.
Anyway, Carol paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, that's one forged and quenched, prep'd for the grinding and polishing process. The brunette maneuvered to the furnace to pump the bellows a bit, and glance at the remaining material. Forty-nine to go...
He lost track of the passage of time, eventually finding himself soaked in sweat and through fully three-quarters of the discs. Carol turned to the furnace and filled it up with more coal, and took a moment to catch his breath and check the time. Hm. I could have sworn it wasn't that long ago I was having lunch. The clock on his scroll denoted the time as being five before ten. Still, I'm not too hungry, and I still have some time left...so what's the harm in working late? It's not like it's anything new to me. Renewed in purpose, the young man began to continue his work.
Eventually, he decided that two more hours of work was enough, and stored all of the bits he finished shaping and the ones he had yet to get to away. His sweat dropped off of his brow as he closed the furnace up to smother the flame, and exited the room. Trudging past the common room and up the stairs in a tired haze, he entered his room and peeled his clothes off before stepping in to his bathroom. The shower's hot spray came as a welcome relief to Carol as it washed the stress and sweat of the day off of his form. The young man looked over his form, watching as rivulets of water traced their way down his muscles and over his chest full of hair. A tired sigh escaped the brunette as he leaned on the tile in front of him, before reaching down to turn off the water.
If I spend too much more time in here, I ain't gonna make it to my bed. Reluctantly leaving the shower and toweling off, he retrieved a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt and pulled them on. The young man unceremoniously flopped onto his bed and set his scroll on his nightstand, then hooked it up to his charger. He briefly noted the time, twelve thirty-five, and covered up in his series of heavy blankets, before closing his eyes and falling asleep.
The angry buzzing of an alarm woke Carol from sleep, and he slapped a hand over his scroll to pull it towards him. The alarm was dismissed, shutting of the infernal racket, and the screen lit up which nigh blinded the tired soul. "Ugh. Five-fifty already?" He remarked as he pulled himself out of the bed. "Well, time to get to it, then."
End Note: And thus, the first chapter is finished. I hope that everyone can catch the references and historical allusions I've placed in this story, and I hope to see all of you lovely readers in the next chapter. Do be sure to comment with your criticisms, or even what you think of the story. One of my major goals as a writer is to improve as I write. Additionally, the type of short sword referred to above the fireplace is a Gladius.