The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round Six: Eddelin City]

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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Arkal was confused, to say the least. He went back to work; there was no way he could figure out why a naked woman claiming to be one of his descendants would suddenly appear out of the wall, and smithing would hopefully keep his mind too occupied to attempt to explain it.

But it wasn't enough to keep his mind off of his family. He'd often left them for years at a time - not because he didn't like them, but because he was, at heart, a wanderer.

But it was still nice to have a home to return to.

He reflected on his youth, and his first meeting with his wife. Saera hadn't been known for her looks - or rather, she had, in the sense that the young men in her village called her "ratface" behind her back.

But Arkal had never been one to care much for aesthetics. A sword that looked nice but couldn't win a fight was no use as a sword, and the smith tended to apply the same mindset to people.

And Saera was a good scavenger. She had an eye for materials that was so keen, she'd find things even Arkal had overlooked. He found himself returning to the village often to buy whatever she'd dug up. But even when she'd found nothing, he felt it was worth the trip.

Then came the day that she showed him a glowing red stone. He took one look at it and was amazed - it was, even to his relatively inexperienced eyes, simply radiating with luck.

She smiled, and told him she wouldn't take money for it.

It was an engagement ring. Except it would be more useful than a silly piece of jewelry.

He accepted without hesitation. And not because of the stone, as amazing as it was. No, that was just a sign of how well she understood him.

She knew when she asked that he wouldn't stay long. It was just the way he was.

She didn't care. And they both knew she could take care of herself.

Arkal had soon realized that the stone gave off heat, and it seemed as though it would never run out. It was perfect for his forge.

Arkal paused in his work, looked at the forge, and smiled. Saera was always with him, he supposed, even now.

It had been three years since she passed away. Arkal had rushed home from a continent away after hearing she had fallen ill, arriving a mere half-hour before the end.

It was a half-hour with her that he would treasure forever.

His relationship with his sons, on the other hand, had always been somewhat distant. Neither boy truly resented his absence, but they couldn't understand his ways. Strangely, though, they were like him in a significant way: they forged their own paths through life.

Koule, the elder, had chosen to become a scholar of ancient languages. Arkal was impressed with his intelligence, though there was a part of him that wished he'd applied that to the study of metals and minerals instead; it would have given them something to discuss, and would have been useful for the smith's work.

Eselt, the younger son, had become an actor. Arkal had been to a few of his performances, but he apologetically told the boy that he didn't really understand what they were all about. Mostly it was that the characters seemed to have a tendency to avoid doing something perfectly sensible that would have prevented the whole problem. Eselt had tried to explain that the flaws in the characters were the whole point, but his father just didn't see how that was entertaining.

But he loved both sons regardless of their differences, and wished them well in their respective fields. They, too, wished him success as a blacksmith.

Still, it had grown even more awkward since Saera's death. The boys didn't doubt his love for her, or hers for him, and they were glad that he had made it to see her one last time.

They just weren't sure what to say to him afterwards. And he wasn't sure what to say to them.

The three had all gone back to their respective disciplines afterwards. Arkal hadn't seen either of them since.

And now he might not see them again. The thought was only now hitting him.

He stared at the sword he was making, and inspiration struck.

Carefully, he took out a small pick and began carving words into the blade. The chances of the words making it to his sons were remote, but he saw nothing else he could do.

To my wonderful sons, Koule and Eselt:

I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to see you since Saera's passing. By the time I wrote this, it was too late; but I had three years before that, so I've got no excuses.

Let me say this right out: I love you both, and I'm very proud of you. I know we haven't been the closest family, but I'm glad to call you my sons regardless.

I've been forced into a battle to the death against seven others. If you're reading these words, it means I didn't survive it. But I don't want you seeking revenge on my killer or anything like that - assuming that's even possible. I just want you to know that I loved you both.

Koule, I bet you've already cracked the secret of those Sanjegorian scrolls you were telling me about. But if you haven't, keep at it. You're a brilliant lad, and I'm amazed someone with a thick skull like mine could have sired you. Hopefully it'll be something more important than some noble's grocery list.

Eselt, after recent experiences, I think I finally understand The Warlock And The Mockingbird. It's a shame I won't get to see your take on the King of Kombria again in light of this new knowledge; he actually reminds me of one of my opponents.

To both of you - what matters to me most is that you continue to pursue the work that you love. Looking back, I may have a few regrets about my life, especially in my relationship with you boys, but I don't regret being a smith. I hope you can look back on your own lives with satisfaction when you get to my age.

-Your loving father, Arkal

The print was small, but it was readable. It wasn't the first time Arkal had engraved a message in one of his works, though usually it was simply what his client wanted the weapon to be named. Still, he'd had enough practice.

He put the sword in a scabbard - he always had several handy, as swords were fairly easy to make - and picked up his anvil and forge.

Arkal of the Silver Anvil was ready to face his fate, whatever it might be.