Frosted Iron

”We couldn’t figure it out, that was part of the adventure!” Caiside laughed, getting into his own storytelling a little bit now. It wasn’t a bad story to start, would probably make a great story. It just wasn’t the best life. ”He figured his birthright had to do with it. Apparently the leader of his...” He waved his hand, twirling his tools around easily, ”...his band? She knew what it meant, but never told him. So we did some research, and found it was made in the specific style of a remote northern kingdom. The Wolf Kings tribe.” The understanding between them was unspoken, and it was better for it. Caiside was not someone who likes to talk about things he considered bad, even to friends, especially to friends. Having someone like Jigano as a silent supporting presence was a relief. It made these difficult topics that much easier. A short huff of laughter came to his lips at the bards wry admission, not cruel, just amused. ”It’s rare to be thrown into a situation and roll with it. It’s a skill.” He wanted to be kind, but pry for more at the same time. It was only fair they were both sharing their stories. ”That sounds like quite the beginning of a story.” Jigano asked for critique on his sword, and Caiside looked it over with a careful eye. ”Hold it at more of an angle for the edge.” He adjusted his grip, exaggerating the way he held the soon to be sword to demonstrate. ”It’s easier to adjust it this way, instead of trying to strike it at an angle.” Caiside I have never been allowed to be Holy, I have never been forgiven for Wanting;