Frosted Iron

Caiside pauses, blinking at Jigano’s question, then grinned and shook his head. ”Please excuse me. There are many similarities between our homes, but I must remember we did not come from the same place. The Mother is the forest, the world. She began everything. Her daughters are the spirits of the forest, and they are many. While every creature comes from her, only the spirits are truly of her blood. The spirits... and Reithdur.” He was trying to explain it as sensibly as he could, a fear made difficult by the fact that much of what he was explaining he had thought of truths, facts that had rarely, if ever, needed words spoken to them. ”It is said that the first things the Mother created were the trees, and her daughters. They are old, but not... strong. Not when they’re alone. And because they are so old, and so pure, they are unable to snuff life from a living being. Regardless of the danger or pin it being upon them.” There was an undeniable sadness in Caisides voice, a grief still felt strongly in his throat. After a breath, to clear the lump in his throat, Caiside continued. ”After he killed his father, he wanted to find out more about his magic.” He confirmed with a brief nod, his eyes focused down on the movements of his hands. Libraries were scoured, first those in the North, then, as they were found lacking, I was sent to neighbours and allies, asking for texts about magic, about the Mother, and about prophecy. And when my words and deals proved to not be enough, soldiers were sent, the knowledge taken by force.” It was clear Caiside was trying to keep himself at least a little distant from what had happened. He would never call what he felt shame, but only because he would never apply such a word to himself. It was a little strange, watching Jigano speak his tale again. Like looking in a mirror, one that reflected stories that would rather fester in dark corners than come to light. Fuzzy details, and a distance, whether deliberate or not. Still, it was fun to get into the mood Jigano was trying at, Caiside lifting his eyebrows and leaning in as the other man spoke of subtle gods. ”Flashes of memory? It sounds... disorienting.” Caiside shook his head like he was shaking away dust and glanced down at Jigano’s hands, like he half expected the gloves to still be bonded. Like he’d even be able to tell through the thick forge gloves. He listened intently as Jigano described his home, golden eyes moving from the blade he was working on, to the silver haired man beside him, to his own forge, its light a dull red. He could imagine what Jigano was saying, in his own way. It was a pity he would never see the real thing, compare what it looked like in his head to the truth. Though the organizations that were mentioned begged to be questioned, Caiside was immediately distracted by the pregnant pause Jigano built. The red head leaned in again, then gasped, out loud, at the hook. ”Just like that?” All the talking had Caisides hands falling still again, and he tutted, looking down at his work, then over towards Jigano’s. They were shaped enough to move on to the next step, the tempering and sharpening, both fiddly enough that he’d need to explain as well as demonstrate. With a tight lipped smile, Caiside spoke. ”I think we’ll have to put a pin in our stories for the moment. Why don’t we continue them next time?” It seemed fair enough to him, and gave them both something to look forward to. When Jigano agreed, Caiside pressed on, talking about colours to watch for and how to get a fine edge. It didn’t take long from that point to finish, both of them standing with basic, but more than serviceable blades. ”It’s simpler than I do normally, but I think simple works for these.” Jigano had done a good job, his experience clearly serving him well. Caiside I have never been allowed to be Holy, I have never been forgiven for Wanting;