Frosted Iron

Caiside couldn’t help but laugh at Jigano’s words, if only because he might scream if he didn’t. ”Things are never fair like that.” There was an edge in his voice, the last stubborn weapon in a battle already long lost. ”Their evils are on my head, as well as my own. After all, there would never have been a war without us.” He laughed again, the sound hollow, and shook his head, his loosely tied hair flopping with the motion. It wasn’t really the time for his bitterness to rise to the surface. He focused his energy on the forge instead, on the metal in his hands that would become soft and malleable, changed into something else. It was one of the few things he still had some power over, though his shaking hands and fatigue were seeking to steal it from him along with his divinity. ”A blade can be used for more than violence as well.” Caiside reminded softly, his tone calmed back into a soft monotone. He set the metal into the forge basin to heat, directing Jigano to do the same, then moved to retrieve various tools from their homes around the shop. ”These will likely be most useful for violent things though.” The admission was a little sheepish, offered under Caiside’s breath before he launched into a brief explanation of what they’d be doing, the heating and hammering and heating and hammering, and then the sharpening and finishing, going through the tools they’d use and how to use them. He was sure much of it was redundant for the other man, but he was nothing if not thorough. Caiside I have never been allowed to be Holy, I have never been forgiven for Wanting;