First Reply The Art of Smithing

[Iko Vel]

IKO VEL
"You can take the Boy outta the City, but you can't take the City outta the Boy"​

Tags: Open

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Well. Here it was. Moenia. He had managed to find a family that was willing to let him stay at theirs for a few weeks to experience the culture and see if he could immerse himself in the art. Of course, it was a bit awkward staying with strangers, considering his room was basically a shed off to the side of their house. It had been quite a fancy shed to be fair however. There had been a fair few different sculptures laying on shelves around, none of which he could really understand. Some were like weird spherical cones, or seemed to be DNA molecules whilst others were simple carvings of animals. It hadn't been what he had been wanting to learn about...but hey. It was good to enrich yourself with other cultures. At least that was what Iko thought. Heh. Look at Iko. Using big words like enrich in his thoughts.

Either way, he was now wandering around the streets to try and get as much of a feel of the people as he could. Resting his arm along the relatively simple sword he carried with himself. Whilst his old dreams of being a noble hero had died out, that didn't mean his interest in swords had. It was the main reason he was even in Moenia. To find out how to smith them. He understood the basics, but he wanted to be artisan. To make beautiful pieces of weaponry. Who knows, in the future he might try and study how to incorporate both the Force with Smithing. But that was getting too far ahead of himself. The lad checked his watch for a moment, giving a few short nods to himself. Got around two hours to get himself familiar with the place before he had to be back for a meal with the family.

And so what did a young lad do with an entire city at his disposal for him to look and see? He just sat himself down on the edge of a nearby fountain. The boundless energy he had as a wee pre-teen was gone by this point. In the past, he'd have bothered everyone he saw to find out more about them. Who they were. What they did. But there was a small amount of fear within his heart that held him in place. He didn't belong on Moenia. That's what his mind told him. And the people around would know that. Obviously they'd be able to see it. So instead of approaching anyone, Iko kept himself firmly sat on the fountain, swinging one leg up to rest his foot against his knee and his arm against his leg. It was time to people watch as well as he could.

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[Korda Veydran]

The sound of the fountain was soft — the kind of rhythm that blended into the city's hum. Moenia was alive in the early light; merchants setting up stalls, artists carrying their half-finished works, the chatter of voices that rolled like waves. Iko might've thought no one noticed him there — just another traveler — but someone did.

A figure had been watching from across the small plaza, seated at the edge of a shaded colonnade. His armor was muted and scarred, not polished like a parade soldier's but worn, purposeful. The kind of gear that had seen real fire. Even without the helmet, which hung at his side, Korda Veydran was unmistakably a warrior. His dark hair was cropped short, eyes the color of cooled iron — the kind that measured, weighed, and remembered.

He rose without hurry, boots striking stone with deliberate rhythm, and crossed toward the fountain. When he spoke, his voice carried the deep rasp of someone long used to command — but he wasn't here to command.

"You are Iko, yes? The offworlder with a hand for shaping metal?"
He stopped a few paces away, studying the lad, gaze flicking briefly to the sword at his hip. There was no insult in it — only interest. After a beat, he continued:

"Word travels strangely here. They say you've an eye for balance, a feel for tempering. Enough that I would seek it."
Korda's hand rested against the strap across his chest, fingers brushing against the edge of a wrapped object slung over his shoulder. He hesitated — rare for him — then spoke quieter, tone edged with something personal, almost reverent.

"I need a blade forged. One unlike most you've seen. Its form and purpose… are not for open talk. Not yet."
He looked back toward the fountain's waters, where reflections of Moenia's spires wavered like ghosts.

"If you agree to help, I'll share what I can — when I must. You'll be paid, if that matters. But more than that… you'll see metal made to answer to something greater than itself."
His gaze returned to Iko, steady and searching.


"Will you take that risk, smith?"

Iko Vel

 

[Iko Vel]

IKO VEL
"You can take the Boy outta the City, but you can't take the City outta the Boy"​

Tags: Korda Veydran

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The teenager blinked for a moment as he looked up at the stranger. Glancing around for a moment to make sure he meant Iko before the lad pointed at his own chest as if in disbelief.

"You...mean me? I'm no expert. I don't think my skills are that amazing. I've came to Moenia to learn how to make something...more than just a weapon. Something that could be an artifact. Something that could be placed in a museum."

Of course, he wasn't saying no straight away. If it had been anyone else asking him, Iko might have let his ego get the better of himself. He could make at least pretty nice looking weapons. There had been that dagger he had made for Persephone...What, two years ago now? And of course he had made progress. But there was something about the way the Stranger was asking him that made Iko want to take this more seriously.

"I'll help as much as I can. But I have to inform you that if you're looking for some qualified bladesmith, I'm not the right one to ask. All I have to show for myself is my own sword. I have a friend I made a knife for a long time ago, but...I don't think she can exactly speak for me right now."

He rubbed his neck with the usual teenager awkwardness a young lad would have. Nerves were of course there. But he was doing his best to hide that with an awkward grin. And of course it was time for one of his worst traits to come out. Iko was more often than not always willing to take a risk whenever he could...even if he was biting off far more than he could chew.

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[Korda Veydran]

Korda watched the boy's expression — the way disbelief mixed with modesty — and a faint curve touched the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close enough to pass for one on a man who rarely gave them.

"Good," he said simply. "Then you're the one I'm looking for."
He stepped closer, his shadow falling partly across Iko and the fountain's glimmering edge. From a pouch at his belt, he drew a slim datapad, its casing worn and scratched but carefully kept. He tapped the screen, and a schematic shimmered into view — a blade's silhouette, long and slightly curved, its spine heavy like a cleaver's, but its edge drawn in a sweeping arc that gave it a falchion's grace.

"I don't need an expert," Korda continued, voice low and calm. "I need someone who listens to what the metal wants to be — not what others demand of it."
He turned the datapad toward Iko, letting the youth see. Along the sword's broad surface, intricate etchings lined the fuller — not words, but flowing geometric sigils that seemed to blend art and reverence. Near the hilt, a small icon repeated itself: a circle with an inward spiral, intersected by a vertical slash.

"This is what I seek. The balance of a falchion. The weight of a cleaver. A weapon meant not for slaughter, but for truth. Every measure, every etching — they have meaning. Faith, if you will."
Korda held the datapad out to him. His hand was steady, the gesture respectful.

"Take this. Study it. I will compensate you — fairly."
Then, almost as an afterthought, his gaze softened a fraction.

"And I know the look you've got, boy. The one that says you're in over your head."
A pause.

"That's good. Only those who walk too close to the forge's fire ever learn what it means to make something worthy."
He straightened, giving Iko a short, almost knightly nod.


"I'll come by your shed tomorrow at dawn. If you still wish to take the commission, we'll begin."

Iko Vel

 

[Iko Vel]

IKO VEL
"You can take the Boy outta the City, but you can't take the City outta the Boy"​

Tags: Korda Veydran

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Iko cupped his chin between his index finger and thumb as he looked down at the Datapad. As much nerves as he had, when he got his head down into the "smithing mode", he might as well call it, all of the background noise in his head faded away, taking the datapad carefully as he went over the design in thought.

"Hm...The carvings could be difficult to incorporate without risking the integrity of the metal. Especially as they're shapes unfamiliar to me...Etching would be pretty difficult...Not impossible. Working on the balance will be a bit of a problem as well...Giving it the weight of a cleaver whilst keeping it balanced like a falchion...I'd possibly still be able to make it top heavy...but it would make the upswing difficult..."

He muttered away to himself, frowning at the datapad. It was already obvious that there wasn't going to be an if. Iko had already taken the comission, as he was giving plenty of thought into how he was going to make it. The materials would probably be delivered to him. That could also be problematic in case it was a metal he hadn't worked with. Songsteel was obviously what he was most experienced with...but if he started to get his own business selling weapons going, he could afford to experiment with more materials. Perhaps even make some forms of damascus...

Eventually he seemed to snap out of his thought process, glancing over towards the man once more, giving him a short nod. In the past, Iko might have been in awe at the whole Knightly vibes. But he had grown up since then...somewhat at least. It was going to be time for him to prepare at least...After a good night of sleep.

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[Korda Veydran]

Korda's eyes followed Iko as he muttered over the datapad, noting the lad's focus. After a moment of silence, he spoke, calm but firm, carrying a weight that made it impossible to ignore.

"Those etchings… if you wish, I can take care of them myself. I know how to inscribe without compromising the strength of the metal."
He flexed his fingers lightly, as if recalling a long-practiced motion, and his posture tensed just enough to hint at the blade's weight in his hands.

"As for the upswing… you needn't concern yourself. This blade is meant for me, and I will ensure it moves as it should. Its balance will serve my technique, not falter in my hands."
Korda took a measured step closer, gaze steady and unflinching.

"The forging, the shaping, the weight — that will be yours. The etchings… that we can handle together."
He softened just slightly, a rare touch of respect for the boy's dedication.


"Rest tonight. Tomorrow, the fire waits."

Iko Vel