Forging - Tumblr Posts

If you've ever bought a handmade Japanese kitchen knife from @knifewear, you probably wondered how they make them. Well I kinda saw it for myself this weekend at the #YYC Japanese Festival this past weekend at the Max Bell. Pretty amazing. Even without the springhammer, it's still fascinating to see it happen up close and personal. #ChefApprenticeLife #ChefApprenticesDayOff #yycfood #yycnow #yycvideo #captureyyc #yycliving #knives #japaneseknives #forging #blacksmith (at Max Bell Centre)

Smith panted as he started awake. Cool air washed over his legs, arms, and torso as he stared up at the ceiling. He winced at the pain in his skull. The room was blurry. Where ... was he?

He sat up slowly in bed and felt the cold touch of metal against his hand. His breathing quickened, and he snatched the object up, cradling it against his bare chest. His piece was still there. He quickly opened the cartridge. Every bullet was accounted for.

Then he looked down, noticed what he was wearing, and cursed. His boxers were nowhere in sight. Instead, a pair of tight white briefs clung to his frame. His skin tingled as he looked around the room. The walls were a blank tan with light texturing.

“What ... happened?” he grunted. His throat felt parched and irritated, and his voice sounded gravelly. One minute, he was running gun maintenance, the next he ... he couldn’t remember. He must’ve been drugged or hit over the head. “Okay, no sudden movements, then,” he said. “Don’t wanna risk problems, if I’ve got a concussion.”

His head throbbed and he let out a low growl. “Damn it,” he swore. He primed his gun and pointed toward the door. Whoever had kidnapped him would have to walk in eventually. And when they did, he would make sure they let him go with interest. They’d have a hell of a lot to answer for, when he was through with them. Screw the police.

The tingling intensified, and a low moan escaped his lips as a bulge began to swell in the crotch of his briefs. “Not now,” he snarled. He laid his arm on the side of his leg and clenched his hand around the gun The cold metal helped to cool his hot blood as he rested it against his thigh. His head still throbbed, though, and an odd ringing clang echoed in his ears.

The room spun as he propped himself up, and the ringing intensified. His head rolled back as a deep voice echoed through his head, singing in a dialect he didn’t recognize. It droned and thrummed in time with the ringing blows.

His hand trembled. His arm and leg hair thickened. The bulge in his briefs swelled. The last thing he remembered was the sharp retort of the gun as he slipped into the blackness.

Smith blinked slowly. He turned his head weakly to see a woman’s pale hand caressing his own. It looked so tiny, the way it cradled there. Five strapping men stood tall and proud as they looked at him. Their eyes watered, and his own vision clouded. He felt the moisture trickle down over his nose and lips and he furrowed his brow in confusion. He wasn’t upside down. The water shouldn’t have trailed the way it did.

One of the figures stepped forward and offered a large crude hammer. Smith reached forward and seized he shaft. For some reason, he felt ... peaceful at the feel of it. He looked up at the man and nodded gratefully. A much larger hand cradled his and he turned to stare into a monstrosity. The woman’s face was brutish, yet well kept. A bowl cut had been set neatly to frame her face and the single massive eye in the middle of her head above the nose.

Instead of revulsion, Smith felt a longing and a pang of regret. He looked over the men and blinked as he took in their single eyes as well.

“Rest now, my son. Rest now,” a gentle voice whispered. Cold sleek scale brushed against his skin as he turned his head to behold the massive writhing body of snake-like limbs and he beautiful woman who sat atop it from the waist up. The clanging rang again as he laid back his head and smiled at the gathering. Then he sighed, and the darkness came again.

Smith blinked slowly as he came to awareness. He sat up and rubbed his great eye with his free hand. “What ... happened?” he asked. The ringing echoed in his skull again, but ... that wasn’t the only place. “What the...?”

He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the source of the sound. He tried the handle. The knob twisted easily and opened into an absolute impossibility. The cave was positively enormous. Its roof stretched up into a dark abyss illuminated by veins of crystal that reflected the light from a series of red pools that dotted the space. Heat roiled off in waves, but nothing burned. It felt ... tingly.

He sniffed, and the smell of roasting meat entered his nostrils. His stomach growled. He remembered the ground shaking, the pounding almost like a rockslide. And suddenly he was chewing heavily. The flavor was somewhat gamy, but the seasonings masked the worst of it.

More pieces of meat sat on kebabs, waiting for him to tear into them. He did so with relish. Great earthenware jars soon revealed a dark brown liquid that tasted sweet. He grinned. “Beer!” he bellowed excitedly. He drank greedily from the jar and let it drop with a lusty sigh of satisfaction, once he’d drained the vessel. Then he unleashed an earth-shaking belch.

He scratched his stomach, then his crotch. Then he reached for another kebab. It didn’t take him long to polish off the reserves in the room. When his hunger had been sated, he rose and strode curiously toward the pools. He dipped a hand in curiously. All he felt was a pleasant warmth.

The cavern rumbled again, and this time a grin spread across Smith’s face. He pulled his hand out and watched the glowing substance drip down like bathwater. He rose and strode over to a plinth that seemed almost to shrink the closer he drew to it. A large hammer lay on the surface, alongside sets of tongs, bins filled with glinting metals, and pools and jars he had yet to properly identify. Still, the ringing sounded in his ears, and his hand twitched as he reached for the great hammer’s shaft.

He was ... supposed to do something, wasn’t he?

He seized the tool and raised it.

Something ... important. Make ... make ...

He plunged a hand into the bin and fished out a fistful of metal. It shrieked as he crumpled his hand, and he grinned as he turned toward the pools.

Make.

He stomped his foot.

Make.

The earth trembled and groaned as a massive metal anvil rose out of the stone.

Make.

He released the hammer and rested it on the surface, then dipped his free hand into the pool to cup the glowing liquid.

Make.

He crushed the metal into the liquid, and was left with a glowing malleable substance that felt like clay. A grin spread over his mouth as he returned to the anvil.

Make.

The air rang with the blow of the hammer.

Make.

The metal bent to his will.

Make.

He struck again and again as the hammer sang and his grin widened. The room became brighter. He didn’t care. All that mattered was what lay before him. The metal extended and lengthened under his ministrations. He didn’t know how long it had been. He didn’t care. He picked up the piece with his bare hands and immersed it into a black substance. The metal hissed and the surface spat fire. He chuckled a deep low guffaw at the sight. Then he pulled out the piece and placed it square with the center of his nose as he peered down the blade.

Make.

He strode to the edge of his table, where an intricately engraved metal pole had already been laid. He ground at the blade with a large moist stone, until the metal shone and the edges were sharpened. Lastly, he mounted the new piece of metal to a notch in the top of the shaft. The two clicked into place, and he grinned as he stood proudly, raising the spear over his head.

“I make!” he crowed, and the whole cavern shook. He no longer had dificulty making out the stalactites that hung from above. He scratched at the roughspun wool cloth that preserved his dignity. “That was fun. I make more!”

With every clang of his hammer, the memories of the hotel room faded. The tiny creatures that flickered across his vision seemed more appetizing than they did interesting. More than once, he wondered what they might taste like, and his mouth watered at the idea.

Smith was no more. When he tried to remember his name, the only word that sprung to mind was sidirourgós.

He thumped his thick muscular chest in delight. “sidirourgós.” He tested the word, running his tongue over his teeth as he felt the way it passed through his mouth. “I make. I forge. I am sidirourgós.” He chuckled. “I am sidirourgós!”

And with that, he went to work. A large set of blueprints had already materialized, carved on a stone block. His muscles tensed. His grin widened. He had an order. He understood the writings and images. It was time to get to work.

Off in the shadows, two golden eyes glinted as sharp white teeth bore themselves in a grin. “Success,” she hissed quietly as her sinuous body slithered away.

Harvesting some blueberries this morning.

The camping site was abundant in fungi. The land was delivering some pretty cool surprises this weekend. Foggy summer days plus mushroom abundance made me so happy.

Made a stop in my hometown for the night on my way to Greenville. Of course I had to help dad in the blueberry grove behind the house. I use to hate summer blueberry season, my sister and I would spend hours and hours trying to keep up with all the berries. Now I miss the easy access. Especially living in Greenville last year when I was so far away - I really missed access to them and I refused to purchase them. Now that I live at the beach and my hometown is only an hour and a half away, I get regular blueberry deliveries again when dad is in town.

FENCE OF THE YEAR 1856 202308171641205RT1

Passing by a rustic house I noticed the door and the date of manufacture of the lock, He is still working. Things are not done the way they used to be…Location: Bescaran, Alt Urgell, Catalonia, Southern Europe. Fine Art Prints

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