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Faylin

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Tired, undernourished, overworked, she continues pushing through each day. Faylin strikes the anvil as the red hot metal bends under each hit of the hammer. She loses herself in her thoughts, trying to find a way to escape her life and make a fortune.

Smells of smoke, sweat, and burning coal is in the air. Wall decay has made a fading gray, cracking and crumbling. Windows are dirty and has cracks all over. She is in her workshop, an old house, but it is still standing. There are shelves full of tools and supplies lining her walls.

Arms ache from the constant work and blisters are on her hands. She feels the pain and keeps going, not stopping for anything. Wiping the constant sweat off her brow, she continues her work. Faylin is alone. Sun rises and sets. The moon changes phases, the weather shifts from day to day. The seasons change. The world is full of color and life. An experience she never gets from unchanging determination.

Faylin has been working on the same sword for a few hours. Metal is still hot and sweat drips heavily off her chin. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, then strikes the anvil again. Iron is bending into the shape she desires.

Faylin longs for the chance to escape, to find her own path, and build her own business.

Molten metal goes into a tub of water, she hears the steam release as the metal cools. A crashing shock and rumbling horses break her thoughts. Faylin rushes to the door of her smithy and is met with a sight of a noble and his guards.

"Faylin! You have until the end of the month to finish the armor, and weapons for my guards and I."

"But sir, with that many guards and commissions I have, I might not be able to finish in time," Faylin whines with a soft voice looking down. "I'm a busy woman, and have a village to look after."

The noble gets off of his horse, face close to Faylin. "You're a blacksmith, you should have plenty of time. It's not my fault you waste it all on useless trinkets. You have until the end of the month to finish. You hear me?" He grabs her collar.

Faylin nods her head, too weak and tired to fight back. She is thrown to the ground, and the noble and his guards ride off on their horses with their heads high and mighty.

Faylin pushes herself off the ground. Dirt covers her face. She is stumbling her way into her smithy where she goes to rest on a chair. A single tear rolls down her face as she mutters, "I'm sick and tired of living like this."

"Hey Fay, you doing okay?" a young man barges in the shop.

"Yeah, I'm fine Lyrian. It's just I've got too many commissions and work that needs to be done."

"Well then I guess I'm glad that I stopped by," he smiles.

"Yeah me too." Faylin gets up and quickly hugs her friend to her side and heads back to work with a quick shift of focus. She picks up a hot metal rod from her furnace with a pair of tongs and begins hammering the metal.

"So then who was that man?" Lyrian asks with his arms over the shop counter watching her work.

Faylin stops mid swing of her hammer, "just the same old nobles from the Avesian Empire." Striking continues at the glowing piece of iron, hammering it out to flatten it into a sword.

"Sorry Fay, wish there was more that we could do to get away from these greedy nobles." Lyrian walks around the smithy and looks at a piece of ornamental gear.

"I wish so too." She stops hammering, "but we can't, we don't have the strength, the money, and we can't just uproot from the life we've got here." Tears begin to roll down her cheek, the hammer drops to the ground.

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"Hey now Fay," Lyrian comforts her as he grabs her by the shoulders and turns her around to hug her. "It'll be alright."

Faylin pushes Lyrian off of her. "Don't. It won't. It'll never be alright, it never has and never will. Nobles, and royals take everything they want and kill the commoner. We can never be happy."

"Fay, that's not true," Lyrian raises his voice but stops at a burst of the door by an old dwarf.

Faylin's eyes widen in surprise and quickly wipes away her tears, "oh Gimrik. Sorry."

"What is all the noise, lass. I could hear ye two all the way from my place." The dwarf stands there, hands on his hips like a dad.

Lyrian walks up to Gimrik and grabs his buff hand, "Gim, good to see you."

"Lyrian, lad, how ya doing?"

"Well just helping out Faylin with her work and commissions," he chuckles.

"Oh lad," the old dwarf laughs, "ye always be helpin' her out." He turns to Faylin. "Lass, yer work is amazing, just look at ye, all dirty and grimy. I love the sight of a dirty blacksmith. That shows true dedication and work ethics," Gimrik bursts with a hearty laugh. "So what was that noise all about, I thought I was going to find ye both at each others throat."

"I'm sorry, I'm just going through a lot right now Gimrik," Faylin walks over to her counter and begins to take her tools apart from the shelves.

Gimrik is walking over and pats her on the back, "lass, I know what's wrong."

"Then why ask?"

"Lass, I know it's hard, but we can only keep going."

Lyrian is walking up behind them, "That's what I've been telling her."

Faylin looks down. Grabbing a bucket of water, she splashes herself with the cool water. Dirt, and mud is washing off. She looks over to the men and tells them, "I'm sorry. I know that I'm being difficult. I'm just tired of the constant work with nothing to gain."

"Yes but you'll be buildin' yer business won't ye? That's something," Gimrik explains.

Faylin is looking to the side not knowing what to say.

"Anyway, I came to drop off some new clothes Bibby asked for," Gimrik reaches in his bag and hands a bundle of clothes over to Faylin.

Faylin has taken them and sets them aside, going back over to her furnace. The furnace glows a boiling red, orange, and yellow. Flames are dancing and flickering, the metal within it, a deep red like her short greasy hair. Faylin stirs and adds fuel to it with a shovel.

Lyrian looks over to Gimrik and asks, "how is the old lady doing?" Crackling has the room filling with a hot and intense heat.

Gimrik chuckles, "she's doing fine. She just wishes to get up and out of that chair of hers."

Faylin grabs a metal rod that glows red from the heat and places it on her anvil. She strikes the iron with a hammer, shaping the metal to fit the shape of a dagger. "I wish to be able to help her, but we have so much on our plates as it is."

Faylin strikes the metal and shapes the dagger, each strike of the hammer is filled with rage. The hammer is striking loudly and with such force that she begins to huff. She thinks about the past events of her mom that forced her to never walk again as she has been pulling back for another hard pound against the rod.

Gimrik reaches up and grabs her arm in the air, "Faylin, I know yer angry. But messing up that dagger out of rage, won't help ye."

Faylin slumps her shoulders and rests the hammer on her anvil, "I'm sorry Gim, I'm just tired."

Gim walks up to Fay and pats her on the back, "don't be lass, I understand. Now get some rest, you need it."

"How about I stay over? We have a mining expedition tomorrow, right?" Lyrian reminds.

"Oh yes, that's right," Faylin sighs.

"Come on Fay, it'll be fun. Just you and me, mining like we always do," he laughs. "But you should go ahead and wash up and rest. I'll help Gim with Bibby."

"Thank you, I would appreciate it," an unhappy Faylin glances with her head hanging. Guilt is showing in her eyes.

Lyrian and Gimrik head to the back of the shop to Bibby's room. Faylin heads upstairs into her living quarters, a small and cozy room with a single window and bed. Flooring creaks and the room smells of old wood and rust. Faylin takes her shirt and pants off, and heads into her small bathroom, grabbing a rag from a bucket of water. She begins to wipe the grime off of her skin. Her pale, freckled, dirty body shines in the sunlight as she cleans her arms and face.

The bathroom has no mirror, the sink is old and rusted. She is washing her short red hair with a rag and soap. After rinsing, she finishes bathing herself, throwing on a new ragged shirt and shorts and heads into her bedroom.

Mess of book piles are on the floor and papers scattered about on a desk and table. A few bottles of alcohol are sitting empty on her nightstand. Faylin heads over to her toy collection, blowing out the candles of a dark room. She presses a small button on a small flower contraption with a stone in the middle, and it blooms with small red flames for a night light. The room is filling with the glow of the flower. Faylin lies down in her bed, looking up at the ceiling. Wood is stained, and a little rotten. Night is quiet except the chirp of the crickets outside. Wind howls and is causing the leaves to rustle.

"Lyrian's right. I have to think positive. But it's so hard," she whispers to herself. And then, her eyes close shut.

The room is silent, and the crickets stop singing their song, the night sky shines in her small room. Her window barely lets any air in. Faylin sleeps restlessly. Eyes are moving under their lids, and her body shifts in place. Her legs and arms stretch out.