"Boy, do you understand?" Ozlo, only half paying attention after being roused from his deep sleep and practically drug downstairs by his master, dumbly nodded. The truth was he did understand, it would just take a moment to settle into his thick head.
"Master Burgin wants me to forge a knife all by myself. He's actually going to leave the forge, run some errands and I'm to make this blade without any assistance." Understanding slowly dawned on Ozlo and the implications ran through his head. "Alright, I can NOT mess this up. If I do Burgin will have me forging nails and sweeping the shop for who knows how long."
Burgin gave Ozlo one more quick glance as he headed towards the door, but he didn't spare him a word. Ozlo took note of the smith, glancing around at the various implements and taking note of the silence that hung in the air. "Well, I shouldn't waste time. I can do this."
Grabbing a rod of cold iron, Ozlo carefully slipped it into the forge and started pumping the bellows. After the coals had reached a sufficient heat, he slipped a few more pieces of coke and some more of the aforementioned coal in as well.
The next few minutes were filled with the slow rhythmic pumping of the bellows. In and out, in and out as the forge came roaring to life, filling the size-able room with an inescapable heat. "Alright, the color looks right, and the rod is hot, time to hammer it roughly into shape, cut off the excess, and quench the blade."
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Though not exactly complicated, the process required skill, dexterity, and patience. All things Ozlo had slowly been working on developing, mostly unknowingly, with his masters guidance. Rod to anvil, hammer to rod, chisel the excess, and there it sat. The rough shape of a simple knife. Though the blade wasn't anything special and the process was no doubt repeated across the world more expertly and much faster than Ozlo could, Ozlo still felt proud. "I did it... I didn't lose focus or burn myself or, or... I did it."
As Ozlo stood there staring at his blade, he quickly snapped out of his thoughts. "Quench it, gotta quench it while it's hot." And so, heating the blade just a bit more and sliding it into the barrel using a long pair of tongs specifically made for that purpose, Ozlo was finished.
"Burgin will finish putting an edge on it, I can't get it anywhere near as sharp as he can." And so Ozlo sat down, covered in sweat and oil and hands aching a bit. Ozlo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a minute, just a moment. No more than three or four. Definitely not five. Probably for sure less than ten.
"Boy." Tumbling from his chair, Ozlo quickly regained his balance and looked towards his master. "Hey Master. Uh, the blades done." Burgin walked over to the barrel and pulled the blade from the oil. "Hmm, so it is, so it is." Burgin looked down the blade, checking for any dents or dings that are out of place, and finding it satisfactory, he sat it down. "You did good boy, finished with time to spare, judging by drool on your shirt."
Ozlo looked at his shirt sheepishly but had no words. "Aye lad, you made the blade, smithy isn't burnt down and you didn't even break anything. I'd say today was a good day. Keep it up and I'll put you to work making swords before you know it."