Whats a swordsman to do?

[Philomel]

Harrington looked over the warrior and smiled slightly. The man before him was strong, that was clear, but if one did not have experience in a forge, you were not guatanteed to walk out of there alive. YOu could as easily lose a limb as one might wink at a pretty woman, then get distracted and burn yourself with the smoldering hot poker you currently have. To forge was to breath fire, to go where the imagination took you in terms of pattern but to remain in the realms of possibilities and what science taught. Fumes were your air, fire was your soul, and you lived by the beat of the hammer that was also the thump of your heart.

Slowly the blacksmith put down the end of the sword and threw Hayate the cloth he had in his hand still. "Here," he grunted, "You want to help, then you could clean the worktop. My son has not come back yet."

And he eyed the sword up a little, taking a mental note of its measurements. Without touching it he moved back and went into the back of his shop, where the large fire burned - the source of his power. He began to stride over to shelves that lined directly against the stone wall. On there were tens of large blocks of raw metal; expensive, but useless in their current form. His eyes ran over the blocks until he found two imperfect chunks, that he grabbed, one in each hand and turned to walk back out.

"With the scrap iron in consideration ... I can give a small discount. Let us say 1825 gold for the titanium and 2500 gold for the prevalida. Of course if you were to go for something cheaper," he grinned as he came through and set one of the mighty blocks on the worktop - a huge silvery thing, "It would be cheaper. I am already knocking off a small price just for you."