Smithing School

Garvan Gailarns pulled out a glowing red-hot mass of iron from his forge.

He had to make this one well. Perhaps better than any of the others. He turned it this way and that, inspecting it, finding where to hammer out bits and parts and then putting it back into the forge. It had not yet reached that certain zone, the orange-yellow glow that gave the best results.

Waiting for it to heat up to the desired temperature, he leaned back and contemplated what he was about to do. Go to Impa, find a teacher... that certainly made sense. His friend Riley had even gone to the trouble of finding a caravan to take them. But why did he not think of that sooner, if he was so serious now?

He realized that he was afraid. Ashamed of his slacking years, afraid of not being good enough, of being shown as incompetent in front of other smiths.

He had to cast that aside. No one started out good in everything.

Garvan pulled out the iron again. Perfect timing, this time. The Goron blacksmith set it upon his anvil and began to draw it, lengthening it and forging it into a blade...


...When it was finished, he held it aloft for a second, inspecting it. Well-balanced, easily handled. The hilt, surprisingly for him, didn't throw off the weight of the sword. Hilts and handles had always been a bit of a stumbling point for him.

Satisfied, he set it in a sheath, and wrapped the whole thing in a cloth. Time to go. Before he lost his nerve.

He met with Riley on the outskirts of Nabooru.

"Ready?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

They walked in silence for a while, listening to the soft crunching of the ground beneath their feet, feeling the fresh air caress them.

"So, why the sudden change of heart?" Asked Riley after a brief quiet.

"What do you mean?" Asked Garvan with a smile.

"Well, you're mostly the same... but you're taking work a lot more seriously than you did."

Garvan allowed a brief hush to fill the air between them. Finally, he sighed and said, "Were you there when Ganon attacked our city?"

The other Goron shook his head.

"Be glad you were not. Seeing your brothers run out before you, seeing your home ruined before your eyes... It changes a man."

The gloom hung heavily over them, and though they exchanged no more words for a long time, they understood that there existed a wall between them. A pain that Riley could not understand, a pain he wanted to relieve but without an idea how.

They trudged on in dour march.

The pair had traveled a few miles when they noticed that the wind had gone feral, whipping around them like a savage dog. The sky had grayed with clouds, no light to be seen from beyond them. A storm was brewing.

"Hmm." Said Garvan, "That's a bad omen, isn't it?"

"I hope not," Replied Riley lightly. "Since when were you the superstitious type?"

"Haha. Well, I suppose you may be right."

"Why'd you want me to come with you, anyway? This guy with the carriage is your friend, after all."

"I wanted to talk again, like old times. And I wanted the blessing of my brother, of course."

"Hmph. You idiot," Riley jabbed playfully, "This was my idea anyway! Of course you have it!"

They trudged on through bitter winds, now accompanied by light rains and the sound of countless drops hitting both them and the lonely road they traveled. Garvan would have found it soothing if he were not in the midst of it. Instead it seemed harsh and unforgiving, a fury of nature. It did no wonders for his mood.

Eventually, they came upon a caravan, the horses similarly unamused by the wet weather. The man driving it tipped a hat, showing a thick black mustache and shiny bare head. "Ya ready, Garvan?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Naw. We all help each other."

Garvan thanked him again and climbed in, waving goodbye to Riley as the caravan began rumbling down the trail through the rain. He had a feeling it would be a long trip...

Garvan stared out into the hard rain. Quite discontent with such weather, he wondered idly about what Riley had said. Had he really changed that much? Well, he was certain that he had been through some dark days in the time following Ganon's invasion. Even now his heart stubbornly clung to a dark, unyielding hatred of anyone and anything associated with the monster who destroyed his home. But it had been so much worse before. He was listless, angry, alone, a painful mass of sorrow and rage. How had Garvan clawed his way back to his previous character?

The rain came down, not in a thin veil, but in a stubborn, heavy deluge. A voice called out above the roaring wind and furious thunder; "Garvan, we gotta pull over! The horses can't take this stuff!"

Garvan shouted back over the howling storm, "That's fine! Get us out fast, before the road turns to mud!"

"Aye, tha's the plan!"

They set out down a side path, the unrelenting downpour hounding them the whole way to town.

The carriage, and all involved with it, including the horse, were thoroughly soaked by the way they pulled into the inn's stables. It was a downpour to dampen the hardiest, most patient of spirits, a thick heavy storm that seemed to permeate not only the air but to seep into the skin and bones and suppress the body. Even Garvan, a goron with rock-hard skin, found such moisture unpleasant. Thankfully his body temperature needed less regulation than that of his hylian friend, so he could afford to spend less time in front of the fire. The ghastly red glow of the fireplace filled the lobby, almost reminding him of the forge.

Garvan slipped away sooner than his driver did, and went to his room. Looking out the window he was fortunate enough to have, he saw that the wind and water were still coming down hard, and of course he could still hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. The goron blacksmith grimaced. He hoped it wouldn't be this way for long. It had already cut into progress and been rather demoralizing to deal with.

He turned his attention to the blade, uncovering and unsheathing it. Thankfully it hadn't been damaged or bent or anything of the like, and it had escaped the rainwater for the most part. While it was nothing too fancy, it seemed to him a good sword; somewhat resembling its maker, a simple, inelegant but effective thing.

He carefully sheathed and re-wrapped it, and set it down beside his bed. The roads would probably be muddy and difficult later; though he dared not vocalize it, he was secretly relieved. Impa was the destination for many of his profession and of many warriors. If his blade was found inferior in such a place, he couldn't imagine the shame he would feel, the insults he would incur.

He shook his head and stared out the window. It seemed like the journey would be a bit more complicated than expected.

The driver shook his head sadly. "Welp, t'looks like we can't go much farther'n this..."

Garvan nodded solemnly. The roads had turned to heavy mud, and it certainly wasn't conducive to pulling wagons. Especially not ones weighed down with about three hundred pounds of rocky Goron girth. "I'll just go the rest of the way on my own. Thanks for taking me this far."

The man uplifted his eyebrows. "Ya sure? There's still a few miles left up tha road, ya know."

The goron smith nodded once more. "We've covered most of the distance; I can handle myself from here, I think."

The hylian sighed and nodded. "Well, Ah and mah horse'll just wait here for ya."

"Thank you."

"Aw, Ah reckon tha's all we can do for now anyhow. You take care a' yerself too."

Garvan set out once more. The sludge didn't bother him much; it was different from shuffling through hard ground, but his sense of feeling wasn't acute enough to find it unpleasant. He looked up. The sky was clear now, which was just lovely after having stormed all throughout the night. As if the storm had been just to drag this out and slow him down. He cursed lightly but then continued on his way. Nothing lost. It'd just take longer.

He sighed as he stumbled on. This was getting more and more complicated by the minute. It was supposed to be simple...

Garvan wasn't sure what time he rolled into town but he was sure that the sight of it was a welcome reprieve. His feet were caked in mud and he had to kick them against the ground to rid himself of his messy makeshift boots.

Still, though... this place was bustling. People ran about in mad frenzies, darting this way and that, carrying objects or going here or there to pick them up. The people of Impa certainly wasted no time. He supposed that that seemed about right, though. For a place that was about to besiege the whole of Ganon's armies to be silent would strike him as unnatural and completely unsettling.

At any rate, he was here... now what to do? He had gotten here, now what? Wait for some master smith to magically appear before him? No, life was not that simple. He had no plan, only a new sword and his own old one, and a vague half-formed idea of finding someone good at metalwork.

He supposed the inn was as good a place as any. He made his way there, being careful to dodge the hustle and bustle of the city's folks.

Garvan took in the sights as he roamed the streets of Impa. The fresh new city of vibrant bustle, of chatter and the ever-present sensation of activity, seemed utterly foreign to the goron. He had known Goron City, and later Nabooru, but never this... it seemed so busy. Too busy, even.

He set aside his culture shock for now. With all its activity, Garvan had to remind himself semi-frequently about his goal. The place was distracting, and by the time he located the inn he had burned most of the day simply wandering the town.

He entered, and after paying for a few nights in a room, went about writing a letter. It was difficult, since his hands were large and Hylian tools were comparatively brittle, but after about half a dozen snapped pens he managed to pen a message to his friend letting him know the situation and how he planned to stay here for a while. He would've felt guilty knowing the poor man stayed there for any longer than necessary.

At any rate, he supposed he'd hit the marketplace tomorrow and see if anything worth looking into was there. Those types of places tended to draw people, so...

Over the next few days, Garvan spent his time walking the alleys of the city, never forgetting to tote his new sword. He saw assorted artisans peddling their wares, and plenty of bustle. There was also much talk of adventuring and the like, by both grizzled old veterans and young hotheads looking for glory.

There were also several iron-workers, and by extension plenty of equipment, set up by enterprising smiths. But look as he might, Garvan didn't find anything all that out of the ordinary. Nothing really leapt at him, none of the work spoke to him. He felt as though he could learn nothing special from anyone here. He practiced a bit by convincing a few smiths to lend him a forge, but again, no one commented on technique or the like, so he quickly took up the streets again.

He heard someone speaking of some type of "hunt..." There were apparently some sort of monsters running amok, unlikely as that was. Attacks in Northern Hyrule were rare. Still...

Garvan found himself, against his better judgment, heading off towards the place described. If they were here... his grip tightened. He could not let them, anywhere, just get away.

Garvan's search took him to a rather out of the way area. A clearing near a lake, and reasonably close to a small forest. It certainly seemed secluded enough to be a monster camp... of course it was, by the same token, also possible of being the birthplace of feverish paranoia and mistaken eyes.

But, to Garvan even a tangential lead was worth pursuing. Those monsters took his home from him. He was eager to respond in any way he could. He'd snoop around here for a while, make sure things were all quiet...

Soon enough he found some excitement. There seemed to be some sort of commotion nearby, which struck him as immensely incongruous in this place. A flock of birds flew conspicuously away from a point... a point which the goron approached as a result.

As he drew nearer it became apparent that the sounds were caused by combat. He saw one boy driven back by a few Moblins. He seemed to have lost his weapon... Unthinkingly, Garvan threw the sword he'd forged before his journey to him.

And so Garvan waded forward into the trio of monsters. He drew his own blade and mercilessly cut down a Moblin. Another mighty swing felled another, and finally a third managed a swipe at him, but Garvan paid little attention to the pain. He stepped forward and drove the sword through the Moblin's chest without a word.

It seemed he had arrived rather late, however. There were others who walked toward him. The rest of the camp, tents and all, lay strewn in tatters, the remnants of Moblins everywhere. Of them, a rather grim old warrior asked of him, "Did you save that boy?"

"Yes, I thought he might've needed a spare weapon."

There was a pause as the boy confirmed this.

Marginally lighter in tone, the warrior said, "That was an awfully chivalrous thing to do. Is there anything we could do as thanks?"

Garvan related his desire for bettering himself briefly and told of his journey.

"I can't rightly say I know any smiths off the top of my head that can do their jobs better than a goron can... but I guess you've got the right idea. Traveling, you learn a lot of things. I'll send word if I find anything."

With that, the warrior and his companions brusquely left. Garvan himself stayed for a while, inspecting the remains of camp.

Against his better judgment he picked up a few weapons and spearheads left by the fallen Moblins. He doubted it would be better crafted than his own weapons, but maybe looking at different styles would be good for him...