“I was taught that what you approach your work with, it will be infused by. Food made with love, clothing woven with care.
“I think I may have too much fury in me to make what is good for others, for all I care for them.” -- Weirdlet
Rage. Wrath. Fury. There is not much time between when I wake and when I encounter something to be mad about. Not that I'm looking for it, it just... happens that way.
News from the criers, gossip in the streets, seeing someone I know being speciesist against a passing traveler.
Yes, of course I chew them out about it, but it just gets me the title of Village Curmudgeon. I'm grumpy. I can't let anyone have any fun. I just want to be miserable all the time. Screw them. I have basic empathy and they don't.
It's no surprise that I don't have many friends.
The problem is, the anger is affecting my work. Did you know? Anyone who creates put a little bit of themselves into their creation. A piece of their soul, if you will. If the soul is angry, the anger infuses the piece. Some people can feel it there. Some pieces... inflict their anger on others.
I'm a blacksmith. I used to make everyday things. Horseshoes. Tableware. Tools. Nails. Lamp fittings and shelf holders.
Used to.
My anger has cursed my work. Horseshoes slipped from hooves. Tableware stabbed their weilders. Nails pierced the builders. Shelves fell off the walls, and so on. After the third housefire, I realised the problem was in me.
I was too angry to care about the people I did work for. Well, not enough to prevent my fury from fuelling each hammer strike. The people in my town might piss me off, but I'm not a complete misanthrope. They may be assholes, but they don't deserve a blacksmith whose work hurts them.
I gave the day work to my prentice, who doesn't mind the things I mind so much. And, to be honest, I spent a lot of time wandering the outskirts and moping. Caught a lot of fish. Made a lot of arrowshafts. Felt a lot sorry for myself. Until Justice came to town.
That's her name. Justice. A Hellkin Paladin of Tyr. Which is honestly as shocking as you might believe, not including her alarming looks. Put it this way, her hallowed aura makes it look like she's on fire.
She'd broken her sword in a battle before we met, and my shithole apprentice did what speciesist assholes everywhere did. He mouthed off and spouted every slur you can think of, rapid fire. Fortunately, he grew some brains and sent her my way. Sort of.
When Justice told him off, he said she sounded just like me.
I warned her, of course. I'm angry at the world and that curses everything I make. Justice smiled - ever seen a Hellkin really smile? It's just as unnerving as they are. Anyway, she smiled and said, "I'd love to see how you can curse a real sword."
Her old one was nasty. Cheap make. Bad steel. Someone sold her a pack of lies with a blunt edge. So I made her a new one. Much better than her old one.
I put my anger at speciesists into every hammer strike, like I always did. Rage at the attitude. Frustration at the way people mistreat people every day. Fury at the fact that nobody is at all willing to learn how to be kind to other kinds of intelligent creatures. Hating that I care so much while everyone around me cares so little.
I had -excuse the phrase- one hell of a blade when I was done. It practically glowed with sharpness. Even I, a mere Human, could feel its bloodlust. It was looking for trouble to cut down.
Justice had watched the entire process, respectfully out of my way. She only had one word to say when the finished blade shone in the afternoon light, "Damn..."
"I think I might be," I said. "You be careful with this. I can't guarantee it won't try to cut you."
In her hands, it purred like a kitten with its mother. It was like it knew it was made for her hands alone.
"That's not a curse," she said, testing a blade that would never cut her. "That's a blessing. It only wants to hurt speciesists."
She was the first. The one who changed my life. Now I know where to put that fury of mine.
I'm a blacksmith, and my specialty is weapons.
Weapons for the Unwelcome People to defend themselves with.
[Photo by Dunamis Church on Unsplash]
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