That one war...you know the one.

[Nimander]

A low sigh slid from the lips of Spite- a strange name for a male, but then again, his father was a strange one. The man lived and died in mines, taking iron ores to the blacksmiths of the city-state. Spite began to chew on the reed in his mouth, mulling over the fires of the blacksmith he was apprentice to. Such days were filled with endless bore sometimes. His arms worked the furnace, and his face was black from the carbon soot. Still, it wasn't so bad, he reflected for the hundredth time. His cloths, or what was left of them, were all soot stained as well. Working in a time of war was not very fun.

The male turned his head at the sound of odd, shuffled feet that swept into the heated room. His master returned with the usual lewd look on his face. Spite shook his head and then turned to his master as he spoke in a hushed tone, "Master, th' armor is almost done. Ye just need ta hammer it. I'll place in th' nails. Ya hear me," he shouted at the end.

The elder creaked his head over and stared at spite before a smiled slid onto his face. The old man replied slowly, "Ah, good, Spite. Your work comes along swiftly. But makin' me hammer? Boy, you try my old bones sometimes, yeah?"

Spite simply nodded to the old man and turned back to the furnace. He pulled out the sword he had worked on for the past week. The blade looked sleek, silver-ish. The male shoved the heated blade into the water pit and kept back as the steam shot up. He had a scar on the left side of his face form that mistake. Was it ten years ago? Spite didn't remember anymore. Now he shrugged it off as a careless mistake as a youth that had been too eager to prove his worth and strength.

The sword was for the prince, Malice. The prince apparently preferred to use long knives- battle knives that measured between a foot and fifteen inches. Enough though he was skilled with them, the king wanted him to have a sword among swords. At least for show, since that was the weapon that most kings and princes fought with. Well, Spite still wondered why their blacksmith was chosen. Not that he minded- this sword was one of his best works. He made it light, easily able to be swung, and yet had to power to break an enemy's shoulder through the armor.