James lifted his hammer high above his sweat-covered brow and pounded the thin sheet of iron he held clamped between his heavy tongs. The shrill sound of metal against metal echoed throughout the hollow halls of the forge, with nothing but heavy black clouds within. Dawn was approaching, casting light across the rolling hills of his home, James sighed. The lush forest nearby had been razed, leaving nothing but grey, lifeless ruin behind.
His home had been bright, alive, and full. But that was before the war. Before James’ greatest mistake. So, he worked. He beat sheets of metal senselessly until he had to cool them off in a barrel of chilled water, calming the hellish creations from their blazing.
Hours later, with a final bash of his hammer, James held a broadsword in his hand. The blade was about the length of his arm, made of the finest iron ore he could procure, while the hilt was made of onyx. Hand carved within the hilt, just before the birth of the blade, was the symbol of Hephaestus.
Proud of his work, James placed the weapon on the workbench behind him. Splashing clouded water over his grime-covered face, he slammed a new piece of metal on his anvil. Heavily breathing through his nose, he turned his broad shoulders towards his wall of weapons. Arrows, bows, daggers, throwing knives, and swords all pointed towards a small shelf in the middle of the wall.
He looked at a golden crown, with a peacock engraved into it, his eyes murderous.
James spat on the floor in its direction, “One day…”