Skirmish (Hagan): Boy

Skirmish (Hagan): Boy

Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

The hammer crashed down against the heated steel, launching a spray of sparks. Again, and again, Hagan worked the metal, stretching and folding on repeat. All the other blacksmiths in the Crafter’s Guild would have complained to be given such a menial task, creating rails for the mine cart tracks. But Hagan wasn’t bothered. To him, it was all just an aspect of the craft and it was important to never forget the basics. So, he wiped the sweat from his brow and placed the rail back into the forge.

As the dwarf waited for the steel to reheat, he looked up to see a strange character joined by an armored dwarf heading toward him. Paying them no mind, Hagan retrieved the rail from the coals, now sporting a vibrant orange color, and placed it back onto his anvil. Again he lifted his hammer and continued where he left off, straightening the steel to perfection.

By the tenth strike, Hagan heard someone clear their throat to get his attention. The distraction caused him to miss his mark, bringing the hammer down slightly to the side and putting a bend in the edge of the rail. With an exhausted sigh, he placed the rail off to the side and turned to face the pair at his workshop. Looking at them plainly, despite them causing him to damage his piece, Hagan nodded in greeting.

Now that they were up close, Hagan could tell that the dwarf was a high ranking member of the Dwarven Regime, based on the emblazoned armor. To the warrior’s side was a tall but young fellow that could only be a half-orc, Hagan assumed. He could tell by their awkward silence that they waited for him to initiate the conversation. He let out another sigh, eager to get back to his work but not wanting to be impolite. “Ye need somethin’?”

Glad that the dwarf had finally opened a dialogue, the dwarf extended a hand in greeting, which Hagan shook firmly. “I’m Commander Tormag, pleased to meet ye.” He pointed to the tall character to his right. “This here’s me boy, Bitrayuul. He’s been stationed under me to be trained and learn our ways. We’re hopin’ ye can make him some armor. The dwarf kind don’t seem to fit him, bahaha!”

Hagan raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “‘Yer’ boy? Must take after his mother.” 

Bursting with laughter, Tormag nearly doubled over in amusement. “Aye, that he do,” he responded between laughs and wiping away his tears. “Nah, he ain’t me boy. But he’s mine, alright.” The dwarf smacked Bitrayuul on the rump. “Go on, son. Introduce yerself, don’t be shy.”

Bitrayuul seemed uncomfortable to be the center of attention, doubly so as Hagan’s stare bore into him. “H-hello, sir.”

Shaking his head in playful disbelief, Tormag leaned against the blacksmith’s table. “Right, he’s a shy one—fer now. Ye should see him in a fight, though. Lad’s fearless. Takes after his mother on that one fer sure!”

Bitrayuul smiled at the mention of his mother, but it quickly faded as the fresh memory of her passing was rekindled. 

Seeing his adoptive son’s discomfort, Tormag continued. “As I was sayin’, he’s in need of some armor. Do ye think ye could help?”

Hagan eyed Bitrayuul up and down from behind his table. “What sort of weapon do ye favor?”

Staying quiet until his father gave him another tap on the rear, Bitrayuul meekly stepped forward. He lifted his hands to reveal the crudely crafted gauntlets he had made years ago, equipped with sharpened bones. “I prefer these. They leave my hands free, and sometimes I use my bow.” Lowering his hands to his sides, he stared down at the floor. “Master dwarf, I know I’m not a dwarf. So, if you aren’t interested, I would understand.”

The corner of Tormag’s lips lifted. He placed his hand on Bitrayuul’s arm and addressed the blacksmith. “Whatever yer price. If yer interested, of course,” he added, winking to the half-orc. Tormag turned back to Hagan. “So, will ye do it?”

Turning from the pair, Hagan looked around his shop while pondering. After a while, he finally turned back to face them and nodded slowly. “I’ll need a year.”