Reforged Purpose - Changeling Fiction

[rebel-wulf.livejournal.com]

Steampunk pushed aside the nose of a curious salamander firmly, hissing at it in its own sibilant reptilian tongue in order to keep it away from the anvil. He picked up the smith's hammer in his right hand, picking up the slab of metal that he had aquired for tonights task. He was naked, knelt with one knee on the ground and the other upright, his skin thickened with skillful use of the contracts of mirror, a long reptilian tail he had gotten used to wearing whilst in the volcano helped him keep his balance, the tip dipped into the lava pool to his left.

"I am an Iron Knight"

He declared loudly, plunging the metal and his arm into the lava up to his elbow, leant down in a lizardlike pose. The orange-red brightness of the lava mingled with the blackness at the edges of the cave, his burnished gold skin and scales reflecting and making him also glow. He felt the metal in his hand soften ever so slightly, and pulled it out of the hot, viscous liquid, flicking it aside to get the last remainders of it off of the metal.
 

"My steed is a carefully crafted sentance, rich with power and craftiness. It is truer then any arrow and more ruthless then any scourge"

He placed the metal against the anvil and held it tight, shifting his position and bringing the hammer in his other hand down on it heavily with rarely practised movements. He banged the metal into shape, carefully, slowly. Every so often he would plunge the shape back into the lava to heat it up again before bringing it back out to start hammering again.
 

"My armour is my voice, strong and forceful. It can turn aside the most intimidating of foes and inspires those who also look for its protection"
 

He finishes hammering, holding the spear-tip up so that he could inspect the edges. He reached down beside him, waiting for his hands to cool before picking up the whetstone he had left there. He spat on the edge of the speartip, sizzling orange lava wetting the blade. He worked it slowly with the stone, eyes narrowing as he inspected the edge. Finally, he put aside the whetstone and reached down once again, picking up the metal haft that he had made hours before and slipping the tip onto it, shifting it and locking it into place. He stood up slowly, body unfolding and straightening, the spear he had made held in one hand, tip pointed down.

"My lance is the knowledge that no matter who i stand beside in my court, i am with my brother."
"I am the Song Sung by the Sun's Told Tongue"

"I am Summer"
 

It burned him to admit it as he walked out of the volcano underneath the Summer Tower, that regardless of the way they acted in public or how they treated him in private, they were his brothers, his strength.
And ultimately... sometimes it felt good to burn.