Timestamp: 2nd of Ymiden, Arc 721
Praetorum hummed softly to himself, carefully marking off lengths of round stock. These small—at the very least, they were small in Prae's hands—rods of metal would soon become nails for Haven, for the builders to use in construction of houses, boxes, and fates knew what else. Maybe the windmill Balthazar had spoken to him of, or the docks that he was told Haven would eventually have. It was strangely cathartic, knowing that the things he was going to be making would be used to build something that would last—at least if Balthazar and Elisabeth had any say in things.
Carefully setting the stock into the fire, Prae double checked his workspace—his forge, and fates, it was still so deeply thrilling to be able to think that, so satisfying to know that this space was all his and his alone—to make sure that he had everything he needed. He had his anvil and forge obviously, with his hammer laid over the face of his anvil. He'd chosen one with a square, flat face, seeing as the sides of a nail needed to be, well, flat. The forge, anvil and hammer were the standard tools—but there were two more, rather specific tools he was going to use, towards the end of the process. First was the cutting tool, a fan shaped piece of metal that would slot into the hardie hole and be used to cut the nail from the rest of the stock by pinching off the hot metal. Then there was the nail header, a tool that was little more than a disc with a slightly rounded face welded onto a handle of metal. In the middle of that disk was a square hole, the perfect size for the nail to slide into, so he could hold it still while he hammered the head onto the nail.
Prae had found it funny, at first, that nails were so often made that there was a tool specifically to finish one off. Having seen how many nails even a village as small as Haven would need, though, Prae thought he understood a little better now. He was going to be making a lot of nails this trial, and not having to fiddle around with tongs as he had last time sounded just wonderful.
It only took a few more moments for his stock to reach the proper heat—the metal wasn't that thick, just barely around the width of a human's finger, and was soon blazing cherry red. Grasping on to the unheated part of the rod, Prae laid the soon to be nail out on the face of his anvil, and started to hammer. He worked the very tip first, holding both the rod and his hammer at an angle to get a proper point, rotating the rod with every strike so the metal moved more or less evenly. He'd seen other smiths work it from the other end, but that required a much deeper understanding how how much metal would lengthen—Prae had given it a go once, and ended up with a nail so ludicrously long he'd had to scrap it and start again.
As the tip took shape, he moved further up the bar, reducing the angle somewhat so he could change the steepness of the point. He'd started with a blunt angle, but that was just to get the point made—the actual nail would need to have a much narrower angle. A blunt nail would be far too difficult to use, after all. He continued hammering, sweeping out with every blow to keep the metal extending outwards, until he had almost, but not quite reached the point he'd marked off earlier. That last bit of unhammered metal would be flattened out later to make the head of the nail, so he left it be for now.
Praetorum hummed softly to himself, carefully marking off lengths of round stock. These small—at the very least, they were small in Prae's hands—rods of metal would soon become nails for Haven, for the builders to use in construction of houses, boxes, and fates knew what else. Maybe the windmill Balthazar had spoken to him of, or the docks that he was told Haven would eventually have. It was strangely cathartic, knowing that the things he was going to be making would be used to build something that would last—at least if Balthazar and Elisabeth had any say in things.
Carefully setting the stock into the fire, Prae double checked his workspace—his forge, and fates, it was still so deeply thrilling to be able to think that, so satisfying to know that this space was all his and his alone—to make sure that he had everything he needed. He had his anvil and forge obviously, with his hammer laid over the face of his anvil. He'd chosen one with a square, flat face, seeing as the sides of a nail needed to be, well, flat. The forge, anvil and hammer were the standard tools—but there were two more, rather specific tools he was going to use, towards the end of the process. First was the cutting tool, a fan shaped piece of metal that would slot into the hardie hole and be used to cut the nail from the rest of the stock by pinching off the hot metal. Then there was the nail header, a tool that was little more than a disc with a slightly rounded face welded onto a handle of metal. In the middle of that disk was a square hole, the perfect size for the nail to slide into, so he could hold it still while he hammered the head onto the nail.
Prae had found it funny, at first, that nails were so often made that there was a tool specifically to finish one off. Having seen how many nails even a village as small as Haven would need, though, Prae thought he understood a little better now. He was going to be making a lot of nails this trial, and not having to fiddle around with tongs as he had last time sounded just wonderful.
It only took a few more moments for his stock to reach the proper heat—the metal wasn't that thick, just barely around the width of a human's finger, and was soon blazing cherry red. Grasping on to the unheated part of the rod, Prae laid the soon to be nail out on the face of his anvil, and started to hammer. He worked the very tip first, holding both the rod and his hammer at an angle to get a proper point, rotating the rod with every strike so the metal moved more or less evenly. He'd seen other smiths work it from the other end, but that required a much deeper understanding how how much metal would lengthen—Prae had given it a go once, and ended up with a nail so ludicrously long he'd had to scrap it and start again.
As the tip took shape, he moved further up the bar, reducing the angle somewhat so he could change the steepness of the point. He'd started with a blunt angle, but that was just to get the point made—the actual nail would need to have a much narrower angle. A blunt nail would be far too difficult to use, after all. He continued hammering, sweeping out with every blow to keep the metal extending outwards, until he had almost, but not quite reached the point he'd marked off earlier. That last bit of unhammered metal would be flattened out later to make the head of the nail, so he left it be for now.
