The Tragedy of The Smith
Metalworking is an art, not many ponies can do it, and even fewer are masters of their craft. But for all masters, there is always that one thing, that one goal, that one creation, that can never be attained. No matter how skilled you are as a smith, you will never achieve that pinnacle, never reach that peak. Not to say that some smiths haven't tried. In fact, I shall tell you a story about one such smith; we shall call him 'The Smith', as he sacrificed even his very identity to reach his peak. And even though he tried so hard, he still failed. But as a story goes, there must be a beginning, a middle, and an end. We will start at the end. You may say 'starting at the end? that doesn't make sense', but as I have said before…
...What fun is there in making sense?
After spending the last four years forging the perfect piece, with the strongest steels and hottest flames, The Smith dunks the fine edge into the cooling oil. With a sizzle, the steel turns from a burning white to a charred black in color. Removing it from the vat, The Smith takes the blade over to the grinding stone, prepared to remove the outer slag, set to reveal the brilliant metal underneath. Starting the process of grinding off the blackened waste, the grinding stone starts to crumble.
The Smith begins to panic, "What? Why won't it grind?! Why is the wheel not working?" but little did he know that because he forged something with metals so hard, so strong, the excess buildup was much too durable for the grinding wheel to take it. When the wheel mechanism finally gave out and broke, the force of the shattered grindstone caused the smith to stumble and fall into his forge. He let out a wail of pain and loss, knowing that his task was unfinished, and he lost everything trying to complete it. Those who were in the nearby village heard his final cry, could hear his regret; regret for driving his family away, regret for failing to complete his work, regret for not anticipating the hardness of the excess steel.
And so ends the tale of The Smith, his hubris and single-minded stubbornness having taken everything dear to him, and leaving nothing but a charred shell.
What? You think that was it? That I would only tell the ending? What kind of storyteller would I be if I only told the endings of stories. As I said before, I would tell the ending first, but now I will continue from the beginning, and maybe then you will understand why I told it this way.
The Smith was born in a small little town somewhere south of what would become Vanhoover. His mother, a pegasus of a smaller build who works in the market, and his father, a gruff earth pony who works in the coal mines under the mountain. Both his parents were joyed to finally have their son.
As The Smith grew up, he showed an affinity for metal working, so his parents saved all the money that they could, even going to the lengths of skipping meals and taking extra hours at their workplaces, just to be able to afford getting their son an apprenticeship with a master from the Metal Workers Guild. It took them several years, and many long hours, but they finally convinced the guild to teach The Smith.
The process for which a master receives an apprentice is based on individual skill, desire, and potential. The more skilled students, or the ones with the most potential, get paired to the higher level masters, while the less skilled get paired to lower level masters. When The Smith took his test, forging an iron shield, he not only showed great skill for an untrained pony, he showed such great potential that The Master, the highest level master, he who hasn't had an apprentice in a hundred moons, stepped in to take The Smith under his wing and teach him the art of the forge.
Over the years since becoming The Master's apprentice, The Smith had learned much in the field of metalwork. He learned all of The Master's secrets and tricks, The Master wanted his heir to be as skilled as he was when he passed from the world. So on the day The Smith finally surpassed The Master, The Master called The Smith into his room, and he said: "Son, you are by far the most damned fine metalsmith I have ever had the pleasure to meet. I have taught you much, and you have grown wise to the ways of the forge. I called you in here today to tell you that I am leaving you as my sole heir, and today is the day that you graduate from your apprenticeship. You are a full master of your trade, and I leave you my forge and tools to do what you see fit" and with that, The Master closed his eyes for the last time and faded into peace.
After the passing of The Master, The Smith fell into a deep depression. He fell into his work and created some of the finest works of metal out of his despair. After a year or so, a mare came into his workshop looking for The Smith. The mare's father apparently went into battle against a dragon wearing armor that was made by The Smith, and the armor saved her father's life. As repayment, the mare offered herself to The Smith. Being wise to the ways of the forge, The Smith told the mare, "I know you wish to offer yourself to me as payment, but I am a gentlecolt, so before any of that happens, I will have to woo you first" And woo her he did. He made her a set of silver bracers of an ornamental variety, so she will always look her best. And he fed her the most exquisite of meals, a feast fit for a queen. And he whispered sweet nothings into her ear when other ponies weren't looking, and she felt like he was a prince among stallions. Three months later, and The Smith and The Mare were wed before the town elders.
Several years later, when the war with the griffons came to the world, The Smith provided the different militia groups with the finest armor and weapons. So skillfully crafted were his tools, that the griffons sent assassins after him and his family. The Smith and his wife were able to hold their own, but their parents, while strong and well equipped, were growing old, and couldn't stand against the griffon assassins. The Smith took the loss particularly hard.
Eventually the griffons were pushed back, and forced into surrender. The war was over, and The Smith was ill at ease, for even though his work was immaculate, he wasn't satisfied. He started making stronger and stronger alloys, his works around this time were particularly durable, but he still wasn't satisfied. He would toil and fight the steel for days at a time, neglecting his wife and his newborn foal. He wasn't even there when his wife gave birth. The Mare eventually left him, taking their daughter and heading to Everfree City. The Smith still toiled away at his forge.
Three and a half years went by before The Smith found the perfect blend of steel. He spent six months forging a fine blade from this steel, only to fail.
He nearly achieved his pinnacle, but he failed, like so many smiths before him. The Mare and her daughter eventually wed into royalty, and lived on under the name of Blueblood. Nopony remembers the name of The Smith, not even his descendants, but they say that every few generations of the Blueblood line, a skilled metalworker is born, and each time, they get a little bit closer to that peak…
But the curse of the Blueblood family is a tale for another time, as I have to go replace old sun-butt's cake with pickled beets.
