1 - The First Strike: Meeting The Lonesome Smith (Edited)
Snow falls on the Shrouded Peak.
Hammer falls sound from unfathomable depths.
The Artist forges his works.
Slam.
His hammer falls.
Slam.
His hammer falls.
Works of legend and myth line the halls.
Flames spout from the forge.
Slam.
His hammer falls.
The Shaperate's form gleams in the dim light.
His baleful, fiery orange eyes blaze like his forge.
Chill bit at her already worn winter coat. Chill that was growing into a threat of frostbite. Each crunch of hard, thickly packed snow beneath her hooves only expedited the process, despite the heavy snow boots she bore on them. Shaking breaths escaped her mouth in ever increasing frequency.
The storm had not been kind.
Snow had started to pack itself into the crevices of her winter coat, sending freezing bitterness down the mare's small form. The amount only grew with each harsh fall of snow that hit her body, wracking her with cold the likes of which she never thought possible.
Still, she continued to take her shaky, shuddering steps. Behind her goggles, molten gold eyes burned bright. Her steps, whilst still shocked by shivers, remained resolute. A burdensome pack was strapped tightly to her barrel, tinkling and jingling from side to side with each step the mare took, it's contents clinking and clanking and clanging together as if trying to outdo the already piercing howls of the winter gales.
Through the blur of snowflakes, the mare could look up and easily see the towering titan of snow and stone, with a telltale smoke rising from it's peak.
Mount Everhoof.
Many simply knew it as the tallest mountain in all the world. However, a small few knew it as an abode. An abode, of the greatest blacksmith known to any race. Minotaurs called him The Iron Hand. Ponies called him The Artist of Metal. Changelings called him The Shaperate. Dragons, The Molder. Many more titles had been given to him over the centuries, but few recalled his visage, or even his form. Most recalled only the wonders of smithing genius he had made. One such wonder was Netitus, the fabled shield of Flash Magnus. One was the Cloak of Clover the Clever. Another was the Bloodstone Scepter. Yet another was the Helm of Yksler. Truth be told, many could simply name an artifact of the past and easily trace it back to this divine creator of arms and armors.
And yet, very few had ever laid eyes on him. Indeed, those that had had been the ones to ask for these many artifacts to be made. The bodies of those who were felled by the cold journey to the mountain showed the fate of those whom had wished for their own mystical item of renown.
One such body caused the mare to trip and fall face first into the freezing white. With a low groan, she slowly and shakily pushed herself back up, looking behind herself to see the body of a fellow pony, long since lost to the passages of time and left with bones so pale it was no surprise she did not see it before. The mare grunted, then looked to her heavy pack to make certain she had not lost any of her items.
With her check complete, she muttered a prayer for the lost soul whom had died so long ago, then continued on her quest. Long was her trudge towards the mountain, but she knew there laid no hope in making shelter in this storm. Nay, instead, she had to find it.
And the only shelter that she knew to be nearby was the home of the Artist of Metal. Knowing this, she continued to push forwards, even as her body screamed in over-exertion and trembled from the bite of winter. Had she not known better, she'd have sworn the Wendigoes themselves had summoned the tempest of cold.
The wind grows harsher, biting deeper, cutting deeper, it's icy children slicing away at her orange-furred cheeks. The storm was getting too fierce. She couldn't see anymore. She raised a shaking foreleg up to shield her face, gritting her teeth as she pressed on nonetheless.
'I can't... Stop now...'
She stumbled, but managed to regain her footing and push onwards. The winds she was so unused to were taunting her with thoughts of home, reminding her with cruel brutality that she was far from the verdant hills as they continued to try and push her back with their screeching, sharp flakes of ice.
'I...made a promise...' She stomped a hoof down, forging ahead even still, even as her teeth chattered wildly. '...to Grandpa...!'
She tumbled, letting out a cry as she tripped over an unseen corpse once again. She fell face first into the snow, but instead slid. "W-WhaaaAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" she cried as she slid down an incline of ice as smooth as glass. She tried to slow herself down with her hooves, but they slipped out from under her, the momentum of their movement slamming her on her back with a grunt of pain. She continued to slide down, mane whipping about in her face.
And then, she felt heat. It started out as a small warmth. Then grew, slowly, just as the light and her visibility went from little to nothing. The heat slowly became like that of a bonfire, and then...
...Her slide halted, and she fell bodily to an oddly warm, tiled floor. She groaned as she slowly pushed herself to her hooves and then shook herself, flinging a good deal of the not melted snow off of her, and resulting in another, lower groan as she felt a number of aches in her body.
She shook her head, hoof on her forehead to try to help with the coming headache. "Uugh... That's not gonna be a fun thing to wake up to tomorrow..." She shook her head again, then looked around. Her golden eyes widened. "Woah..." She uttered, slowly, shakily pulling her goggles up, taking in the sight before her.
A gigantic, smooth, silvery face sat just a few hundred meters in front of her, the tiled floor leading straight into it's maw. It bore a large, ornate beard, complete with gold braids littered with gems and engravings. The face itself was unlike any creature on Equus and alien as could be. It bore no muzzle, no snout, no beak. It boasted no prominent or large eyes as nigh all species of Equus did. Nay, instead they were narrow, beady, piercing, and oh so exotic. The eyes of the monolith were made all the more awe-inspiring by the solid orange jewels that they were composed of. The jewels seemed to glow and even burn with flames, yet also crackled with some form of lightning, so yellow as to stand out just a tad. It's nose was just as small, but the eyes, the eyes just stared down at her, as if daring her to make some move.
Flashfire, forgetting all about her previous exhaustion, fumbled with her hoof, staring up at the face, her gaze never leaving that of the jeweled eyes as she hurriedly tried to open the strap on her saddlebags. "Ack, come on, hooves!" she urged. Swiftly, and after much fumbling, she opened it and scrounged around. Feeling through her various tools and materials, she tried to find the item she sought, all while still gazing up at the eyes with an open mouth. Finally, she pulled out a weathered old journal, and hurriedly flipped through the pages.
She skimmed the contents until she found what she was looking for. After flipping through dozens of pages, she found it. A drawing, a picture, of the very same face before her. She looked back up at the face as if she was looking at some sort of god, eyes sparkling and mouth agape.
"It's really true..." She took a step forward. "...Grandpa was right. It's the Mouth of the Forge..." She put the journal back, trotting slowly forwards, as if in a trance.
Soon, she reached it, and when she made it inside it's maw, an intense heat washed over the mare, followed by a searing, flame-like glow.
"Visitor," a roaring voice spoke, it's tones like that of a roaring inferno. "You have walked into my home. Knowing, willing, prepared or not, you MUST be tested. None whose hearts and souls are not seared by fate, shaped by iron resolve, and tempered by discipline may ever enter." There was a rushing wave of flames, and while they were certainly hot, she found they did not burn her. The flames roared and crackled around her, then smothered her. They pushed closer and closer, almost as if they were grabbing her. Then, after a short while, the flames receded. "Your heart is refined. Your soul is as tempered steel. You may proceed." And like that, the glow, the flames, the heat, all of it was gone.
When she looked around again, she found a hallway, long and stretching, lined with statues, banners, and braziers and chandeliers with purple flames crackling away in them. She looked over herself swiftly. "I'm not burned?" She said in surprise, patting herself down and finding no scorch marks or burns on her coat nor fur. She looked up from her inspection back to the hallway ahead. She put a foreleg over her eyes, squinting them, just able to make out a larger chamber in the distance, one with even more light.
She sighed, shoulders sagging. "Well, I guess a little more walking won't kill me."
Slowly, she began to trot forwards, her hooves clicking and clacking on the still warm and smooth tiles. She looked to the statues, stopping in front of one. They were all almost reminiscent of armor, but she was certain that they were statues. All of them were made of Damascus steel, a steel forged by techniques Flashfire had only heard of in stories. Yet, the steel looked to have been an alloy, as the water-like patterns contained trace colors of legendary Coffernite, the same bronze-colored metal Netitus, the legendary shield of Flash Magnus, had been forged from. The heads of the statues were laughably small, though with the sheer weight and thickness to the arms, chestplates, pauldrons and leggings, few would dare to laugh. Flashfire certainly wasn't going to.
However, they were certainly styled like helmets. They bore no visors, instead, they bore masks seemingly modeled after the Mouth of the Forge. The statues all bore pectorals as well, ones so chiseled that she was certain they'd make any Minotaur cry from feelings of inadequacy. The statues even had gems for eyes that were exactly like the ones on the Mouth, coupled with various weapons in their hands that Flashfire couldn't help but be mesmerized by.
"Wonder if these were made before or after the Mouth..." Flashfire mumbled as she turned and continued her journey. "Sure as Tartarus must've taken a long time to make everything here." She glanced to the pillars supporting the hallway, taking note of the Fire Rubies that had been engraved into them, forming very angular patterns of flames. "Sweet Celestia, I know The Artist has supposedly been around as long as the Princesses and Discord, but the time he's had to do all this is insane." She shook her head and forged ahead.
Finally, she made it to the end of the hallway and into the chamber. And once more, her eyes widened to comical proportions. And, once more, she felt intense heat all around her, so much she had to shed her coat.
Before her lay a mindbogglingly titanic chamber, cavernous in shape, yet also heavily, heavily modernized. Flashfire would even go so far as to say futurized. A low, rumbling, rhythmic beating echoed throughout the chamber, emanating from a massive pillar-like shaft that shot up to the ceiling and even went down below, and held glowing, pulsing red and blue molten lava inside it's glass. A deceptively simple concrete bridge with no rails led straight up to it, with three more going north, east, and west, all centered around the shaft.
Multiple tubes - which the auburn mare assumed were lava channels - carried the strange, molten rock to multiple areas from the shaft. When Flashfire chanced a glance over the side to see where the channels exactly led, her eyes managed to widen even further. The channels led all the way back down to the floor of the chamber, where they pooled into corners of said chamber, hundreds of glittering rocks scattered around said pools. Around those collections of minerals were minecart rails, a good number of minecarts already lined up around them and filled to the brim with the precious and no doubt highly sought after materials.
Flashfire's ears perked up, then, when she finally picked up a constant noise that also echoed throughout the chamber. Her eyes once more widened, until it seemed impossible for them to widen any further. "No bucking way..." she swore, sweeping her gaze towards the sound. Among a number of strange machines and the forge she'd never dreamed she'd see, was a massive, metal figure, shaping some similarly massive blade with a similarly massive sledgehammer.
Flashfire shot her head up, hooves scrambling. "Holy buck, holy bucking buck!" she swiveled her head about rapidly, searching with frantic golden eyes for a way down. Quickly, she found an elevator right at the edge of the bridge she was on, in the corner between where her bridge and the eastern one met. She galloped straight for it, quickly reaching it and rushing on before slamming the lever down to activate it like her life was on the line.
She paced around the elevator as it descended, rambling to herself. "Oh my Celestia, oh my Celestia, oh my sweet, sweet Celestia!" she squealed, holding her face and bouncing on the spot. "It's him! It's him it's him it's him it's him it's him!!"
The elevator finally reached the bottom, and she turned on a dime and bolted straight towards the looming figure currently forging some new legendary weapon on a massive, slate-black anvil with glowing blue veins. She screeched to a halt just in front of the anvil, it's size dwarfing her by at least double.
And for one, final, impossible time, her eyes widened again.
Staring down at her, sledgehammer paused mid-strike and literally blazing, golden eyes staring down at her, surrounded by his forge and ingenious machines, was the one she had come thousands of miles for. His form was like that of the statues in the hallway, but much more ornate, and much more defined, chiseled, and dare she say regal.
His body was made of bulking, hulking metal that had a Damascus pattern to it, but it was made of a metal that was supremely, rare; promethium. The bottoms of his shoulders, the pauldrons, were lined with ermine fur that hung loosely, yet still held no hope of reaching anywhere near even a quarter of his arm's lengths. His hands bore spikes of purest, refined uranium on the knuckles, and Flashfire could swear the inside of his hands had gems of pure painite inlaid in them, adding two whole hoof-sized additions to the single gram that had been found the world over despite millennia of search. His head was still the same as those of the statues and the Mouth, save for the blazing golden flames he had for eyes alone.
The behemoth of metal slowly lowered his sledgehammer, placing it head-down on the floor. Before he could get a word in though, Flashfire blurted out with clenched eyes and a deep bow, "PLEASE MAKE ME YOUR APPRENTICE!!!"
Author's Note
Well, I certainly hope this first chapter didn't bore you all. I mean, it was hella fun for me to write, so if you guys found the vast amount of admittedly lengthy descriptions boring I will admit I'd be pretty bummed.
Mainly because I'm not sure I can bring myself to get rid of them.
Good thing they need to stay for lore reasons! 
Anyways, I plan on having the story start out slow at first with no crossovers, so be ready for some fun!
Thanks for reading!
-Timeless Celestial
2 - The First Strike: A Resolve Like Steel
Author's Note
This is an OLD brainchild that finally reached completion. I've gotten help with it from Illua in the past before her passing and her brother's subsequent inheritance of her account, so I've been struggling with a lot of personal feelings over it, and other reasons as well, admittedly, to my silence for so many months this year and last, but I'll leave that for another time. Sorry for the huge delay in updates, everyone ^^;;
Made with help from Illua, I hope you all enjoy this long-time coming chapter!
P.S.: The old line break was causing some issues on Night mode, so I'm keeping it off future chapters until I can find a new one. Sorry for the sudden blindness it caused! ^^;;
-Timeless Lord Slayer
2 - The First Strike: A Resolve Like Steel
Snow falls on the Shrouded Peak.
Hammer falls sound from unfathomable depths.
The Artist forges his works.
Slam.
His hammer falls.
Slam.
His hammer falls.
Works of legend and myth line the halls.
Flames spout from the forge.
Slam.
His hammer falls.
The Shaperate's form gleams in the dim light.
His baleful, fiery orange eyes blaze like his forge.
Relative silence reigned in the chamber, broken only by the roaring of the forge and the faint bubbling of the strange lava. The Smith stared down at Flashfire, the mare sweating bullets as she waited for his answer. Finally, he spoke.
"I have no interest in taking on an apprentice," he said, voice akin to the howling whistles of a train. He picked up his sledgehammer once again, and continued his work. "Unless you wish for equipment, then our business is done."
Flashfire's heart sank at these words, head shooting up. "B-But-!" He slammed his hammer down, and she winced. "B-But I can-!" Another slam interrupted her, and again she winced. "J-Just let me-!" Another slam. Another interruption. Flashfire grit her teeth, then took a deep breath, and let out, "WILL YOU BUCKING HEAR ME OUT?!?"
The Smith stopped mid-swing. He slowly looked down at her, the fiery Earth Pony returning his gaze with a stare like that of steel. He slowly put his hammer down, then crossed his massive arms.
"Speak, then. Say your piece, then leave," he instructed.
Flashfire bit back a growl as she took a few more deep breaths to calm herself. Once she was done, she placed a hoof to her chest. "My name is Flashfire, and I want to be your apprentice."
He stared at her for a short moment, then gestured for her to continue.
"I've been studying smithing since I was old enough to hold a hammer, and my grandpa taught me everything I know," She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a weathered, steel-grey tome, it's pages old and tanned with age. "When I was old enough, grandpa gave me this."
The Smith hummed. "I see. So Star Swirl gave one to your family at one point, then." He sighed, shaking his head. "Old codger."
Flashfire decided to file that information away for later, instead continuing where she left off after she put the tome away. "I lost count of how many times I've read it over, but..." Her gaze fell to the floor. "...I couldn't let go of my ambition. And I'm not breaking my promise to grandpa." The Smith's 'eyes' disappeared for a split second at those final words, but came back swiftly as she turned her gaze up to meet his own, golden eyes meeting blazing balls of flame. "I want to be your apprentice. I want to learn from the best of the best, and be as good as you."
The Smith stared hard at Flashfire, eyes seeming to stare into her very soul. Flashfire stood tall under his gaze, even though she was shaking like a leaf. Eventually, the Smith sighed.
"Very well," he conceded. Flashfire jumped for joy, letting out a squeal of happiness, but he stopped her cold with his next words. "I will consider the idea, should you manage to make a piece of equipment that meets my standards." Flashfire went still, staring at him like he'd just asked her to jump into lava after being in a sauna.
She gulped audibly. "R-R-R-Really?"
He simply hefted his sledgehammer over his shoulder, picked the massive blade he'd been working up with one hand, and marched away from his anvil and over to her. After placing the blade and hammer against a massive machine on his way, he stopped in front of her. The teenage mare was shaking and shuddering even more now as she felt his gaze piercing her soul like a javelin to the heart. She felt like she was back home on her first day of school, with her parents watching her expectantly. Only now, she had her hero looking at her expectantly instead of her parents.
The Smith broke her out of her thoughts. "Well? Get to it then." She started a bit, looking first to him, then to the anvil, then back to him, as if she couldn't believe what was happening. The Smith tapped his metal foot impatiently. "I do not have all day. Either show me what you can do, or leave." Flashfire swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned her gaze to the anvil. She shook herself, even slapped her cheeks with her hooves, before marching stiffly towards the anvil.
When she got behind it, she noted once more that the anvil was taller than her. Wider, even. She peeked her head around the side of it. "U-Umm, I can't really, um, reach the top..."
The behemoth of metal looked to her as if she were an imbecile. "Then improvise." He gestured with one hand to the materials, machines, and objects around them. "I am not here to help you. Only to watch, and observe."
Flashfire's ears lowered at this, the mare letting out a nervous giggle. "R-Right..." With that, she desperately looked about herself for something to use as a stepping stool. 'Quick quick quick quick! Gotta find something to use for a stool! Gotta find something to use for a stool!' Her eyes locked onto a block of metal in between the workings of a strange machine.
She bit her lip, looking to him. He didn't do anything nor say anything, only crossed his massive arms across his similarly massive chest. 'I'll have to take that as a sign he doesn't mind!' She reasoned, before galloping off to the machine.
She realized all too late, however, that it was also too tall for her to reach. She scrambled for a way to reach the block, and found a conveyor belt that wasn't in motion. With little choice left, she jumped on top of it, then leapt across from it to the opening in the strange machine where the block lay.
She tried to push the block off, but it budged little. Gritting her teeth and sparing a glance to the Smith, she saw his eyes watching her, like a teacher did when a student had gotten a bad grade. She turned her gaze back to the block, and pushed with all her might.
Slowly, it inched forward, until it finally slammed to the floor with a weighty GONG. Panting, Flashfire hopped down, then continued to try and push the cube over in front of the anvil.
When she managed to get it over there, the Smith spoke, "Pick up the pace, pony."
Flashfire tensed, sweat pouring down her neck at these words. "R-Right," she stuttered. After getting the stepping stool in place, she pulled her pack off and started to take out her tools and equipment. Her pace was hurried and frantic as she did this, and all the while the Artist simply stood by and watched, his fiery gaze almost seeming to make her sweat more.
When she started to pull out materials to use, he spoke once more. "No. You will not be using your own materials." He gestured to the materials all around the chamber. "Improvise, pony. I will not say it a third time."
Flashfire squeaked. "U-Um, right, sorry!" After all but shoving the bars of metal she'd taken such pains to bring back into her bag, she galloped away from the anvil and back towards the conveyor belt. As she did, she grit her teeth harder. 'Dammit...! After all the trouble I went to get and keep those bars, too...!' She shook her head, swiftly making it to the conveyor belt again and looking through the assortment of metal bars that were arrayed along it.
Sweat beaded down her forehead as she agonized over which one to choose. She'd never seen most of these metals, all of them far beyond what she normally worked with. It was like telling a child to choose from a selection of candies they'd never tried before.
Hefting a near-golden looking bar up, she immediately felt a hum of warmth from it, as well as it's weight. Rapping the edge of her hoof against it a few times, she found it rather solid. She looked to the Smith again, biting her lip. She looked back to the bar in her hoof. '...Screw it, I'll try a second metal too!' With that thought, she grabbed a snow white ingot, then ran as fast as her hooves could carry her back to the anvil and forge.
After her scrambling around, she could finally get to forging. Grabbing a set of heat-resistant boots and slipping them on her hooves, Flashfire grabbed the two ingots with a set of tongs and walked over to the forge, before pausing. "Um, may I be allowed to use some flux...?"
"...Granted," The Smith nodded after a brief pause.
Smiling in relief, Flashfire turned her attention back to the forge before placing the ingots inside it.
The Smith's eyes blazed brighter at this. 'She has creativity and knowledge...but does she have practice?'
Flashfire was less focused on him, however. Her eyes remained locked on the ingots, examining every inch of them, her eyes unusually unbothered by the heat, for once.
A few moments passed as the forge heated her creation, Flashfire swearing a few times she'd almost heard her own heartbeat, before she swiftly pulled out a vial of white powder, placing it to the side as she pulled the ingots out.
Biting the cork off, she coated both ingots with the powder, taking care to only cover the portions that would join.
Settling onto her haunches, she once again observed the powder as it seemed to almost caramelize on the glowing red metals before grabbing a file and carefully scraping unneeded remnants off. Nodding to herself, she placed both ingots back into the forge and resumed her vigil, though not without a glance to the apparent dials nearby, noting them for later.
The Artist watched as the magma of the forge gleamed rhythmically, and slowly turned his gaze back to the young mare currently working his forge, a new fire blazing within him at the sight.
And then, it pulsed. The mare shuddered as she stared at the ingots, focus broken as she finally noticed the gleam of the forge, the thrum, the oddly comfortable heat, and the strange, steady rhythm of her heart.
"What the-?"
A massive hand landed on her head. "Do not lose sight. Focus. Your work is not done." The Smith removed his hand. "It still needs life. Breathe it. Shape it."
She turned her head to look at him, surprise on her face, before grinning wide and nodding. "R-Right!"
The dagger placed on my anvil was shoddy. Naive.
Smithed with two metals she did not know, and made to marry with flux and the heat of my forge, the edges sharp, but unclean. And of separate metals.
The hilt was unfinished. Lacking a guard, a pommel, or a true design.
But in all the ways it burned with failure, it burned with ambition, pride, inspiration, and love.
The hilt was smooth, easy to grip, and without too many blemishes, fractures, or cracks to strain or cut the hold of a wielder. The edges, while not made of a single alloy of their constituting metals, allowed the advantage of both with no sacrifice to the damage either could provide the weapon.
It was shoddy. But it was a weapon made with attention and care.
This would do.
I looked to the pony's tired, anxious, sweating form, waiting for my verdict, and nodded.
"You pass, mortal."
"I...I did?" I nodded. "I did?! I really did?!?"
A huff of amusement. "You did." I watched as she pranced and celebrated, then looked to the Heart. It's thrum had lessened, the glow of it's magmatic blood dimmed, but it still held a reaction. I looked back to the pony. To the child, crying tears of joy as she hugged herself with glee, relief, and utter delight.
I allowed her to indulge. She was the one mortal to succeed at a challenge a desperate withering mage had concocted. The one who proved me wrong.
She had right to be happy. As did her granfather, wherever he watched from.
