After the Fall of Arachtballa

Scaalia lifted a small glowing orange piece of iron from the the forge with a pair of tongs.  Turning it over in the air he inspected it carefully before placing it upon the anvil.  His smith's hammer fell upon it rhythmically shaping the tiny piece blow by blow.  After a few moments what had been a small lump of iron was now a four inch nail, satisfied with it's shape Scaalia dunked it in a nearby barrel of cool water where it hissed violently as it took its final shape.  He scavenged another piece of scrap metal and thrust it into the coals of the forge. 

Working the bellows gave his mind time to wander.  When it wasn't bent to the task of shaping metal it constantly returned to the recent news of the fall of Arachtballa; swarmed by thousands of Consumed - Fallen stalking the hallways corrupting the solders within and sending them forth to do their bidding.  It had been less than a handful of months since Scaalia had left the mountain fortress of Arachtballa for the School of Seven Virtues.  Arachtballa had been home for only a short time but it had left its impression on him.  He could still hear the snap of the blue and white pennants in the wind, and smell the freshly baked bread from the bakery across the drill yard from the small forge he'd been assigned to. 

His gaze dropped into the hot glow of the forge as the faces of his former militia unit members haunted his memories; Mullens, Ten-Penny, Connigh, Tarts, Crannagh, Bags, and Mundsie.  Did they made it out? Were they sent to evacuate the civilians?  Were they Consumed and turned against Braemoor and the rest of Armandy like all the other damned souls the Mahori had subverted?  Had they turned upon one another, choosing to end the life of their wounded friends rather see them return as mindless versions of their former selves?  Scaalia could only pray that some of them survived.  He pulled the now glowing iron from the coals and began pounding it into shape, forming the beginnings of a "J" hook.  Simple implements provided the distraction he needed, and were always in demand around the school grounds. 

He hoped that the noise of the hammer would drive the visions from his mind, but it did not.  He could hear fragments of their voices in the ring of the metal; Ten-Penny's long winded explanations, and Tarts' exclamations over discovering something exotic in the pantries.  The voices changed after a while and were replaced with Bags recounting one of his grand escapades, late night at the local pub, with Mundsie's lilting and distinctly feminine laughter and Crannagh's bass rumble of a chuckle accompanying him.  Just when he thought his friends had left him for good he heard Master Smith Connigh speaking to him.  'You're swinging too hard, not so much force.' she said, as she had many times before when they'd been working in the armory.  He focused on his work; she was right.  He had pounded to iron flat, into a useless mass that was rapidly cooling.

Scaalia muttered to himself and quickly dipped the scrap into water to disipate the remaining heat and then dropped the mostly cool iron into the scrap tin for later use.  He made a warding and supplicating gesture with his hands as he left the small forge, "Barmorean give me strength."  Scaalia let the door bang closed behind him.  He shook his head a little, trying to finally rid himself of the phantoms.  He pointed himself towards the Bloody Knave, "Oi, I need a drink."