1406
Mieland was a lad, nigh 26 yet still a lad at heart, though without doubt aspiring for goals not necessarily beholden by a “lad” in his age. No, in fact, Mieland was a hard working one, tending the flames of his forge and taking on the work of many men to keep himself afloat. Whether it be tools, weapons of war, or delicate cutlery, he would smith it - without relent, until the job was done. A proud worksman of Litzbaugh, the mid-sized cascaded village along a wide and shallow river, for which he did not know the name.
Mieland had not always been a smith in these parts, though smithing he had been since he was young – at least, with the help of many patient masters, and even more hearty meals to fuel the proverbial flame. Only recently had he settled in Litzbaugh, the silver fell this way as his services were needed and he had not many places to go – the latter left open for interpretation. Mieland’s craft, as stated, encompassed many areas of village life, though he preferred to focus most on implements for heavy work. Pickaxes, hatchets, the regular full ax - often his services with these tools would revolve around repair. This was of no insult or injury to him - the silver was earned and the work was fulfilling. An entire tool being needed, of course, was a project only looked upon favorably for the opportunity alone. Improvement in all areas, seeing the hard work turned into real results – that was the highest reward barring silver for the sweat and calloused hands he knew in constance.
The sun on this day shone like any other. Bright, welcoming, a glow he was familiar with - though the day smelled something off. Not the forge’s coals, not the river’s moss.