A Sermon of Iron

" “The world now exists as unforged steel, the fires of hell and the hammers of time push the impurities out until there is nothing left but a gleam.” He spoke with a certainty that bordered on fanaticism. His callused hand griped leather bound to iron and moved swift against the black and grey lump. An orange glow spread out in the cracks of metal like tiny bolts of lightning. Each strike echoed in the forge like a thunderclap.

“What does that make you?” The apprentice’s words trembled with a curiosity tainted by fear.

“The devil.” His voice was stern and his eyes never left the anvil. He paused and sunk into a more gentle voice, gentle at least for a thirty-year blacksmith whose work had seen nine wars and countless minor skirmishes. “And God. Without the fire, nothing can be forged. Without metal, nothing can be worked. And without the crafter, nothing can be created. But alas I only work iron. Some men work the trees. Some men work the stone. Physicians work the flesh. Even the bards work words. We all do our part in shaping iron into steel. After aeons pass, when God is satisfied with his creation then the almighty will wield his sword, but until that day, we are still seated on the anvil having the devils beat from us and the fire burning away our sins.” "

–The Dragon and the Hourglass.