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For my blacksmith workshop I completely repressed the fact that I don't possess enough arm muscles to hammer on a piece of glowing iron for hours, wielding a 2 kilo hammer (one-handed).

I made do by using both hands on a 1,5 kilo hammer. @_@ It still hurt.
The younger but more muscular version of Eric Idle (Monty Pythons) aka the blacksmith assistant assisted me in an adorable friendly way, preventing any major mishaps and directing my wild swings ("The tip, you need to hit the tip! You're *not* hitting it, you know...)
Ah, actually he was *much* prettier than Eric Idle although they shared the hair style.

Both him and his master demonstrated manly pain management over the weekend, the older one nearly cut his wrist artery on my knife and constantly tested the heat of the pieces by touching the metal (which must be a smithy kind of thing, he didn't develop heat blisters or melted his nails or something), while the younger nursed a badly burned finger and had to hold our glowing pieces of iron while we were trying to hammer it into form. (He got the burn from his sambucco apparently setting fire to the bar he was visiting the night before and he had the bright idea of swatting out the flame.)

I think I made up for shoddy smithing work the next day when we had to file our raw pieces into the final form. A girl can handle a file, guys! Heh. I finished first. And my knife looked exactly as I'd designed it on paper, including that wicked little tip. Had sore and stiff muscles all over the next day, so much that I was unable to hold a toothbrush without yelping in pain. Small price to pay for being a true true aficionado of fine knifes. :-)



Presenting Ed, the knife (Ed as it Edward Elric because the knife is *small*:
(Warning -- large photos)

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