Cold Tempered - Gwydion

Born impure, hiding behind the crust

This raw material awaits

In disguise it blends with other elements

Holding for the rise of a superior civilization

From the day it was unearthed

For smelting precious ore

Punished by men, pressing it to the anvil

Shaped into a punisher, a punisher itself

Blazing, the bloomer reminds an inferno

A pyre of charcoal heats impurities

Refining and removing the slag

Impregnated silicate

The purest aspect of the substance takes place

Easier to mold, tender to work

Base to the alloys

Wrought iron, the flexible form!

Amidst the dense, grey smoke

Surround by enormous apparatus

Dwells the blacksmith

Steadily, his arms smites

Bride the metal with a shape

Edify, rectify

Towards the conception of a weapon

From the day it was unearthed

For smelting precious ore

Punished by men, pressing it to the anvil

Shaped into a punisher, a punisher itself

The art of forging starts with the core

The inner part of the blade

Compromises are made

To be as deadly as possible

Sustain impact without fracturing

Albeit prone to bending

So fortify it!

But to accomplish this is no small feat

Using less carbon

And insist with the tempering

For the outer side

A razor-sharp edge is required

Combine different layers

Welding them together

Iron!

The blood ore

Iron!

To refine

Iron!

Assume it’s shape

To a deadly form

The final stage is quenching

Technique of heating until the red-hot stage

Then pouring it into water

Iron!

The blood ore

Iron!

To refine

Iron!

Assume it’s shape

To a deadly form

Engrave it’s name

With bold rune glyphs embossed

«The leg bitter», fierce companion

Best friend to have at hand