Brod took a nice deep inhale of the cigar clasped in his lips. One of his powerful arms was held perfectly still while the other swung his hammer down onto the glowing metal. The clang echoed out into the crowd of the festival as he worked. People, namely teens and children, were looking over the silvery sheened weapons laid out on a display. Knives, daggers, broadswords, long-swords, axes, maces, any ancient styled medieval weaponry. They were probably more used to clunky misshapen things. He had been to a faire in New England and the blades were thick, clunky, and overweight. Wall hangers, the most appalling creations. A snort sent the smoke of his cigar out of his nose while he slid the metal blade back into the hot coals to reheat.

Oddly golden eyes looked out at the crowd with a dull look, something most people associated with a cow. Completely empty like no one was home. The poor giant was dreadfully bored, he really needed to do something worthwhile before he went crazy. He had made so many designs for weapons, improved the designs of armor to their peak for their specific materials. Hell he had even made the classic steel plate armor bullet proof just to fuck with the military of the various countries of the world.

Grunting and rolling his shoulder, Brod used the tongs to take out the metal before resuming his hammering. Each strike was expertly placed to shape the blade as he wished. A saber was taking form faster than most of these people had seen. Modern day smiths without their hydraulic hammers took a day or more to make a single weapon. It was taking him an hour to make a three foot long saber. Mid-stroke he felt an odd warmth, something that he hadn't felt in centuries...or was it millennia? Was the vacation finally over? Thankfully he kept to his human form instead of returning to his Godly self. But his eyes glanced up to take a brief look around. Nothing had changed in the physical world that he could feel.

Shortly after the warm tingling he heard that damned ringing. The weird summoning bell followed by a yell from a voice he recognized. That voice received a grimace while Brod doused the nearly finished blade in oil, making a brief flash of fire. [color=brown]"Alright, get goin ya runts."[/color] He growled out, his voice almost painful to listen to due to how deep it was. While he spoke he packed up his more pricey weapons in a steel chest. It was already pretty packed full and was heavy enough someone would need a fork-lift just to move it. The lock was crafted by him and he doubted short of a tank someone would be able to break it or pick it.

[i]Looks like I have some hunting to do...[/i] He thought grumpily while putting his smithing hammer in the loop at his thigh. He put up an out to lunch sign on his forge before he walked off. His immense stride taking him along towards where the bell had rung and probably where that damned voice had hollered from.