<strong><sup>Forge, Pontius</sup></strong><br/><br/>As one would approach the slightly separated building from the others, as a precaution should a fire start, one can hear the sound of a hammer striking every few moments before the sound would completely stop. Inside the dimly lit building was Pontius who was placing a piece he was working with back into the flames of his forge to reheat to an yellow-orange color. Once work was done with it, the metal would take the form of another blade that would be given to an Elite or a scout, whoever it was that Detta would deem worthy to wield the weapon in the defense of their home.<br/><br/>Wearing a leather apron that sported plenty of burn marks and a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up, Pontius moved away from the forge for a few moments and took up the dagger that Netty dropped off to be sharpened. It was a simple task as he sat onto the worn, old stool and began to press the pedal that would start turning the grindstone. It took him a little bit to get the wheel turning, but once he had it spinning at a fare pace did he bring the edge of the dagger to the wheel and braced himself as the resultant sparks began to fly, as well as to make sure that the dagger wouldn't suddenly go flying and possibly stab him by accident. His gaze remained completely focused on his hands as he had lost feeling in them awhile ago, and though he could still use them without worry, it did make it hard for him to know when he was or wasn't gripping anything.<br/><br/>Watching his work, eventually he switched to sharpen the other side as he took the small weapon away from the grindstone to let it get up to speed again before pressing it against the stone once more. He allowed himself only as much time on that side as he had spent on the first side before bringing the weapon close to his face for inspection. Though he was satisfied with how it looked, he did one more thing to ensure that it was sharp. Ensuring he had it in his hand, he brought the blade of the weapon up to his forearm and pressed down as lightly as he could before pulling the blade to see a little bit of blood begin to well up at the self inflicted wound. Sure that Netty would be happy with the result, he brought it over to his table and returned it back into its sheath before returning back to his forge. The metal within was glowing brightly as Pontius reached in without so much as a care and took the metal in hand and brought it back to his anvil and with hammer in hand, began to pound away once more to form the iron into the required shape while muttering softly to it.