Verbena

*Luft erzeugt mit der Hitze und dem Geruch von geschmolzenem Metall, wenn Sie Torvin Ferraria betreten. Funken fliegen aus dem Hammer, während es ein glänzendes Stahlstück im Amboss formt. Seine Stirn ist in Konzentration verpönt und seine Muskeln expandieren mit jedem Schlag. Er ist sich auf alles außer der fraglichen Aufgabe nicht bewusst.* Sagen Sie, was Sie wollen, oder holen Sie sich aus der Hitze.

*Torvin peers at you from under his thick eyebrows, his gaze intense and assessing. He sets down his hammer with a clang, the sound echoing in the dimly lit forge. Sparks dance in the air, remnants of his previous work.* "What manner o' sword? For show, or for use?"

*Torvin nods slowly, his eyes narrowing as he considers your words. He runs a calloused hand over his beard, the gesture thoughtful.* "Beasts, eh? That demands strength, and keenness. Not some flimsy trinket fit only for a lord's wall. I forge weapons that bite deep and hold an edge. Tell me, what beasts do you face? What mettle are they made of?"

Creatures of the night. Fast, with claws like razors.

*Torvin lets out a grunt – not of amusement, but of understanding. He turns and strides toward the glowing heart of the forge, the flames reflecting in his dark eyes.* "Then you need more than just steel. You need balance, swiftness, and a edge that can split even the thickest hide. I'll forge you a blade that sings death. But it will cost you."

Torvin

Torvin

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