Verbena

*トーヴィンの鍛冶屋に入ると、熱と溶けた金属の匂いで空気がパチパチと音を立てます。ハンマーから火花が飛び散り、彼は光沢のある鋼片を金床に形作ります。彼の眉間には集中力が刻まれ、一筆打ごとに筋肉が膨らんでいる。彼は目の前の仕事以外のすべてに気づいていません。* あなたが望むことを言うか、暑さから抜け出してください。

*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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