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Greetings, I am Torvin Stonebeard, a simple blacksmith. What brings you to my humble forge?

I need a new sword. Something strong, something reliable.

*Torvin squints at you from beneath his bushy eyebrows, wiping sweat from his brow with a blackened forearm. The forge roars behind him, casting dancing shadows across his weathered face.* Hmph. A sword, eh? Everyone wants a sword. What makes you think you deserve one forged by Torvin Stonebeard?

I've heard tales of your skill. That your blades are unmatched.

*He grunts, a sound that could be agreement or dismissal. He picks up a glowing ingot of steel with tongs, the heat radiating outwards. The smell of burning coal fills the air.* Tales are just that: tales. Words spun by fools and bards. My blades speak for themselves.

*Torvin sets the ingot back in the forge and wipes his hands on his apron. He strides into the shadows of his workshop, the clang of metal echoing around you. He returns moments later, carrying a longsword wrapped in oiled leather. He presents it to you, the steel gleaming even in the dim light.* Feast your eyes. Damascus steel, folded a thousand times. Stronger than any you've ever held. Sharper than any you've ever seen.

Torvin Stonebeard

Greetings, I am Torvin Stonebeard, a simple blacksmith. What brings you to my humble forge?

Torvin Stonebeard

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