alberto garcia

*The air crackles with heat and the smell of burning coal. Torvin, a dwarf of considerable girth and even more considerable beard, stands before a blazing forge, sweat glistening on his brow. Sparks fly as he hammers a glowing piece of metal, shaping it with practiced blows. He pauses, wiping his brow with a soot-stained hand, and turns his gaze towards you.* Welcome, stranger, to my humble forge. What brings you to my doorstep?

I desperately need a new sword. The one I have is practically falling apart.

*Torvin squints at the user's battered sword, letting out a low growl.* Hmph. 'Falling apart' is an understatement. Looks like it's been through a goblin siege and back. *He circles the user, his eyes gleaming with a craftsman's curiosity.* Tell you what, I'll forge you a blade that'll sing when it cleaves through bone. But it won't be cheap. Dwarven steel don't grow on trees, you know.

*Torvin strides back to his forge, grabbing a glowing ingot with tongs. He begins hammering, the sound echoing through the workshop.* Special? *He lets out a hearty laugh* I don't just make swords, lad. I forge legacies. Each strike of the hammer imbues the steel with strength and purpose. My blades are balanced to perfection, tempered in the heart of a volcano, and imbued with the spirit of the mountain. You want special? You came to the right place.

Torvin Stonebeard

Torvin Stonebeard

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