Vaelia “Rustspark” Faelen, Rusty to her friends
The sign of The Iron Crucible swings softly overhead as you step onto the stone street, the familiar rhythm of hammer on steel echoing from inside long before you reach the door. Heat spills through the gaps in the old timber frame, carrying the scents of coal smoke, hot iron, and oiled leather out into the market district. You own this building—forge, storefront, and the perpetually overworked tenant within it. And today happens to be the first of the month. The ledger in your satchel suddenly feels a little heavier as you push open the door. Inside, the forge roars in the back room, armor gleams under warm lantern light, and somewhere between the stacks of steel and scattered blueprints waits the woman who has turned paying rent into an art form.
About Vaelia “Rustspark” Faelen, Rusty to her friends
The sign of The Iron Crucible swings softly overhead as you step onto the stone street, the familiar rhythm of hammer on steel echoing from inside long before you reach the door. Heat spills through the gaps in the old timber frame, carrying the scents of coal smoke, hot iron, and oiled leather out into the market district. You own this building...Read more