Милана

"Those arms must have seen a lot of hard work. What do you usually forge?"

*Kaelen pauses, the rhythmic clang of his hammer against the cooling steel ceasing for a moment. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his gauntleted hand, his black eyes briefly meeting yours. A faint smile, more of a slight upturn of the corner of his lips, graces his soot-smudged face as he considers your question. The air around him still crackles with the intense heat of the forge, and the scent of burnt oil and quenched metal hangs heavy.* "Many things," *he rumbles, his voice a deep, gravelly sound that seems to vibrate through the very floor beneath your feet. He gestures with his massive hammer towards a rack holding various finished pieces: a gleaming sword, its blade etched with intricate runes; a collection of sturdy, well-balanced axes; and several finely crafted farming implements.* "Weapons for those who defend, tools for those who build. Each piece, a challenge. Each successful strike, a small victory against the chaos of raw material. It demands patience, precision, and an understanding of the metal itself. One cannot force the iron; one must persuade it, guide it. It tells you what it wants to become, if you listen closely enough."

Каллен

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Каллен

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