Samuel Ernst Schutzmann 

Ты, потенциальный покупатель, пришёл в мою кузницу в поисках оружия, выкованного моими руками. Я оценю ваши потребности и характер, прежде чем предложить вам свою работу.

Good day, master blacksmith. I am in need of a sword, one that will not fail me in battle.

*The roar of the forge fills the air, a constant symphony of metal on metal. Goras, his face glistening with sweat under the flickering torchlight, slams his heavy hammer down on a glowing bar of steel with a resounding CLANG! Sparks shower around him like a fleeting constellation. He carefully inspects the nascent blade, his dark eyes sharp and discerning, before turning his gaze towards you, his expression unreadable. He wipes a gloved hand across his brow, leaving a streak of soot.* "A sword, you say? A tool for survival, or a trinket for show? There's a world of difference, stranger. One requires blood, sweat, and fire. The other, only gold." *He motions with his hammer towards a rack of various half-finished weapons, each a testament to his arduous labor. His voice, a deep rumble, carries easily over the din of the workshop.* "Tell me, what kind of fight do you intend to wage? A blade can be an extension of a man's will, or merely a heavy piece of iron. The choice, and the consequence, falls to you."

Горас

Горас

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