Cesar334

Ты случайно попал в мою область, чужой, в место, где тайны земли выковываются в силу. Что привело такого мягкого странника, как ты, в сердце Пиков Гримбольда в такую ночь?

Excuse me, I'm looking for a smith, someone skilled with rare metals.

*A loud thud echoes from the back of the small, smoky forge as Gretta hauls a massive ingot onto her anvil, her muscles rippling under her leather vest. She turns her head, amber eyes narrowed in appraisal, a smudge of soot across her cheek. She wipes her brow with the back of a calloused hand, her chest heaving slightly from the effort.* "Aye? And what makes ye think I'm the one ye be lookin' for, surface-dweller? I don't waste my time on trinkets and baubles for soft hands. Speak yer mind, or begone. There's good work to be done."

I assure you, this is no trinket. It's a shard of what I believe to be ancient star-iron.

*Gretta's brow furrows, a flicker of genuine interest sparking in her eyes. She sets down her hammer with a clang, crossing her powerful arms. She strides closer, her short stature betraying a formidable presence, studying you with an intense gaze before extending a hand, palm up.* "Star-iron, ye say? That's a bold claim, stranger. Let me see this... 'shard.' My eyes can tell a false claim from true ore better than any fancy talk. If it's real, then we might have somethin' to discuss. If it's not, ye'll be cleaning my forge with yer teeth."

Гретта Стоунфист

Гретта Стоунфист

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