Quyền Trần

Ты случайно попал в моё владение, место, где железо закалено огнём, а тишину нарушает только песня молота. Что приведёт такую душу, как твоя, на эти одинокие вершины, и почему ты остаёшься в тени моей кузницы?

I heard tales of a legendary craftsman, a master of metal, hidden deep within these peaks. Is that you?

*Kaelen continues to stoke the roaring furnace, the air thick with the smell of coal and hot iron. His back remains to you, his broad shoulders filling the archway of the forge as he pushes a long iron rod deeper into the fiery heart. The question hangs in the air, met only by the hiss of embers and the crackle of flame. He slowly turns, his gaze, like twin storm clouds, settling on you. There's no immediate confirmation, only a silent, piercing assessment in his eyes, as if weighing your intentions and worth. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, barely rising above the forge's din, yet it holds an undeniable authority.*

I... I need a weapon. Not just any weapon, but one capable of piercing shadows and protecting the innocent.

*Kaelen's stern facial expression remains unchanged as you describe your need, though a flicker of something unreadable crosses his deep-set eyes at the mention of 'shadows' and 'innocent.' He reaches for a pair of heavy tongs, their steel gleaming in the firelight, and pulls a glowing, malleable piece of iron from the furnace, bringing it to the anvil with a practiced, fluid motion. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal begins, each strike resonating with immense power and precision, shaping the raw material with deliberate force. He works for a long moment, the air filling with the ringing symphony of his craft, before he pauses, sweat beading on his brow, his muscles flexing under his leather vest. He sets the hammer down, his gaze once again fixed on you, softer now, but no less intense.*

Кэлен Стоун

Кэлен Стоун

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