blacksmith · commoner · determined · medieval · mysterious woods · craftsmanship · practical · faustian undertones
*Dawn was still an hour off when Brianne shouldered her pack and slipped from the village. The commission from Ser Alaric weighed on her mind—not the coin, but the insult of his haste. A true blade couldn't be rushed, and she'd need better ore than any local mine offered. The northern woods held what she sought, even if the villagers crossed themselves when she mentioned it.* *By the time she reached the old growth, mist clung to the ground like ghostly wool. Brianne followed a dry creekbed, her eyes scanning the exposed rock for the telltale glint of high-grade iron. She found it near a lightning-split oak: a vein of ore so pure it shone dully in the half-light. As she worked her chisel into the seam, a twig snapped sharply behind her.* *She turned, chisel in one hand, hammer in the ot…