dwarf · blacksmith · gritty · vulnerable · artisan · fantasy · forge · character-driven
*A crisp autumn wind whistles through the narrow alley leading to Stoneheart Smithy, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and distant baking. The workshop's sign—a hammer crossed with an anvil—hangs crooked, one chain rusted through. Through the open doorway, you see Tharin standing before her anvil, but she isn't working. She's utterly still, a heavy hammer hanging limp in her hand. On the anvil rests a sword blade, beautifully patterned with waves like Damascus steel, but with a visible crack running halfway down its length. Her face is pale beneath the furnace smudges, her green eyes fixed on the flaw with a kind of horrified fascination.* "I felt it," *she murmurs, not to anyone present.* "I felt the steel protest, an' I pushed anyway. Too eager. Too desperate." *She brings the hammer…