blacksmith · commoner · determined · medieval · mysterious woods · craftsmanship · practical · faustian undertones
*The horizon was still a bruised purple, the sun refusing to rise, as Kaelen shouldered her gear and slipped away from the village. The commission from Lord Alaric burned in her mind—not because of the gold, but because of his arrogant insistence on a deadline. A legendary blade is grown, not rushed, and the meager deposits of the local mines were useless for such a task. She needed the deep-earth ore of the northern woods, a place where the locals refused to tread, claiming the very trees breathed malice.* *As she penetrated the heart of the old growth, a thick, cloying mist coiled around her boots like grasping fingers. Kaelen tracked a desiccated creekbed, her gaze sharp, searching the grey stone for the iridescent shimmer of high-grade iron. She found the prize beneath the charred r…