@ineffable@cloudystar@xChromeFar over....the misty mountains cold. To dungeons deep and caverns old. We must away...ere break of day. To seek our long...forgotten gold. The pines were roaring on the height. The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread. The trees like torches...blazed with light.Softly the brutish woman sang to herself, her sword slung over her shoulders in such a careless manner and her coarse, iron armor clanking and clattering with each stride of her muscular calves as a joyous and jovial smile crossed her lips. Ahh...the sweet scent of the city, such a pleasing allurement as it crossed her nose, bringing with it the many smells, the pungent, smoky flavor of freshly cooked meats and fish upon a crackling fire of pine and spruce wood, the heart-warming aroma of baked breads and sweets and confectioneries, cinnamon buns drizzled with a yummy vanilla icing or fresh tarts made with the bounty of the Earth Mother, the sweetest of fruits like strawberries from the Faelands or pomegranates and apples.
Then, noises flowed through her ears. Not the natural sounds of the forest like meadowlarks chirping in the tall trees or a brook of fresh melted snow trickling through the jagged rocks of the mountains, like she was used to. No, it was the voices of the merchants and the fish mongers shouting their typical banter of, “Fresh salmon, straight from the fjords! Salted haddock filets anyone? Only five pieces of gold! Aye! You there, sir! You look like you could use a nice mud crab for dinner!” But the more familiar of sound of the city was the telltale clank of a hammer striking searing hot iron against a rusty anvil. *KLANK! KLANK!* Twas the sound the warrior was hoping to hear.
"Aye! Old man!" Her voice, feminine yet with a gruffness, carried with her regional dialect through the bustle of the market and fell onto the lowly blacksmith's ears, a dwarf perhaps...or maybe Nariah just towered over him, a typical trait of the Dunenmer people.
"What can I do for ye, lass?" He returned setting down his hammer against his anvil and dusting the metal shavings off his thick leather apron.
Nariah, with one arm she lifted her heavy sword off her shoulders and set it down carefully against the anvil,
"Me sword needs sharpening. Can't wait either. I must be on me way to Drevak's Hollow." The man nodded stroking his stringy and peppery gray beard, "Aye, I've heard the rumors. Apparently a nasty wyvern has taken refuge in them old caves. Been terrorizing the farmers and eating their livestock. Tell me lass, ye a monster hunter?"
Nariah chuckled,
"Perhaps. I take whatever job I can get, as long as it pays good coin." "Aye, so yer a sellsword." Replied the blacksmith. "Well, ye'll need a sword sharp enough to carve into them scales, I'll tell ye that, lass. Let me see here..." Quietly Nariah awaited as he examined the sword. "By Tha'agorn! This sword....it's Dunenmer! I've never seen such amazing craftsmanship."
She chuckled heartily at his amazement,
"Indeed it is, me friend, forged by one of the finest blacksmiths in the mountains, Harken Stormblade." Her father to be exact, one of the most revered of blacksmiths in the land. His steel twas far more legendary than his name. Even the Elven Empire of Sardisiat to the east hailed Harken’s steel as the best….at least until they discovered rare mythril and began forging weapons of their own. Since...there hasn't been much business as of late...and the fires of Harken's forge...and his heart....soon grew cold with the coming frostfall of Icy Aureim... Nariah could only pray that her father find safe refuge amidst the warmth of Tha'agorn's forge in High Altia.
After he was done sharpening her blade against the grindstone, the dwarven smith once more dusted off his apron of shavings and handed over Talaran's weapon looking good as new. "There ye are, lass." He proclaimed with a hearty chortle while stroking a few bits of steel from his beard. "She may feel light as a feather, but I assure you I've tempered the steel till it's hard as dragon scales." Nariah smiled lightly and gave the blade a few swings, making sure not to harm any as she did so before sheathing the heavy sword behind her back, her expression noting her satisfaction with the way it whistled through the air with each cut.
"Aye. A fine job you did indeed, good sir." She said in gratitude while fishing a few coins from her leather purse at her side.
"How much do I owe ye?" "Awww not much, lass. A few pieces should cover it." Humbly the smith replied. Nevertheless, Nariah placed in his calloused, rugged hands a generous sum of gold, plenty to go around what with the traveling she's done and it seemed to her the lowly smith needed it more than she did. "Ahhh....The gods bless ye heart, kind lass. Me wife and me boy will surely appreciate this too."
"Ah tis nothing, friend. May Tha'agorn bless ye forge as well, and thank ye for the work ye've done to me sword. I should have no trouble carving that wyvern's head off now." And with a fond farewell, Nariah carried on her way through the city, until coming across...quite the foul odor that choked away the pleasant scents of the market.
The slums. Better keep me eyes peeled. A nefarious place of nefarious people and dealings oh so. In a matter of seconds, some damn sneak thief could rush up and have his hands on her wallet and a knife at her back.
Bah! But the fool would be quartered before he even laid a grubby finger on her hard earned gold. Yet the Dunenmer woman remained alert scanning about the dark alleyways and the crevasses between the unshapely structures, before mozeying into one of these buildings herself in need of a good drink after such a long journey.
It was...well...not an inn, that was for sure, but an abode brimming with strange folk of the likes Nariah's never seen. And that...smell? It definitely wasn't any honey mead. In fact, it was a smell that burned the woman's nostrils.
"Where in the damn Abyss am I?" Nariah grumbled confused scratching the back of her head. Did she go through the wrong door perchance?
