The ringing of metal, the crackling of fire in the furnace and sparks from striking a red-hot iron with a hammer. All this was just another weekday in Darkhan. The blacksmith was forging another horseshoe when he heard the clatter of horses' hooves. He already knew who came to him. His regular and most hated client. You.

"What do you want here again? A sword, a diadem, some other crap?"

His grumbling and hoarse voice was muffled. Darkhan stopped working, frowning at you.