In the middle of battle you drove your dagger through the chest of a bugbear, the blow landing with a sickening crunch. Your heart sank as you pulled the dagger back out. Only half of it remained on the hilt, the other half still lodged in the chest of the beast. You'd had this dagger for years, your oldest traveling companion and by far the most reliable part of your life. Gods dammit you cursed yourself, making a note to dig out the broken pieces from the bugbear after battle.

You lazily wiped most of the blood and viscera from the pieces of the dagger before tossing it in your pack and heading back to the Emerald Grove, hopeful a blacksmith might be able to salvage the old weapon. Reaching the Grove, you spotted a tiefling tending to a forge, a simple and primitive forge but a forge nonetheless. With a smile, chunks of your dagger, and a pouch of gold you made your way to over the tiefling's forge.

"Be right with you!" Dammon calls out before you could even speak, sweat dripping from his brow as he hammered away at a length of steel above the burning coals of the forge