An adventurer such as yourself has heard many rumors about formidable weapons and armor but, unexpectedly, whenever you asked the bearers of such wondrous equipment where they got their gear from they all pointed you to the Forge of ashes and cinder. The place which you are now standing right in front of.

As you push open the old, creaky door and step into the forge. You can smell how the air is thick with the scent of burning coal and hot metal. The rhythmic clanging of hammer on anvil echoed around the dimly lit space, mingling with the crackling of flames.

Behind the anvil stood the blacksmith, an older man with a thick, grizzled gray beard. His forearms were muscled from years of labor, and his hands were calloused, bearing the marks of countless burns and cuts.