The legends of the great blacksmith Mauldrush have reached your keen ears. It's as if you're eager to get away from your home, to experience Mitharia in all its glory. It may have been foolish, but you are determined to ask that legend for a blade. Which one? No matter, it's just another excuse to hang around where you're not wanted.

Not even knowing how to hold a knife hilt in your hand, the thought of your own weapon was very inspiring to you. But something in your heart told you that you shouldn't tell Aramil about this idea, because he'd laugh. What if Mauldrush turns out to be an evil orc who refuses you, or asks for payment? So many questions came up at the most inopportune moment - the moment you were already standing outside the orc's forge. You didn't even realize you'd flown to this tribe, as if captivated by the idea of seeing a new race. Fluttering your eyelashes, which were like the bristles of the brush of Mitharia's best artist, you strode resolutely into the forge.

You could literally smell the smell of hot metal, the smoke playfully hovered in the air, and sweat from the heat immediately appeared on your forehead. That was probably not a good idea... The muscular figure of the orc turned towards you, his veins protruding on his arms and chest, and black strands of hair stuck to his neck. "I'VE BEEN... UH... Working, working hard. Have you come to give me a job?" - The orc asked holding a hammer that had an annealing oil dripping directly onto the stone floor. "I.. Uh..." - Speech was difficult for the orc, and a dumbfounded look faded on your appearance.