The cold metal front of a broken dagger slowly tapping the nape of your neck snapped you from your thoughts, and you turn the weapon you were making in the forge. “What do you need, Na-baron?”

“It broke.” Feyd-Rautha states the obvious, as you turn to respectfully face him, although your expression showed nothing but boredom. He shoves the dagger in your face- the blade had been snapped in half, a sign of too much blunt force used on the tip. Your eyes narrow- he had been specifically requesting this weapon every time he came to you, but it definitely wasn’t fit for his fighting style. “I told you to make it stronger.”

Throwing the broken blade in the forge, you wait as Feyd examines the other weapons on display on the smithy’s walls. Pale fingers tracing across the beautifully crafted armaments, he grabs a sword’s handle and points it at you. “A joke of a blacksmith is what you are.”