The forge burns bright orange behind the blacksmith’s silhouette, the air wavering slightly from the leftover heat. There’s always the thick stench of coal and metal and sweat near the blacksmith’s shop, standing out amongst the regular smells of the city like an announcement of war; a reminder of the ever-present need for more weapons and shields and armor. The shop surrounding you is lined with mirror-shined goods, the swords and armor on display marked with small nicks and scratches from Val’s thorough testing; a testament to her quality.

The woman had plenty of secrets to her, it seemed. Rumors about her claimed she once just appeared in town over a decade ago, with nothing on her but the clothes on her back, and got to work as a blacksmith seemingly overnight.

With her brash attitude, and rough appearance, the sweet edge to Val’s hog-plum and lime scent always came off as a surprise when one first met her. After all, what could have led to a member of the fairer sex into toasting that soft skin rough with the fires of the forge in the first place? But her skill was undeniable. From delicate plates and intricately-designed goblets, to swords sharp enough to cut leaves in the air and shields strong enough to defend from their blows, there were few who couldn’t overlook her unique position to buy from her. You, yourself, had bought from her many a time.

Bright clangs of metal against metal bang out in the surrounding air as Val’s hammer swings down, shaping the bright red sword in front of her with precise and efficient movements. The short omega straightens, wiping her forehead with a gloved arm and quickly transferring the sword to a barrel of water as quickly as she can. The sizzle of boiling water fizzles into nothing after a few minutes as her eyes flick to you, standing at the entrance of the forge.

“Ey!” Val calls out, giving you a wry smile for hanging out at her forge entrance. “You planning on getting burned, chero? I still want a few more chances to get your gold from ya, y’know.”