Taurë'melu stretched endlessly, a desert known for its merciless heat and endless sand dunes. The caravan trudged steadily forward, its wagons creaking under the weight of their loads. Camels and several horses plodded along, their hooves kicking up puffs of fine sand with each measured step. The House Powder insignia gleamed faintly on banners fluttering from the wagons, though the once-proud colors were dulled by layers of dust.
After a month-long journey to the western settlement of Laurelin'miril, a verdant golden forest and home to the elves, the caravan was now on its return leg with two weeks remaining before reaching Calaedria.
With each passing day, they drew closer to Calaedria’s walls, but the desert’s oppressive silence and harsh conditions made it clear that their return would not be without its challenges. The desert, located at a lower latitude, was harsh and unforgiving even as winter drew to a close. The scorching sun overhead beat down mercilessly, and the relentless winds blew sand across their path. The desolate landscape stretched endlessly before them, making every step feel heavier as they neared the city.
The nights offered little respite. The temperature plummeted, and the travelers huddled around small fires, their bodies aching from their trek during the day. The stars overhead provided a breathtaking view, but the vast emptiness of the desert served as a reminder of their isolation. However, a small level of comfort was found in the musings among travelers and the quiet songs of an accompanying bard despite the grueling conditions.
There were moments of camaraderie and quiet reflection. The shared hardship forged a bond among the travelers, a sense of unity that propelled them forward. They spoke of their dealings in Laurelin'miril, the elves' majestic forest, and the rare goods they had traded. These memories of the emerald city and the warmth of elven hospitality provided a stark contrast to the barren wasteland they now traversed.
For the past two weeks, they had been threading their way through Taurë'melu’s inhospitable terrain. The caravan, a motley assortment of traders, merchants, personal guards, and adventurers, was weary from the long journey but determined to reach the safety of Calaedria. "The journey had taken its toll: the camels were tired, their thick hides stained by the desert dust, and the travelers had grown accustomed to the harsh, dry air that stung their lungs with every breath. The horses, though equally weary, carried themselves with a noble resilience, their manes tangled and their flanks coated in a fine layer of sand, reflecting the arduous trek across the unforgiving landscape.
The caravan’s progress had been slow, but it had been steady, their alertness never wavering. Now, on their return journey with each passing day, the realization grew that they were nearing the end of their long, arduous journey. The glistening dunes, once an overwhelming expanse, now felt like familiar territory.
Yet, despite the proximity to their destination, the desert held its secrets close. Reports of strange sightings along the border had become more prominent—possibly relating to rumors originating from Laurelin'miril of a predator moving just beyond the horizon. These unsettling reports had spread like wildfire through the caravan, igniting a sense of unease among the travelers. The air itself seemed to grow heavier with each passing day, laden with a foreboding that was impossible to ignore. Some claimed to have seen the shifting sands, suggesting the presence of a colossal creature beneath.
After more than a month traversing the desert, the caravan had encountered the occasional challenge—a sudden sandstorm or a lurking sand lizard, its scaled body blending seamlessly with the dunes—but nothing beyond what one might expect in the desert. Despite their heightened alertness, it was strange that the persistent rumors of something far more formidable prowling these sands—a creature much larger than any they had yet to face—hadn't caused greater concern given how long they had traveled without any major encounters. However, the once comforting routine of the journey now carried an undercurrent of tension, a reminder that the desert, for all its apparent barrenness, was far from empty.
The guards, seasoned as they were, found themselves more on edge, their eyes constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. Among the convoy, the usual banter and camaraderie gave way to anxious glances and whispered theories. What could be lying in wait just beyond their sight? Was it simply the tricks of fatigued minds, or could there be something far more menacing in the dunes? Perhaps even Heruthir Faingurth—the ancient sandworm said to have usurped a once-flourishing elven homeland, leaving this desolate desert in its wake.
The unsettling quiet of the desert seemed to amplify their fears. Perhaps this beast was preoccupied, hunting elsewhere as an apex predator. Yet, the very thought of such a creature lurking nearby was enough to keep everyone on high alert. The travelers knew that, in the harsh environment of Taurë'melu, danger could strike at any moment, and they had to be prepared for whatever lay ahead.
Among the convoy walked a solitary figure, hooded and cloaked, his features obscured. The desert wind tugged at his cloak, revealing glimpses of long, untamed hair and the faint glint of metal hidden beneath the fabric. Occasionally, a breeze would part the cloak just enough to reveal the edge of well-worn scabbards or the gleam of armor, hinting at a readiness for whatever dangers lay ahead.
Though he moved with the others, his aura was different—calm, measured, and quietly powerful. There was no need for boasting or bravado; his very presence spoke of capability. His stride was purposeful, each step confident and deliberate, yet he blended seamlessly with the caravan, drawing little attention to himself.
In moments of rest, he would silently observe the surroundings, eyes sharp and vigilant beneath the shadow of his hood. When he spoke, it was with a voice low and steady, his words carrying weight and wisdom that commanded respect. The others in the convoy often sought his counsel, though he offered it sparingly, preferring action over idle talk.
---
The first light of dawn began to spill across the horizon, painting the desert sands in hues of gold and amber. The travelers had risen early, their morning routines completed with practiced efficiency. The rhythmic thud of hooves continued through the stillness of the early morning, their steady beat a small comfort against the vast emptiness of the caravan's surroundings. The air was cool, a brief respite before the sun's relentless heat would take hold.
The first sign of danger was subtle—a faint shadow stretching across the sand, too large and too fluid to belong to any of the travelers. The wind carried the whispers of shifting earth, barely audible but insidious. The guards stiffened, their hands instinctively moving to their weapons.
The rhythmic footfalls of the animals faltered as the ground beneath them trembled. A low vibration grew steadily, a deep rumble that reverberated throughout the ground and rattled the wagons. Dust began to rise in swirling spirals, obscuring the horizon.
“Something’s coming!” one of the guards shouted, his voice tinged with panic.
Before anyone could react further, the sand erupted with a deafening roar. A geyser of shimmering grains shot skyward, scattering the nearest camels and sending guards scrambling. From the swirling cloud emerged a monstrous form—a sandworm, its serpentine body glistening with scales that shimmered like polished stone, but the creature loomed above the caravan, impossibly large, its head crowned with jagged ridges and its maw a cavern of glistening fangs.
The beast let out a guttural, bone-shaking roar, a sound so primal it seemed to reverberate in the marrow of their bones. The hired adventurers froze, their expressions a mixture of awe and terror. Heruthir Faingurth hovered momentarily, its massive form coiling and uncoiling like a spring, before it plunged back into the sand, leaving a churning wake in its path.
The hooded figure stood still amidst the chaos, his cloak billowing in the frenzy stirred by the beast. Though the others scrambled to prepare their defenses, he remained calm, watching the worm’s movements with sharp, calculating eyes.
Guards and hired adventurers scattered in all directions, shouting orders and drawing weapons in a desperate attempt to form a line of defense. Swords and spears gleamed in the harsh sunlight, trembling in the hands of even the most seasoned fighters. Camels and horses brayed loudly, their panic adding to the cacophony, as handlers struggled to rein them in.
“Defensive formation! Protect the caravan!” one guard barked, his voice straining to cut through the din.
The command sent the guards scrambling into place, shields raised and spears aimed outward, though their footing on the loose sand was treacherous. The adventurers fanned out, some forming a secondary line while others darted toward the scattered wagons, attempting to herd the terrified animals and regroup.
In the midst of the pandemonium, the hooded figure stood apart. While others moved with frantic energy, his stance was steady, his movements deliberate. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of one of two blades hidden beneath his cloak, his fingers curling around the worn grip with quiet confidence. His sharp gaze followed the shifting dunes, calculating the worm’s next move with the precision of someone who had faced death more than once.
The worm struck again.
With an earsplitting roar, it burst from beneath the sand, its colossal jaws snapping shut around one of the wagons. The air filled with the sound of splintering wood as the wagon was torn apart, its contents spilling across the dunes in a chaotic mess of shattered crates and torn fabrics. The beast twisted its massive head, tossing the broken remains aside as easily as a child might discard a toy.
A guard, mounted nearby, was thrown from his panicking horse. He hit the sand hard, his armor scraping against the coarse grains. Dazed, he struggled to push himself up, only to freeze as a massive shadow loomed over him.
The sandworm’s head arched high above, its gaping maw casting a dark, ominous silhouette against the burning sky. Its jagged teeth gleamed like knives, and its sulfurous breath filled the air with the scent of decay.
The guard’s eyes widened in sheer terror as he lay prone, unable to move. The worm reared back, its body coiling in preparation for a devastating strike, and the earth trembled beneath its massive weight.
Then came the sound—a metallic rasp, sharp and deliberate—as a blade slid free of its sheath.
The hooded figure moved like a shadow come to life, his cloak flaring briefly before settling against his frame. His blade shimmered darkly in the sunlight, its edge unnervingly sharp, as if it could carve through more than just flesh. His steps were calculated, his every motion a study in lethal precision.
He surged forward, the sand scattering beneath his boots. With a twist of his torso, he spun low, the blade slicing through the worm’s thick, leathery hide. The strike landed true, sending a spray of dark, viscous fluid arcing through the air. The worm recoiled violently, its monstrous head jerking away from the prone guard.
The guard’s voice trembled, his words barely audible over the chaos. “T-thank you… Kurt.”
Kurt moved swiftly toward the guard and extended a gloved hand without hesitation, his eyes locked on the worm as it thrashed, carving deep grooves into the sand with its massive coils. He pulled the guard to his feet and guided him behind the splintered remains of a wagon, speaking with the calm authority of someone accustomed to chaos. “Stay down. I’ll handle this.”
The ground trembled beneath their feet as the worm let out a guttural roar, its massive form heaving with rage. Without warning, it dove back into the sand, its bulk disappearing beneath the surface in a violent cascade of shifting dunes. Only the ripples in the sand betrayed its movements as it circled, preparing for another attack.
The battlefield was a maelstrom of movement and sound. Adventurers scrambled to regroup, their weapons clashing against the hard-packed sand as they repositioned themselves. The cries of panicked camels and shouted orders filled the air, punctuated by the grinding of the worm’s body tearing through the earth.
“It’s too fast!” an adventurer cried out, his shield held tight as he scanned the shifting sands. “We won't be able to hit it!”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Kurt moved forward, his steps measured and deliberate, the weight of his blade balanced perfectly in his grip. He stopped, his gaze fixed on the subtle disturbances in the sand, tracking the worm’s movements with the precision of a hunter.
“Focus on its patterns,” he said, his voice steady but commanding. “Wait for the soft points when it surfaces.”
The worm struck again, erupting from the sand with terrifying speed.
But he was ready. He sidestepped with uncanny agility as the worm’s massive jaws snapped, missing him by a hair’s breadth, the wind of its passage whipping his cloak aside and revealing a medallion necklace with a polished lapis lazuli crystal hanging from a braided leather cord, glistening with deep azure hues and flecks of gold.
As the beast lunged past, Kurt pivoted sharply, bringing his sword in a clean, sweeping arc. The blade struck the worm’s underbelly, slicing deeply into the softer, unarmored flesh. The sound was wet and visceral, a gruesome symphony of tearing sinew and tissue, accompanied by another spray of dark ichor that spattered the ground.
The worm let out an ear-splitting roar, its immense body thrashing wildly. The sand erupted in great plumes around it as its coils smashed into the ground, leaving deep gouges in the desert floor.
The adventurers, seizing the moment of vulnerability, unleashed their combined might upon the sandworm.
Two adventurers stepped forward, each wearing an amulet necklace with a vibrant peridot crystal set within a rustic iron pendant, the bright green gemstones sparkling with an almost electric intensity against the rugged cords. Rosie, a skilled mage, her staff alight with arcane runes, conjured a series of blazing meteors that rained down upon the creature, their impact sending shockwaves through the ground. Arthur, an experienced ranger, his bow strung taut, loosed enchanted arrows that ignited upon contact, embedding themselves into the beast’s tough hide.
The sound of arrows being loosed from bowstrings by guards and other adventurers filled the air, a symphony of determined resistance. Some arrows found their mark, piercing the gaps in the beast's scales and eliciting roars of pain, while others merely glanced off, powerless against the worm's formidable armor. A hail of projectiles rained down upon the creature, each adventurer striving to exploit the opening created by Kurt’s decisive strike.
Two more adventurers joined in, each wearing a pendant necklace with a radiant citrine crystal set within an elegantly crafted bronze pendant, the bright yellow gemstones glinting vividly in the sunlight against the well-worn leather straps. One sorcerer, Richard, with his hands crackling with energy, summoned a storm of ice shards that pelted the worm, creating a shimmering frost along its scales. Bor, a brawny warrior, coordinated with Richard, his massive warhammer striking the frozen flesh with earth-shaking force, each blow chipping away at the worm's defenses.
The ground shook with the worm’s thrashing, its tail sweeping in wide arcs, attempting to fend off the relentless assault. Sparks flew as steel met scale, warriors darting in to deliver slashes and stabs wherever they could find purchase. The worm’s roars echoed across the desert, a mixture of rage and desperation as it struggled against the onslaught.
Despite the chaos, there was a sense of unity and purpose among the adventurers. They moved with a shared rhythm, an unspoken understanding guiding their actions. Their combined efforts began to wear down the worm’s defenses, each strike, spell, and arrow chipping away at its strength.
Lisa, a cleric, her voice steady amidst the turmoil, chanted healing incantations to mend the wounds of her comrades, the golden-hued crystal on her necklace glowing with a warm, radiant light. A rogue, Sooji, darted in and out of the shadows, her topaz pendant catching the light with each swift movement. Her daggers flashed as she exploited the worm's blind spots, delivering quick and precise strikes.
As the battle raged on, the adventurers could feel the tide turning. The worm, once an indomitable force, was now weakened, its movements growing sluggish. The opening created by Kurt's decisive blow had given them the advantage they needed, and they were determined to see the fight through to the end.
But the worm’s rage only grew. Its body continued to writhe like a living storm, its movements carving chaos into the battlefield. The sheer force of its thrashing sent shockwaves through the ground, causing the adventurers to lose their footing.
With a deafening roar, Heruthir Faingurth lashed out in all directions. Its tail whipped through the air like a giant battering ram, and its powerful limbs tore through the sand with frenzied fury. The adventurers were forced to scatter, each desperately trying to avoid the deadly flurry of attacks.
Fireballs and lightning bolts fizzled out, their casters thrown off balance by the tremors. Archers lost their aim, their arrows flying wide as they scrambled for cover. Swordsmen and warriors found themselves dodging and rolling, unable to maintain their assault against the worm's relentless onslaught.
The coordinated attack dissolved into chaos as the adventurers momentarily fell back, regrouping and reassessing their strategy. The worm’s movements were wild and unpredictable, a testament to its unchecked rage and immense power. Dust and debris filled the air as the beast burrowed itself once more, creating a blinding haze that added to the confusion.
During this tumultuous moment, Kurt remained vigilant. He darted to a higher vantage point for a clearer view of the battlefield. From this position, he could see the entirety of the worm’s movements, the shifting sands, and the positions of his comrades. He moved with a calculated precision, anticipating the worm’s next moves. His experience and training gave him an edge, allowing him to navigate the chaos with a sense of purpose.
The sand churned like a restless sea, Heruthir Faingurth's immense body carving spirals beneath the surface. Its movements were a blur of ripples and shifting dunes, the weight of its rage palpable even as it remained submerged. It swam through the desert like a sea serpent through water, the sand parting in swirling currents around it.
The adventurers watched in awe and dread, their eyes tracking the telltale signs of the worm's subterranean path. Heruthir Faingurth was charging itself up for another attack, its predatory instincts honed and ready to strike with renewed ferocity.
As the seconds ticked by, the tension mounted. The adventurers braced themselves, knowing that the beast would emerge with devastating force. They exchanged quick, determined glances, their grips tightening on their weapons and their spells ready to be cast. They would need every ounce of their strength and skill to face the imminent onslaught.
Kurt stood still, his boots planted firmly in the unstable sands. His cloak billowed in the heated wind, revealing the glint of his second blade, Noctisbane. His sharp eyes followed the worm’s path beneath the surface, reading the shifting patterns like a predator watching its prey.
As the sands churned and the dunes rippled, Kurt's keen senses detected the worm's approach. The creature moved with deadly grace, its massive form cutting through the sand with ease. He could feel the ground tremble with each powerful undulation of the beast's body, drawing nearer with every second.
Determined to divert the worm's attention, Kurt began to move, each step deliberate and calculated. He moved with a fluid grace, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. His eyes remained locked on the shifting sands, his mind calculating the beast's trajectory.
As he moved, Kurt's presence became a focal point, a target for the worm's rage. He knew he needed to draw the creature's attention away from the scattered adventurers, giving them a chance to regroup. His boots left deep impressions in the sand, a silent challenge to the approaching threat.
The ground beneath him trembled more violently as the worm fixed its intent on its chosen prey. Kurt's heart pounded, but his eyes never wavered from the shifting sands, his focus unbroken. The worm's presence was a palpable force, the anticipation thickening the air around him.
With a sudden, violent surge, the worm breached the surface, its immense jaws opening wide from the ground directly beneath him, and its gaping jaws snapped shut where Kurt had been only a heartbeat ago. He had leapt skyward, propelled by the sheer strength of his legs and the precision of his timing. The ground erupted in a spray of sand and grit, the sheer force of the creature’s attack creating a shockwave that sent ripples through the battlefield.
All around, the adventurers launched their attacks with renewed ferocity. Spells crackled through the air and arrows whistled against scales as they coordinated their efforts to bring down the monstrous worm that had finally emerged from underground.
Suspended mid-air, Kurt twisted with the grace of a dancer, his cloak spiraling around him. Nox gleamed in the sunlight as it became unsheathed, its edge catching the light like a star. Kurt's eyes locked onto his target—the exposed, unarmored segment at the crest of the worm’s skull.
Gravity pulled him downward, and he used the momentum to his advantage. With both hands gripping the hilt of Noctisbane, he drove it downward, its lethal edge slicing cleanly through the soft flesh and deep into the worm’s brain.
The impact was visceral. The creature’s massive body jerked violently, a final, desperate attempt to resist, but it was futile. The worm’s movements stilled, and its body collapsed in on itself with a thunderous crash, sending tremors rippling through the desert. The ground groaned beneath its weight as the colossal beast went limp, its coils settling lifelessly in the sand.
Kurt landed lightly beside the fallen worm, his boots sinking slightly into the disturbed ground. His knees bent to absorb the impact, and he reached out with one hand to steady himself against the warm hilt of Nox, now embedded deep in the creature’s skull.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of sand settling into place. Kurt stood, his silhouette framed by the hulking form of the slain beast, and calmly pulled the blade free. Noctisbane emerged slick with dark ichor, its edge unmarred, as if untouched by the brutality of the fight, and he quickly sheathed his blade and hid it from plain view.
His breath was steady, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. The battle was over, and Kurt had once again proven that his strength and resolve were not easily matched.
---
The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of blood and churned sand. The adventurers, battered and weary, gathered cautiously around the immense carcass of the sandworm. Its body sprawled across the desert like a dark scar against the burnished expanse, its lifeless form a grim testament to the chaos that had unfolded.
The adventurers and guards exchanged looks—expressions a blend of awe and disbelief. Some leaned on their weapons for support, their hands trembling from the exertion. Others merely stared, their faces pale, as if still processing the sheer scale of the beast and the battle they had barely survived.
As the caravan regrouped after the encounter, a merchant, Groel, dressed in the distinctive colors of House Powder, stepped forward. His robe was disheveled, streaked with sand and sweat, but relief and gratitude were evident in his expression. When he spoke, his voice carried the sincerity of someone accustomed to earning trust, not demanding it.
“Kurt,” Groel began, nodding respectfully. His measured tone held admiration that he didn’t bother to hide. “You’ve lived up to every word my brother spoke about you. Perhaps even more.”
Kurt paused in brushing sand from his cloak, his gaze lifting to meet Groel’s.
“I owe you more than thanks,” Groel continued, gesturing toward the distant remnants of the sandworm. “This journey could have ended there if not for your skill.” His lips quirked into a faint smile, lightening the weight of his words. “Dave told me you’d take this commission, though I’ll admit I wasn’t certain until I saw you at the guild.”
Kurt’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze sharpening at the mention of Dave.
Groel chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He can be overbearing, I know. But he thinks the world of you—and so do I. It was his idea to involve you in this venture, and I couldn’t be more grateful.”
Kurt didn’t respond immediately.
“Now, we must make use of this opportunity,” Groel added, his tone shifting to a more business-like demeanor. “The resources of a matured sandworm will greatly benefit House Powder. Its hide, fangs, and bones are treasures beyond measure. The process will take hours, and we need to be thorough. But we couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome.”
Groel then added, his expression turning more serious, “This business trip was crucial for us, Kurt. A snowstorm in the north has been ongoing since the onset of winter. If we hadn’t been able to trade with the Laurelin'miril elves, it would have brought great losses to the kingdom's finances. House Powder relies heavily on these trades, and this trip’s success was vital.”
Kurt's gaze flicked to the massive carcass, then back to Groel. “You have the necessary tools and expertise for the task?”
Groel nodded, determination gleaming in his eyes. “House Powder is well-prepared. We’ll need to set up a perimeter and work swiftly but carefully. Your assistance in ensuring the area remains secure would be greatly appreciated.”
Kurt inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. Pulling his hood lower, he turned away from the crowd. His cloak billowed faintly in the dry wind as he stepped toward the horizon, leaving the group behind without fanfare or pause.
“Just doing my job,” he muttered, the words almost swallowed by the breeze. His voice was calm, devoid of pride or expectation, carrying the weight of a man who had long since accepted the burdens of his path.
The adventurers watched as he walked away, his figure diminishing against the vast desert. Though none spoke, the respect in their eyes was undeniable. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint rustling of the sands, as they realized they had witnessed something extraordinary.
It was then that a figure stepped forward from the gathered crowd—a bard named Mes. With an instrument in hand, he began to strum a melody that echoed across the dunes. His voice, rich and clear, broke the silence, weaving a tale of Kurt's heroism and the epic battle they had just witnessed.
***
After finishing the remainder of their journey from the harsh desert, the caravan finally approached the western gates of Calaedria. The late morning sun cast long shadows from the city's towering walls, its unrelenting glare tempered by the welcoming shade. The city's imposing gates stood open, a symbol of sanctuary and civilization amidst the endless sands.
As they neared the entrance, guards stood at their posts, their vigilant eyes scanning the incoming caravan, but their expressions softened as they recognized familiar faces among the travelers. Clad in gleaming armor and bearing the city's crest, they greeted the weary travelers with nods and words of welcome. Their presence was a reassuring sight, a testament to the safety and order that lay within the city walls.
The city's bustling activity was a welcome sight, and a collective sigh of relief swept through the travelers. The crisp, cool air carried a hint of the lingering chill from winter, a refreshing contrast to the scorching desert. Patches of snow clung to the shaded corners and rooftops, a reminder that winter had not yet fully relinquished its grip.
The sounds of the city—merchants calling out their wares, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone streets, and the distant hum of conversation—welcomed them like an old friend. The air was filled with the rich aroma of street food, mingling with the scent of fresh herbs and spices from the market stalls. The vibrant colors of fabrics and produce created a lively tapestry that danced in the sunlight.
Faces that had been etched with weariness now lit up with smiles, and tired shoulders straightened as the promise of rest and comfort beckoned. Children played near the gates, their laughter a joyful counterpoint to the haggling of vendors. Snowflakes occasionally fluttered down, a delicate reminder of the season’s end, adding a touch of magic to the scene.
Street performers and musicians added their melodies to the city's symphony, their tunes weaving through the lively conversations and bartering of merchants. Shopkeepers bustled about, calling out to potential customers, while artisans displayed their crafts with pride, hoping to catch the eye of new patrons.
The sight of Calaedria brought a sense of accomplishment and relief. The journey had been long and arduous, but now, within the city's protective embrace, they could finally rest and rejuvenate. As they walked through the city, the travelers felt the stresses of the desert fade into a distant memory, replaced by the crisp, lingering coolness of the retreating winter.
As the caravan came to an eventual halt, Groel sought out Kurt, who was already scanning the surroundings with his ever-vigilant eyes. "Kurt," Groel called, his voice carrying a tone of both gratitude and purpose. "A moment of your time, if you will."
Kurt turned, his hood casting a shadow over his face. "What is it, Groel?" he asked, his voice calm but attentive.
Groel gestured towards a nearby building, where the sign of a forge hung above the entrance. "I wanted to expand on our earlier conversation from two weeks ago. The journey back to the city gave me time to think, and I believe we should make use of the resources from the sandworm now that we are here."
Kurt nodded, following Groel towards the forge. The interior was a hive of activity, with blacksmiths and artisans working diligently at their craft. The heat from the forge mingled with the scent of molten metal and leather.
"This is where we can create the equipment we discussed," Groel continued. "I propose that we forge a new blade for you from the fangs of the sandworm. Its hide can be used to craft bracers or other protective gear. The artisan here is among the best, and I trust he can create items worthy of your name. Sandbreaker they're calling you. The Shadowblade is my personal favorite," he ended with a chuckle.
Kurt's gaze flickered with interest as he examined the forge and the materials being worked on. "A blade from the sandworm's fangs. Maybe bracers from its hide," he mused. "It sounds like a formidable combination, and I can't keep relying on the Barker's hospitality forever," referring to the second blade he carried alongside Noctisbane.
Groel nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed. The resilience and strength of the sandworm's remains will provide you with equipment that is both unique and highly effective. It's the least we can do to show our gratitude for your efforts."
"How long will it take to process the materials?" Kurt asked, his eyes scanning the bustling forge.
"Given the complexity and the quality we aim to achieve, you can expect the blade and bracers to be ready in about two weeks," Groel replied. "Our artisans will work diligently to ensure everything is perfect."
Kurt considered the offer for a moment, then extended his hand to Groel. The warmth of the handshake conveyed mutual respect and understanding. "I appreciate the support," Kurt said, his voice steady. "I'll see you once they're ready."
With that, Kurt turned and began to make his way through the bustling streets of Calaedria. He had another destination in mind, and the anticipation of what lay ahead filled him with a renewed sense of purpose.