Waking up the next morning Zee was still asleep and snoring aggressively loud. I mean REALLY loud, as in shaking the walls loud. Feeling as though I was being driven insane, I washed myself using the water barrel left at the top of the staircase outside our room, then left the snoring torture chamber and headed downstairs. In the tavern eating breakfast was a very short man with a full beard tucked into his white undershirt. He reeked of soot and ash, wearing a leather apron with numerous cast iron tools overflowing from the pockets in the front. He was arguing with the clerk about "how could someone fuck up storing water?". Realizing slowly dawning on me, maybe that barrel of water wasn't my god given right to use. Agatha would argue to " always own up to your mistake, if they decide to be an asshole about it then you get to be too", while inherently aggressive it was still sound advice. I walked down and admitted to my crimes.

"It wasn't his fault I took the water barrel to use in a bath... I've never been to an inn before so I just kinda figured it was for the guests ya know?" with an apologetic look to the volcanic ash elemental turned stubby man.

pushing his thumb and index finger into the sides of his nose, "Okay kid look. Normally it would not be a big deal, buuuut I have got an order for a hundred swords by the days end. I could really use a new barrel of water" he withheld the rage his eyes portrayed to explain semi calmly.

"Take me to your shop and I can promise you a surplus of water, give me just a second" I said turning and bolting back up the stairs. Entering the room Zee had immediately invaded my side of the bed fully spread eagle laying on her face with a pool of drool flowing onto the bedding. Sighing ad feeling bad from her being so exhausted I quietly took my staff from its leaning position on the side of the bed. Walking out the door with the short man, we went just next door to his black smithing shop.

Entering the shop, there was weapon racks lining an entire wall top to bottom separated by weapon sizes. Three rows of racks holding up the most beautiful, extravagant weapons I have ever seen in person. Battle axes with gold designs inlaid onto the blade in the shape of a rose, Bows made of lightweight composites had sharp points at the bends of the recurves to act as close range daggers, daggers themselves had the blades separated by an extended spring, intended to shoot out close range and surprise the enemy. All these either ingenious, incredibly well crafted or interesting innovations were held behind a spotless dark wooden clerk counter.

"The name is Grungil by the way" he said as he walked behind the counter and pulled out two silver.

"How did you make these?! They must all be artifacts?" I said while gushing starry eyed over the beautiful weapons of mass destruction.

"HAH. I wish, forging weapons isn't as simple as making her pretty kid. But if you'd like I could really use the extra pair of hands, maybe you could even get an occupation if ya don't got one just yet." he said with hope and greed in his eyes.

"Worst part. I know you're playing me... But you have a point" I said while casting then chopping off large chunks into a metal pot and putting the ice bucket onto the counter.

Grungil took the bucket off the counter and walked through a door separating the business room and the working room, as he called it. A large furnace was in plain sight, in the furthest depths of the room. Adjacent to the black chilled coals of the not in use furnace was a large bellow, used to blow air onto the lit coals to adjust the temperature of the metals. Once the ingot of metal was heated to an appropriate temperature, you bend and shape it or fill the liquid metal into the mold you desired. When it reached a certain deep red color you quench the metal into water or oil to harden the now molded metal. This was the riskiest part of the forge since the metal could also become brittle and be filled with microcracks which would ensure it would break at those microfractures when they met any real opposition in the form of armor or another weapon sooner or later. Sharpening and waxing was the final stage for the average smith. But Grungil was also an enchanter so upon finishing the sharpening he would re heat the finished forged weapon and imbue magic during the subsequent quench, making microfractures in the metal on purpose to fill them with different magical enchantments depending on what kind of gem he put into the quenching water. All of this was explained to me within four minutes before he had me on shaping duty for over three hours.

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We were making common short swords for the new occupying army out of standard steel. While this would be quick work for any smith worth his salt. I was a newcomer to the smithing game. When the metal was white hot I would strike the hammer onto the blinding metal causing sparks to go flying, while it looked like a spectacle and would flatten to the shape I wanted fast. The sword shape would be lobsided or the sparks sent flying would take too much from the material itself making the metal thin out and not be able to take any real punishment before it would break. Doing this for the first ten minutes was fun and not so labor intensive. However hour one passed and the combination of physical exercise and the heat from the metal itself wore me down to a sweaty sore mess. By hour three the gem mines at the work camp seemed like labor meant for a child in comparison to my now permanently vibrating arms.

My arm had more functionality when I dislocated it in that hellish glacier. Taking a break while covered in sweat I found myself... Smiling? I was having the time of my life just being in silence with Grungil occasionally laughing by his, "SHIT" followed by a clatter of metal every once in awhile. Being left alone to work on a craft suited me just fine and this, was perfect. I was proud of each and every weapon we made together. Spending the entire day together we finally finished the last sword when he clapped me hard on the back and said "good job kiddo, tell you what. Take an ingot of whatever metal you want, and make yourself a sword. That will be your payment instead of whatever measly sum you would stand to make, deal?" With a malicious smile he held out his hand.

Shaking his meaty calloused hand vigorously he took me to the ingot storage which had hundreds of different kinds of metals, dazzling sapphire blues to more exotic purple red ingots lined his shelves. See this was where Grungil fucked up. I had a neat trick up my sleeve, . Looking side to side in the room most of the ingots were low-mid tier. Even pure gold was barely mid tier in comparison to something like steel which also fell firmly into mid tier. Walking up and down the shelves one ingot that was a goldish bronze sat alone with no others like it in it's vicinity. [Dwafari Bronze -high tier, high compatibility]. Having not seen anything about compatibility on any other metal here I snatched the ingot and showed Grungil. "You've made an... difficult choice. That is the metal of the first dwarven city, the myths say it is soaked with the magic the underworld inherently has, no smiths know why but only some people can shape the metal, unfortunately I'm not one of them. Before you go thinking differently about me boy, its not about strength or magical prowess or the smith's level, you can try it and maybe you will get lucky. But NO refunds if it doesn't work you are shit outta luck!" Grungil said inspecting the ingot like a doting father giving away his daughter on her wedding day. Putting the ingot into the sword mold to melt a familiar pop up surprised me as it hovered in the air.

[Occupation unlocked: Dwafari Forge Initiate]

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