Quest Story
The blacksmith Doran keeps his forge burning through the night, the red glow of it one of the few warm lights in Aeternum. He has offered to teach you the fundamentals — how to read the metal, how to shape it, how to temper it against the particular stresses of fighting the creatures that haunt this land. A weapon made by your own hands, he claims, fights differently. It fights like it knows you.
The blade — or club, or staff — emerges from the quench with a hiss of steam. It is rough in places, imperfect in its symmetry, but it is yours entirely. Doran examines it without praise, without criticism, and then simply nods. That nod, you suspect, is worth more than most commendations.