The translucent orange goo is struck into the stagnating bitter waters in the bucket beside the blacksmith , a tremendous hissing noise ripped through the dry air in the forgery , dragging the sword from the bucket the blacksmith observed with an eagle eye the sword which he had worked tirelessly upon for half a year . He inhaled into his humongous chest as he was lovebound by his beautiful piece of weaponry that was almost complete . Despite the overwhelming heat the man squeezed tears that sparkled like diamonds out of his rock like face . Scraping the tears from his surface , he got back to work . Wiping the sword dry with a rag the man trod heavily with all the manourisms of a giant turtle , as he thumped through his workspace over to his whetstone . The sanding began , the man's arms exposed the muscles rippled throughout his whole body and veins protruded through his rough shell as he strangled the masterpiece against the grit. Hot sweat hung around the room like a boiler making everything feel damn and smell aweful.
*Blurgh-* a voice shot through the grating sounds and caught the blacksmiths attention , a human stood in the sunlight that shone into the forge , they where stood up the stairs just in the doorway , the blacksmith couldn't tell who they where as the sunlight only left their silhouette visible . The blacksmith raised his giant hands to his drenched brow to observe who it was , *squint* , before he could see who it was they began to speak .
" My goodness there is a stench in here isn't there ! Now , I don't dare step any closer as I don want to get hit by anything or break any of your -" The figure looked around the room in discust "- precious tools , but I have a message"
"Go on " Grumbled the blacksmith from beneath his thick grey beard
"Pardon ? Oh go on ! sorry difficult to hear with all this racket going on outside , it's market season after all!"
"What's the message ?" interrupted the blacksmith eager to get back to his work
"Sorry sorry , I am sorry dear sir , right , well , I have mail ! but not just any mail , also , I have an order ! " stated the person in a joking manor so as not to anger the blacksmith " and the order is , you have to make a sword , for , well , the king , Yes yes I know ! you are nothing but a thieving human blacksmith! And you are old " The silver hairs of the smith shone through the clouded air in the sparse sunlight " But since the raids you are the last one left ! so we have to employ you , and give the soldiers whatever we can find , but the king of course needs a tremendous weapon of great destruction if you please , as the enemy of the people , the Yhaeuthryl , the great dragon , leads it's armies to the gate faster than we can combat at this moment , so we are taking losses , and the king needs a weapon to kill the beast! strike it down from its lair! " Triumphantly exclaimed the person despite the smiths unimpressed expression and also the underlying fact that the king is a foolish leader of the kingdom of the north and has absolutely no chance of defeating the foul enemy . Dust swirled around the figure in the doorway as he awekwardly asked " Erm , so , You are now in service of the king ! the greatest man in all of thaeldor ! , now , I know your a busy man so I shall just leave this letter here , on this ...." searching in the darkness to the left of the door "Shelf!" The figure leant into the 'shelf' and fell right though , revealing it to be a man of about 35 in a rough expensive outfit throwing him into a coughing fit , whilst throwing his spluttering body towards the exit he placed the note upon the steps which he stumbled up , he fell out the door and ran away in embarrassment whilst brushing dust of his clothes and his face as it dispurses into the slightly less dusty air outside .
Now I think it a good time to reveal the smiths name , as his name is not in fact smith , it is Maxwell Ironstone, a name that used to mean alot in his days at the old dwarven mine , in the far north , now human smiths have died out the kingdoms require purchase of dwarven goods which knowing the dwarves of the north shall not suffice for a kings sword unfortunately and are only good for soldiers and human smiths are not in as high regard as they used to be due to their prices only affordable by nobles and royalty , and thieves .
Maxwell traversed the chaos and picked up the letter in two fingers , he withdrew the paper inside , a royal seal upon the note suggests a great task . The note read -