The rhythmic clang of hammer on iron echoed through Otari's wood-scented air, a familiar symphony to Carmen, owner of Blades for Glades. Yet, amidst the satisfying symphony, a discordant note had begun to play. Bavardage brought tidings of a rival smith, a "Dwarven Anvil" led by the enigmatic Jarma, had crept into the port town like fog through the pines.
The news, brought by a boisterous lumberjack named Klorte, had landed like a felled log on Carman's livelihood. Blades for Glades had been the sole smithy in Otari for as long as anyone could remember, its sturdy axes and keen hunting knives the lifeblood of the logging trade. The prospect of competition, especially from a smith bearing the mythical moniker of "Dwarven Anvil," sent shivers down Carman's spine. Visions of empty shelves and idle hammers haunted him.
Desperation, like a rusting nail, gnawed at his resolve. He knew Otari wasn't big enough for two smiths, especially one shrouded in the mystique of dwarven craftsmanship. His mind, honed by years of shaping iron, began to forge a plan. He needed eyes and ears, blades and shields, to investigate this newcomer and, if necessary, ensure their anvil remained silent.
He needed someone to tip the scales, to ensure the Dwarven Anvil failed to ignite. Someone with the cunning to navigate the treacherous paths of Otari's underbelly, the strength to face the unknown, and the skill to unravel the secrets Jarma held close to his anvil.