[Morgeruat]

Thorf

Another day was finishing, business had been good, refugees, and wood-be heroes alike sought out his shop for tools, weapons, and services. As the dwarf Thorf, stood outside his shop, smoking his pipe he could feel the heat of the forge begin to release its hold on him. He welcomed the cool night air, filling his lungs with it. Many of the "heroes" had brought in relics and antiques that they wanted sharpened, or prepared for combat in other ways, most of the weapons were made by goldsmiths with a good eye for beauty, but no knowledge of function, weight, balance, or other issues key to survival of an adventurer hoping to do more with his blade than display it dangerously.

Most he'd simply told that their weapons were useless in a real fight and told to go home. Many did as he bid, but several had traded for quality weapons, without the flair (especially once warned about bandits that would be swarming the area looking for easy marks, and wealthy travellors).

The dwarf considered where he was in this war, and what it would mean to him. His prices had been slashed to keep the refugees able to afford the goods they'd need to survive (although he hadn't been able to convince the local merchants council the same, but then again, humans rarely had the good sense that dwarves did). His gold reserves would hold out for a while, but not if things kept up like they had been. granted there had been windfalls, like the basin of bluish liquid, and even more precious, the containers that had been holding them.

They would provide a much needed boost, but it was only good for stemming the current tide, if whatever had destroyed Lomertown made it's way to Nashim, life would get very hard for everyone, and not just for the penny pinching dwarf who employed a fair number of skilled smiths (who demanded pay for their skilled work)

Indeed, it was with a heavy heart that Thorf puffed on his pipe again, his savings were going to be spent in less than a months time, and if the flood of refugees didn't halt (or if the force that had destroyed Lomertown came to Nashim), the life he had spent half his life building would crumble around his ears. Perhaps the adventurers were right, they ran out unprepared, with weapons they knew little about, into a conflict they also knew little about, almost certainly to their deaths. But there was definite chutzpah in them, for all their faults, and that he could not fault. Perhaps that was the main reason why he felt the call as he did. He would spend the night preparing, gettings supplies, gathering tools, and writing his will, so that when the morning came, he could be on the road, his future uncertain, but the road behind him taken care of and prepared for his return, if he did return.