An Orc Weaponsmith In Murkmire, Part 1

I’m just an old Orc weaponsmith, and weapons are my life. When I was just a nub-tusked whelp, I would sneak into the great forges of Orsinium to watch the masters at work. In time I became an apprentice, dragging slag from one end of the forge to the other. Then a journeyman, coated head to toe in soot and sweat. Eventually, I took my place as one of the great forge masters. In all my years of folding iron and hammering steel, I never once considered the possibility that we could use something other than metal to craft our weapons. Sure, we used mammoth leather and the like for binding and lacing. Sometimes the silk-born dandies would demand an inlaid gem or two. But metal was the heart of my craft. Imagine my surprise when I encountered the weaponsmiths here in Gideon.

I decided to make the trip when I heard that some Argonian chieftain had opened his borders to outsiders. I figured, why not? I had one last adventure in me, and I had never been to Black Marsh before. What’s the worst that could happen to an old goat like me? Something will kill me? Well, that’s going to happen eventually, so why try to hide?

I’d heard tales of these lizard-folk wielding wooden clubs and such in battle. I imagined hissing savages with turtle-shell helmets and crude leather greaves. I don’t mind admitting that I was dead wrong. These Argonians use methods and materials that I never could have imagined, and the results are extraordinary. I’ve been taking notes, but I doubt they’ll do me any good. Half the materials are only found in Black Marsh, and after decades of pounding metal, I doubt these old mitts would be worth a damn on the finer details. Still, a crafter who refuses to study isn’t worth spit in a snow-storm. So here I am. I thought I was coming to teach, but I’ve got a lot to learn.

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