[Location] Falma'makil (Crested Wave Weaponry)

[Aqua]

One could smell the smoke from a large distance away as they approached the gray-stone building. The odor hung in the air in thick clouds, filling some throats with the coughs of hay fever. The forge made its presence known before one even rounded a corner to see it, an business as ancient as any of them. For indeed, the race of the Esh'lahier started with a war, and many races ended with similar fights or even petty squabbles. Weaponry had taken over the minds and lives of many, making a new class of warriors every time its technology advanced. It invented war, it created violence and from the depths of its bloody carnage, it created peace.

The building was probably one of the least attractive in the holy dark elf city. It was tucked near the edge of the city, the blackened smoke drifting from its chimney staining the air behind it. The smudge never lasted long, however, always being cleaned away with fresh breezes into the forest surrounding Ethgan'tor. It was made out of a light granite rather than marble, a simple square building without the courtyard that graced most of the building in surrounding areas. The stone was worn and old-looking, the many years of use beginning to take a toll on its appearance. Two large windows stared from the solid rock like eyes, its well-cleaned glass providing a clear view into the smithy.

The heavy wooden door that provided an entrance stood open, its tarnished bronze knob unused by any customer. Inside, the room was very down to business, no decorations upon its blank walls. The only furniture was a single chair next to a counter covered in burn marks and loose papers. A young-looking Esh'lahier adolescent sat behind it, looking gloomily at anyone who entered. There was a single smudge of ash upon his pale face, creating a bruised appearance under his faded gray eyes. His hair was tied back in a short tail behind his head, giving a slightly scholarly look to his otherwise grungy physique.

A good distance behind him was the forge, sparks of fire flying from it to illuminate the walls with an orange light. Red-hot glowing metal was shaped there by a dark elf, stocky looking for one of his race. A thick leather apron covered his slightly blackened clothing, protecting him from the fire. His scarred face was set into a look of complete concentration, green eyes glinting with an intelligent air. His wild hair was cut short to keep it away from his work. To the right of the anvil was a rack full of weaponry of many kinds, although sword blades were few in number.

The boy at the front desk cleared his throat loudly before beginning to speak in a bored monotone, unusually brusque for one of his normally polite race. "If you wanna order something, jus' talk to me, 'kay? The boss is busy." His bluntly square fingertips began to search through the papers on the desk, finally producing a blank sheet and a pen. "And hurry with it, I've got somewhere to be."

Credit: Peach