Retirement
Varalith scratched at his scruffy beard and stepped down on the bellows, causing the forge to heat up, glowing a bright red as he stoked the flames. The rain was lighter than usual on the rocky coast of Stormheim, but water never hurt Vara or Vixen and in fact, the retired swashbuckler enjoyed it! He still wore his ragged and worn frock coat, though it was worn over a simple cloth vest and a belt of smithing tools instead of his battle-worn red armor. His armor sat on a rack by the quaint forge and hovel along with his weapons, two massive hammers.
Vixen sat in a patched together hammock just under the protection of the roof, she was wearing leathers, though more akin to a hunter’s or gatherer’s garb than anything meant for combat. She did have a dagger out, though used it to pick at her nails, enjoying the sound of Vara working metal and the rain.
The forge and hovel were newly built, though clearly made from the wrecks of ships from the coast. Both served their purpose and while odd looking, weren’t shoddily made. Herbs, tools, and unlit lanterns hung from the ceiling of the force and hovel with furs covering the floor, a simple fireplace, and a bed made by hand.
Varalith reached over, taking up the partially worked chunk of metal from the edge of the forge to plunge into the coals to heat. He reached for his hammer, gripping it with the new, albeit basic prosthetic arm. A retirement gift from one of Vixen’s allies, some grumbling undead Gilnean. It was a sturdy metal and wood arm from the elbow down with a magnet in the palm to help grip a hammer or weapon. “Need ta thank yer mate fer th’ arm again. It’s handy!” Vixen groaned and covered her face.
