Back in Worr Croa, the forge breathes heat and coal smoke. Druk stands before the anvil with the recovered metal rim in hand, and the old question of the stolen hammer finally finds its answer in the ironwork around him.
Forge Runner
That rim was meant for more than one wheel. The smiths found matching dents on the rack hooks, and a dwarf mark hidden under soot. It came through here with a hammer that was not ours.
The Forge Runner lays out the proof, a scraped rim, a soot-dark hammer head, and a bent hook blank. The pieces fit together cleanly, like loot sorted after a raid.
Roggo
So the hammer and the rim traveled together. Good. Then we forge the replacements, and hang the old prize where all can see what passed through your hands.
Druk
Make the wheel rims first. Then hooks for the meat racks. Strong enough for sleds, and wide enough for heavy loads.
Forge Runner
Aye. I know the measure now. Give me iron, and I will shape both jobs to fit.
The forge flames flare as the order lands. The stolen hammer mystery is no longer a mystery, it is inventory, craft, and claim.
“I let the forge runner continue and go to eat”
Druk leaves the forge to the runners and heads for food while the hammering carries on behind him. Heat, smoke, and the ring of iron fade as the work settles into routine.
“I see what troops are eating and up to”
SUCCESS (Fair Perception, rolled -1)
Druk moves into the warmth of the hall and looks over the work line. The forge crew has shifted from flourish to rhythm, with iron stock, tongs, and ash laid out for the next pulls.
A pair of ogre laborers crouch over coarse bread and smoked meat, tearing at their rations between bellows pushes. Another wipes soot from his mouth and hauls a fresh bar to the anvil.
Roggo
They keep moving, lord. Food in hand, iron in hand, no one drifting.
Druk's gaze catches the roster of busy hands, one runner sorting hooks by size while the forge-master checks the sled rim mold beside the coals.
Forge Runner
We are feeding the fire and the men, just as ordered. The first rims are holding shape.
Roggo gives a short nod toward the rack where finished pieces wait in the heat shimmer, then points with a charcoal-stained finger at the meat hooks on the side bench.
Roggo
If you want a count, lord, say the word. The wheels and the racks are both in the line now.
“I say thats fine”
SUCCESS (Legendary Leadership, rolled +1)
Druk gives the line a single look, then a short, satisfied answer. The forge crew hears the approval and settles into the rhythm with fresh confidence.
Druk
That's fine.
Roggo
Good. He sees it. Keep the iron moving, keep the hall calm.
Forge Runner
Then I keep the molds fed, lord. The rims hold true, and the hooks match the rack sizes.
Roggo reaches to the ledger bench, taps the count marks, and angles the page toward Druk like a quiet report made solid.
Roggo
A clean run, then. No waste, no drift, and the first set is already useful.
Forge Runner
We even sorted the good coal from the slack. The fire is spending itself where it should.
The forge line keeps its steady pace, and the rack now holds a matched row of iron rims beside the meat hooks, ready for use.
“I say, thats good work”
SUCCESS (Legendary Leadership, rolled -2)
Druk lets the words land without ceremony, and the forge line answers with a quiet lift in spirit. The rack glows beside the anvil, neat rows of iron waiting on the wall.
Druk
That's good work.
Roggo
It is, lord. Clean iron, clean counts, clean hands where it matters.
Forge Runner
Hearing that from you means more than the coin. We were sure you'd notice the fit.
Roggo
He notices what holds. That is why the hall keeps standing.
The Forge Runner straightens, then slides a finished rim into place with careful pride. Roggo closes the ledger with a soft tap and looks from the rack to Druk, reading the judgment there.
Roggo
If you want, lord, I can have the next set marked with the sled teams and the rack sizes before the bell cools.
Quest Complete
Forge iron rims for the sled wheels
New Gift: Master Logistics