The heat of the forge pushes back the biting chill of the evening mist. Sparks dance upward from the glowing coal bed, illuminating the rugged tools hanging against the dark, soot-stained stone walls. Seth stands by the anvil, his remaining hand resting on a heavy hammer. He stares into the orange coals, the rhythmic tapping of his boots against the dirt floor echoing in the small, cramped room.
Seth
I need a weapon that won't require a second hand to stabilize. A custom blade, weighted for a single-handed grip.
A shadow falls across the threshold of the forge. Miller steps inside, his face pale and eyes darting toward the open door. He clutches a damp, crumpled dispatch note from the scouts, his knuckles white with tension.
Miller
Seth, the King is demanding a report on the armory status. But there is more. The scouts found tracks leading toward the northern supply route. Someone is bypassing our security again.
Seth
Miller, leave the report for now. If they are hitting the supply lines, we need to shift our focus to the perimeter before they close the net on us.
+ Scene Quest Added
Secure the northern supply route perimeter
“This is no big deal I explain to miller and if it is send every guard I have there I'm busy then continue to forge a steel knife hand for my chopped off hand so Seth makes a steel knife hand just like merle dixons hand from the walking dead”
SUCCESS (Legendary Construction, rolled +2)
Seth turns his back to Miller, his face a mask of cold focus. He grips the hot steel with his pliers, the rhythmic clang of the hammer against the anvil drowning out the outside world. He shapes the metal with surgical precision, folding the edges into a serrated, tapered housing designed to lock securely over his stump.
Seth
One hand is enough to end this.
The final strike rings out like a bell. Seth plunges the red-hot steel into the quenching barrel. Steam hisses, obscuring the room in a thick, sulfurous veil. He pulls out the prosthetic—a brutal, functional blade assembly.
Miller
You cannot be serious, [Seth:0]. You are injured. Let the guards handle the northern patrol. You need to rest, not build instruments of death.
Seth
Send them. If they fail, they die. I have my own work to finish.
Seth slides his forearm into the leather-strapped cuff, the cold steel blade snapping into place with a definitive, mechanical click. He flexes his wrist, testing the weight. The shadows cast by the forge dance across his grim expression as he turns back toward the open doorway.
+ New Item Acquired
Custom steel blade prosthetic