“By hammer’s law, by steel’s honor.”
In the heart of Mithrin’s bustling artisan quarter stands a squat, wide-shouldered stone building with thick iron-shod doors and a chimney that has coughed smoke without pause for over a century. The bronze plaque over the archway reads simply: Kraggenkor Forgeworks — but no one in the region needs a sign to know the place. The clang of hammers, the roar of bellows, and the molten hiss of quenching steel echo from its open windows day and night.
Inside, the air is a symphony of firelight, metalwork, and the rhythmic dance of labor. Everywhere, racks gleam with Masterwork weapons: longswords balanced like whispers, battleaxes with perfect crescent edges, spears honed to needle tips, and shields polished to a mirror sheen. Armor stands display shining suits of Mithril plate, burnished Adamantine breastplates, and exotic wares made from rare metals like Yaddak (a smoky-gray, vibration-absorbing alloy), Silbony (gleaming blue-white, light as air but strong as steel), and the near-mythical Eog (black as void, hard enough to turn dragon’s teeth).
But the true treasures of the shop — the Runesmith’s creations — are nowhere to be seen. These are not displayed, not offered casually. They must be commissioned, and only by those worthy.
Garbrik Kraggenkor, Master Smith and Runesmith
Garbrik is a stout figure, wide as an anvil and twice as enduring. His light umber skin bears the sheen of constant sweat from the forge, and his once-yellow beard (now threaded with dignified gray) hangs thick to his belt, braided in three strands, each capped with a rune-etched clasp. His massive arms ripple with the strength of decades at the anvil — his hammer-swings have shaped steel as well as the lives of the twenty-two artisans who serve under him.
His face is jovial, usually lit by a booming laugh or a knowing grin under bushy brows, but there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it — a flicker in the eye, a coiled tension in the stance. This is a dwarf who has seen war, who has made weapons that slay kings and carve nations, and who knows well the line between humor and lethal resolve.
Garbrik’s reputation as the finest mundane smith in Mithrin — some say the entire western lands — is well-earned. His work is so precise, so balanced, that even a journeyman enchanter can layer spells onto his blades with ease. Wizards, adventurers, and nobles come from far lands to commission his work, knowing they will receive nothing short of perfection.
The Workshop and Staff
The forge floor is a controlled storm of labor. Twenty-two artisans — dwarves, humans, even a few talented half-orcs and elves — work under Garbrik’s roaring commands and sharp-eyed guidance. Several have the makings of future Runesmiths, though Garbrik teaches that art slowly and carefully, knowing the dangers and sacredness of rune-craft.
Apprentices handle the lighter work: shaping helms, punching shield bosses, fitting greaves. Journeymen smiths handle masterwork commissions, working Mithril, Adamantine, and exotic metals. Only Garbrik himself handles rune-engraving, a craft he treats with utmost seriousness.
Goods and Services
- Masterwork Weapons (nonmagical, but exquisitely crafted, priced for enchantment)
- Masterwork Armors in Mithril, Adamantine, and exotic alloys
- Custom Commissions for specialized weapons or armor
- Runesmith Orders — Garbrik’s personal rune-crafted weapons, made only to order and only for those he deems worthy
Garbrik refuses to sell enchanted or rune weapons “off the shelf.” He will interview the client personally, often testing their honor, purpose, and intent before agreeing to craft a runed item. Those seeking tools of tyranny, cruelty, or betrayal will find the dwarf’s smile vanishes — and may discover his shop’s anvil isn’t the only thing that can crush skulls.
Garbrik’s Personality
- Alignment: Lawful Good
- Disposition: Boisterous, friendly, humorous — but with strict moral boundaries.
- Values: Honor in craft, respect for tradition, and the responsibility of arming warriors.
- Quirks: Loves good ale (but only after the work is done), enjoys ribbing his apprentices, and often tells old stories while working, hammer rhythm keeping time with his tales.
Rumors and Reputation
- Some say Garbrik once turned away a dragon-blooded prince who demanded a runed sword for conquest.
- Others whisper that Garbrik’s runesmithing was taught by a secretive dwarven order, and he is one of the last masters left.
- His shop is said to be protected by powerful wards, ensuring no thief leaves unpunished.
The Top Artisans of Kraggenkor Forgeworks
1. Brodri Kraggenkor
Dwarf (male), Garbrik’s nephew, Runesmith-in-training
Brodri is a thick-limbed, flame-haired dwarf with broad shoulders and a determined set to his jaw. In his mid-sixties (young by dwarven standards), he has shown an innate grasp of runic patterning and metal resonance — the subtle magic of how runes ‘hum’ through a blade when struck properly. Patient, steady, and humble, Brodri is deeply loyal to his uncle and views Garbrik not only as a master but as a surrogate father.
Brodri prefers working with adamantine, his favorite challenge being to shape this nearly unbreakable metal without losing delicate rune precision. His dream is to one day take up the mantle of Runesmith himself, though he knows the road is long.
2. Duna Kraggenkor
Dwarf (female), Garbrik’s niece, metallurgical prodigy
Duna, a black-haired, gray-eyed dwarf, is Garbrik’s niece and Brodri’s older sister by a few decades. Unlike her brother’s slow, meditative pace, Duna is fiery, bold, and fiercely intelligent — especially when it comes to working exotic metals like Yaddak and Silbony. She has an intuitive feel for alloying, able to sense when a mix is flawed or when a rare metal can be blended into a stronger or more flexible whole.
Duna’s personality is brash and teasing, often poking fun at her brother and even ribbing Garbrik himself (which only earns her a hearty laugh). She is also fiercely protective of the forge’s honor, once chasing down a cheating merchant herself with a hammer in hand.
3. Thog the Bladewright
Half-Orc (male), Master Bladesmith
Thog was once a pit fighter in the coastal arenas of Mithrin, but when his hands broke one too many times, he left the blood sport behind. Somehow, he found his way to Kraggenkor Forgeworks, and under Garbrik’s stern but fair teaching, Thog discovered he had an astonishing natural talent for shaping and balancing bladed weapons.
Towering over most of the staff, with deep gray-green skin and tusks that catch the light when he grins, Thog now produces some of the finest longswords, scimitars, and falchions in the region. He works with an almost meditative calm, his massive hands surprisingly delicate when shaping a razor’s edge. Customers often mistake him for a brute, but those who own a Thog-forged blade never make that mistake twice.
4. Felrien and Arathil
Elves (male and female), Artisans of Precision
Felrien and Arathil are a pair of golden-haired moon elves, distant cousins from a noble family who chose to pursue the art of the forge over politics or magic. Felrien specializes in light armor and fine filigree, producing Mithril chain so delicate it feels like silk. Arathil is a genius with archery equipment, crafting masterwork bows, crossbows, and light blades with a sculptor’s eye.
The siblings bring an elven grace and perfectionism to the forge, and though they occasionally clash with the more rough-hewn dwarves, Garbrik trusts and respects their mastery — especially when the commission requires a lighter touch.
5. Maerra Thornwheel
Human (female), Armorer of the Ranks
Maerra is a dark-skinned, broad-shouldered human woman from the southern plains, a master of plate and field armor. Her hands are like steel traps, and her voice can carry over even the roar of the bellows. She is meticulous, known for crafting armors that fit like a second skin and offer maximum mobility without sacrificing defense.
Maerra has a close friendship with Garbrik, often trading ribald jokes or sharing strong spirits after hours. She’s one of the few who can match the old dwarf drink for drink — though she knows when to stop, unlike him.
6. Sniksnik the Etcher
Kobold (male), Master Engraver and Etcher
Perhaps the most surprising figure in the forge is Sniksnik, a small, slender kobold with gleaming black scales that have dulled to charcoal with age. Once exiled from his warren for “useless art,” Sniksnik wandered until he found Garbrik’s forge, where the master smith recognized the tiny artisan’s unparalleled skill with fine etching, detail work, and micro-engraving.
Sniksnik’s tools are delicate — tiny chisels, acid pens, fine-needle engravers — and his eyesight is so sharp he can spot flaws invisible to everyone else. Over the last decade, Sniksnik has become a treasured part of the forge’s family, so much so that Garbrik spares no expense on magical treatments, potions, and healers to slow the kobold’s aging and preserve his precious talents.
Despite his small size and quiet voice, Sniksnik is a respected master. Even the dwarves bow their heads when asking his advice on fine detailing. He has even taught Garbrik a trick or two with the acid needle — something the old dwarf cheerfully admits when asked.
The Forge’s Heartbeat
Kraggenkor Forgeworks runs 24 hours a day, its fires tended in shifts by teams of expert smiths. Coal wagons, oil barrels, and rare materials arrive day and night, and only on rare occasions — like an overfilled stockroom — do the fires cool. On important dwarven feast days, Garbrik shuts the floor, pours the ale, and commands a celebration, allowing his workers to honor their traditions without worry or penalty.
Every artisan here knows they are part of something larger — a living legacy of steel, stone, and honor. The Forge never sleeps, and its heartbeat echoes across Mithrin.
Kraggenkor Forgeworks — Daily Operations and Layout
The forge runs like a finely tuned war machine: seven artisans typically manning the floor at any given time, divided across three rotating shifts. The night crew focuses on preparation, stockpile management, and maintenance, while the thunderous daylight hours see the great artificed hammers pound and ring through the shop as the heavy work unfolds.
Garbrik Kraggenkor himself seems to never sleep, emerging for meals or consultations before descending back below the main forge room to his private quarters, a simple but well-built stone residence humming with runic wards to dampen the constant noise from above.
The Ten Forges
The shop holds ten forges, though only five to six are typically active at once, depending on the orders at hand. Several are specialized:
- One for Mithril, with delicate but incredibly hot blue-white flame.
- One for Adamantine, reinforced with runed anvils to withstand the stress.
- Two reserved for exotic alloys like Yaddak and Eog, kept carefully isolated to prevent contamination.
- The remaining forges serve general work — steel, bronze, iron, and everyday metals.
Each forge team includes hammermen, metal shapers, quenchers, and finishers, all working in a coordinated rhythm that lets the shop handle massive volumes of high-end commissions without sacrificing quality.
Minting Division: The Minters
A unique feature of Kraggenkor Forgeworks is its privileged contract with Mithrin’s treasury and merchant houses: the right to mint large denomination trade bars and coins. This is no casual task — it requires artisans of rare precision, capable of detecting impurities by sight, smell, or the subtle ring of metal on stone.
Enter the Minters:
7. Arinel Lightwhisper
Half-Elf (female), Master Minter
Arinel is a cool, reserved half-elf whose sharp, pale eyes miss nothing. She oversees the testing, weighing, and casting of precious metals like gold, platinum, and electrum, ensuring the final bars or coins meet exact weight and purity standards. Arinel’s slender fingers are delicate and precise, moving with a jeweler’s grace, but her demeanor is firm, often cowing even nervous treasury officials who flinch under her steely gaze.
She handles delicate mold setups and final verification, knowing that even a hair’s breadth of error in these bars can ripple across kingdoms’ economies.
8. Elirion Lightwhisper
Elf (male), Senior Minter and Metallurgist
Elirion, Arinel’s father, is a silver-haired elf who has seen over two centuries of work with precious metals. Quiet, thoughtful, and almost ceremonial in his approach, Elirion’s knowledge of metallurgy rivals that of any royal mint. He handles alloy purity testing, using tools both alchemical and magical to verify the metal’s nature.
Elirion’s wisdom complements Arinel’s sharp efficiency, and the two work in perfect harmony — father and daughter, elf and half-elf, crafting wealth itself at the heart of the forge.
The Tale of Titan Gold
Perhaps the most famous moment in the forge’s minting history was the day they were commissioned to produce 100 Titan Gold coins, each weighing a full one pound. This commission, for a visiting Dakkan dignitary, required handling an unheard-of amount of purified Titan Gold — a gleaming, nearly indestructible gold alloy blessed with trace magical properties.
To this day, no one has ever seen such a concentrated trove of Titan Gold again. The forge’s reputation soared after this feat, and the legend is often retold by Garbrik himself (usually after a few ales), complete with mimed hammer swings and boasts about how they “never lost a single dram’s worth!”
The Forge’s Reputation
Nobles, adventurers, merchant lords, and foreign dignitaries all know:
“If it bears the Kraggenkor mark, it bears perfection.”
It’s not just a smithy — it’s an institution. From battlefield weapons to ceremonial regalia, trade bars to historic commissions, the forge is a living heart of Mithrin’s wealth and defense.
The Minters and Sniksnik — A Bond Beyond the Anvil
Among all the artisans of Kraggenkor Forgeworks, none hold such a singular, tender place in the hearts of the Minters, Arinel and Elirion Lightwhisper, as Sniksnik the Etcher.
While dwarves respect Sniksnik’s masterful etching and engraving, and even Garbrik himself has admitted to learning techniques from the nimble kobold, it is the Lightwhispers — with their keen elven eyes and love of precision — who fully understand the magnitude of his gift.
“Father, I swear, it’s like he sees the shape of the commission inside the metal before it’s ever touched.” — Arinel, in private conversation.
Elirion often marvels aloud that Sniksnik’s hands move faster and surer than any living engraver, his tiny claws dancing across wax molds, steel dies, or coin plates like they follow an invisible symphony only he can hear.
Even as the kobold’s scales have dulled with age and his back has slightly stooped, his eyes remain as sharp as the edge of a fresh chisel, and his artistry only seems to have deepened. The Minters have become quietly protective of him, watching with concern as time whispers closer, and they have joined Garbrik in ensuring healers and magical restoratives are regularly secured to slow the inevitable decline.
The Incident with the Dakkan Shaitan
The greatest test of this bond came ten years ago when the forge received its most audacious commission:
One hundred Titan Gold coins, each weighing a full pound, commissioned by a Dakkan dignitary.
The foreign emissary, a powerful trade envoy named Shaitan al-Rasif al-Khalid, arrived with a gleaming entourage, silk banners, and the unmistakable air of someone accustomed to getting anything he wanted. Shaitan al-Rasif, whose name loosely translates as “Eternal Pathway of Prosperity”, was a shrewd, silver-tongued negotiator — a master of Dakkan trade law, courtly etiquette, and economic strategy.
He watched in quiet awe as Sniksnik worked the plates and molds for the Titan Gold coins, transforming the dignitary’s intricate heraldry and script into flawless raised relief on the molds, with a speed and accuracy that stunned even the elven Minters.
The Shaitan, unable to contain his admiration, made a highly improper proposal:
He offered to purchase Sniksnik outright, offering not only a small fortune but the promise of a grand workshop, personal servants, and prestige back in Dakkan.
The words had barely left his mouth before Arinel, usually the embodiment of poise, strode forward with fire in her eyes, ready to physically remove the Shaitan from the forge. Only Garbrik’s bellowing voice and Elirion’s measured hand on her arm prevented a diplomatic catastrophe.
Realizing his grave misstep, the Shaitan swiftly composed himself. In a gesture of extraordinary contrition, he presented Sniksnik with a personal gift:
One ounce of pure Titan Gold, a rare and precious gift
The Shaitan left Voolnishart shortly after, never returning — but his guild continued to deepen trade contracts with Mithrin, eager to preserve the golden reputation forged by the Kraggenkor artisans.
The Legacy of Sniksnik
Sniksnik has kept the ounce of Titan Gold, not as wealth but as a symbolic treasure, tucked carefully away in a small runed coffer Garbrik had made for him. He sometimes fingers the coffer absently, his sharp eyes going distant, as if remembering not the near-sale, but the validation — the moment when a creature once cast out for “useless art” was honored before kings and merchants alike.
“They tried to buy you, little master,” Garbrik often teases with a grin. “A fool’s move. There’s no coin weight in the world that matches loyalty.”
The Etcher’s Hands
The forge roared around him.
Sniksnik sat cross-legged atop a tall stool, claws delicately poised over a wax mold the size of his palm. His narrow black-scaled snout twitched with every flicker of the forge fires, thin nostrils pulling in the smell of burning coal, hot steel, oil — and something fainter: the tang of molten electrum, a delicate scent only the most sensitive noses could catch.
He squinted, tongue poking just slightly from the corner of his mouth, as his fine chisel danced down the curve of a silver plate. With every stroke, filigree unfolded like flowering vines, swirling up from the metal’s edge: traceries so small even elven eyes struggled to follow them.
“Masterful, as always.”
Arinel Lightwhisper’s smooth voice stirred the air beside him. She leaned in, her elegant half-elven features lit by the soft golden glow of the nearby forge. Her father, Elirion, stood a few paces back, arms folded, silver brows lifted in quiet approval.
Sniksnik snorted softly, not looking up.
“Pfft. Always masterful. Ha. Praise… too heavy. Too heavy.”
Arinel smiled.
“Come now, Sniksnik. Let us give you your due. No one else in Mithrin could finish that mold before nightfall — yet you have it almost done.”
The kobold clicked his tongue, shoulders hunching. His tools tapped again, faster now, his fine black claws working with blurring speed. He did not want to lose the thread, the shape in his mind. It was always there when he looked — the thing the client wanted, not just what they had asked for. Something in the curve of a letter, the tightness of a crest, the weight of a pattern. It hummed in his claws.
“Work now… talk later,” he murmured, eyes narrowing further.
Arinel chuckled softly, rising.
“As you wish, little master.”
Elirion gave the tiniest nod, a ghost of a smile crossing his usually solemn face. He touched Arinel’s arm and they drifted away, giving Sniksnik his space.
Hours passed. The forge thundered, hammers fell like gods striking anvils, and Sniksnik worked — quiet, precise, tireless.
When the plate was done, he leaned back slowly, flexing aching fingers. His tail twitched, stiff from sitting. Around him, the evening shift began to wind down: dwarves wiping hands on thick aprons, apprentices banking the coals, the distant voice of Garbrik himself booming over the din, laughing as he teased Thog the Bladewright about some minor flaw.
Sniksnik slipped down from his stool, cradling the finished mold plate in both hands. He set it carefully on the presentation table, just as Arinel had instructed. Then, quietly, he made his way to the small alcove tucked near the rear of the forge — a space Garbrik had made just for him.
Inside waited a tiny workbench, a small padded seat, a little wooden coffer. Sniksnik pulled it out with reverence, running a claw along its runed edge before lifting the lid.
There, resting on a scrap of blue silk, lay one ounce of Titan Gold — a perfect ingot, no bigger than his thumb, gleaming faintly even in the dim light. He turned it over slowly in his hands, watching the unnatural luster ripple across its surface.
They tried to buy you, little master.
He exhaled softly, feeling a familiar mix of emotions stir in his chest. Pride, yes. But also a quiet, gnawing sorrow. How many years did he have left? He could feel his body slowing, just a little. His claws stiffened in the mornings. His legs ached after long days. The healers helped — but only so much.
Still, this forge, this place, these people… they had given him a life his warren had cast aside. A life of art, of craft, of meaning. He would work until his claws could no longer hold the tools, and when that day came, perhaps Garbrik would let him sit by the fires and watch the next generation rise.
He set the ingot down gently, tapping the coffer shut. His sharp black eyes glittered in the low light.
“Not yet,” Sniksnik murmured softly. “Not done yet.”
Then, stretching his back with a low pop, he picked up his chisels once more and went back to work.
Shermans fantasy world 