Your father was the village blacksmith. You learned how to fold iron and steel at a young age under his watchful gaze, turning them into both tools and weapons. Being his youngest son however, you were never ment to inherit the buisness. That was left to your older brother Roland. Instead your father decided to send you away to live with your uncle in the city. You never knew your uncle very well, but it was the best possible decision that your old man could have made. Your uncle had no son, and with your comming his shop thrived. Within months he was known as the best blacksmith in the land thanks to your hard work. Being his apprentice drew the attention of the locals who would sing your name with praise. Eventually warriors from across the kingdom came seeking his legendary skill.
One day while tending to the forge, a stranger walked up to the door of the shop and hammered upon the ashen grey timbers with a heavy hand. "Hello? Is Argamir the Blacksmith in?" He called, the tone of his voice filled with urgency. Initially you decide to ignore it, however after several seconds you realize that your uncle had gone to the market earlier that morning. You set down your heavy hammer and proceede to the door. It opens with a loud creak, virtue of the rusty hinges. In the doorway is standing a...
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