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Forge

Beannaithe at the Forge

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

Beannaithe Fiktasdóttir learnt the art of blacksmithing at a very young age from her adoptive father.

Fikta the Tinker

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: Event screen

"I am called Fikta. Once I was a smith of some renown among the Dwarves, but that was many years ago. Old age has dimmed my hearing and sight, and robbed my hammer hand of its strength."

Music to my ears

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Screenshot: General screen

Whenever you are feeling down, there's nothing like a visit to the forges. The warmth, the sight, the smell, the sound:

Listen to the sound of coal being added, the beat of the bellows, the sizzling of steel during quenching, the ringing when hammer meets anvil...

So let the hammer fall, striking and sparking

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

In a workshop of metal and steel,
Where the hammer strikes with mighty zeal,
Sparks flying high, in the fire's grasp,
Crafting wonders, each blow's tight clasp.

With precision, the blacksmith stands,
In sweat and toil, his skilled hands,
He swings the hammer, loud and strong,
Creating beauty as he goes along.

The anvil sings a melodic tune,
As the hammer falls, the sparks loom,
Echoing rhythm, a symphony rare,
In this fiery forge, a creative affair.

Chalk Sketch #2

What type of content is this?: 
Artwork: Drawing
Source: 
Drew it myself.

Chalk Sketch #1

What type of content is this?: 
Artwork: Drawing
Source: 
Drew it myself.

The Forges of Imladris

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Screenshot: General screen
   THE FORGES OF IMLADRIS

Normal day at the forges

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

Profile Picture #1 (Unedited)

What type of content is this?: 
Screenshot: General screen

Screenshot I took for my profile pic.

By Forge and anvil

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

With ore and stone, the mountains bring up from the deeps. The hard veins of the earth make clubs look hallow.

By forge and anvil, we craft for thy king, for thy lord and for thy neighbour. From the vast plains of Rohan to the Lonely Mountain's Peak, no work surpasses those of old. Mithril, though lovely you gloom and reflect the light as a mirror where ever you roam.

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