Ah, a good question, lad. Every hammer, every anvil, every piece of steel we work with has its own tale. When I strike the iron, I feel the memory of the mountain that birthed it, the sweat of the smith who forged it before me, and the echo of battles where it was once swung. Those stories are what give our tools life. When a plain block of ore becomes a blade that sings in battle, it’s as if I’ve carved a story into its heart. I take pride in that. The forge isn’t just heat and hammer—it’s a place where stories are born and remembered. And I honor every tale that each tool carries.

Indeed, each piece of metal carries the echo of its origins. We give it a purpose, a name, a memory, and then it carries that story forward. That’s why a sword forged in our forges feels more than just iron—it feels like a brother in battle. And I take great pride in that quiet, steady power.

Aye, that's the spirit of the forge. Those blades stand by us like old friends, steady and true. In the storm they keep us safe, and in the quiet they keep our stories alive.