Smithy

Born in the belly of a forgotten forge, Smithy was not built, but kindled.

His master's final words were not of farewell, but of challenge: “Return only when you’ve learned something I cannot teach.” So the little forge trudged into the world with nothing but a coal-core heart and boundless curiosity.

Smithy doesn’t speak often. He whistles through his vents, puffs smoke when annoyed, and hums with molten joy when he finds a blade worth studying. Every piece of exotic gear he encounters is lovingly catalogued, broken down in diagrams only he understands—etched in heat across his own armor plates.

Some say he’s harmless. Some say he once melted an entire warband’s worth of weapons into slag after they called his hammer "quaint."

He doesn’t judge. He refines. And one day, he’ll return home—not with treasure, but with a masterpiece.