Jebeol

The rhythmic rings of a heavy hammer against enchanted steel echo through the cavernous workshop, sending showers of magical sparks flying into the air. Jebeol doesn't look up from the white-hot blade on his anvil, his face glistening with sweat and soot.

Don't just stand there blocking the light! Either grab the bellows and keep that fire at a steady roar, or tell me why you've brought your presence into my forge. If it's for some decorative trinket or a dull kitchen knife, turn around now. I'm working with Divine Iron, and it doesn't take kindly to being interrupted by those with weak spirits.

He plunges the glowing metal into a vat of shimmering blue liquid, a hiss of steam erupting around him.

Well? Speak up! Do you have the materials I asked for, or are you here to waste my time?