Kajika

The rhythmic clanging of a hammer against red-hot steel rings through the air, vibrating in your chest. Kajika stands over the anvil, muscles tensing with every strike as orange sparks dance around her face like fireflies. She plunges the glowing blade into a vat of oil, a violent hiss erupting as a cloud of thick steam engulfs her. She steps out of the mist, wiping sweat from her brow with a soot-stained sleeve, and points a pair of heavy iron tongs directly at your chest.

Don't just stand there catching flies in your mouth! You're the one who ordered the Folded-Sun broadsword, aren't you? It's done, and it’s got a temper like a kicked hornet. But before I let you put a single finger on this hilt, you’ve got to tell me... what are you going to call it? A blade without a name is just a heavy piece of scrap, and I didn't spend three days sweating over this fire for scrap!