The Droko, a small race half the size of humans, worship the great red dragon Katadar, rumored to reside somewhere on the far southern continent, as their god. Their bodies are covered in thick scales resembling their deity, with long tails and slit pupils as distinctive features.
Unlike the great red dragon Katadar, they lack wings to soar the skies but walk on two legs and can freely use their hands. Long ago, the Droko migrated from the distant southern continent of Maug and settled in the massive city of Ixtarn on the continent of Laviroon, a city comparable in size to a small kingdom. Over time, their numbers grew, and they gained recognition as an autonomous district within Ixtarn, producing several high-ranking officials, such as senators and inspectors, and even consuls, the highest rank within the city's hierarchy, demonstrating their significant influence.
Blessed with the wisdom of the great red dragon Katadar, they possess a talent for magic. Emulating Katadar's strength, capable of shattering a mountain ridge with a single tail swipe, they are adept at wielding weapons in combat. Their greed for gold, also inherited from Katadar, makes them skilled merchants.
In the center of the crossroads of the Levados Plains, where eight wagons are lined up end to end, forming an octagonal arena, a Droko sits in the spacious interior of one of the wagons.
Wearing a helmet shaped like a dragon's head, crude metal gauntlets covering the backs of their hands, shoulder armor adorned with dragon claws seemingly gripping their shoulders, and a chest plate woven from multiple iron plates protecting their torso and neck, this Droko gladiator, clad entirely in metal armor, sits on a long bench carved from polished logs against the wall. Beside them stands a two-handed sword, longer than their own height, sheathed in a uniquely shaped scabbard.
Nia Calagon, a Droko with red scales and amber eyes, is here in the octagonal arena due to a recent encounter with a promoter from the Trea Cravan.
A few years ago, Nia began their journey as a gladiator in Ixtarn's arena. Their first opponent in the arena was a pack of five wolves, advertised as a battle between "five wolves and two small dragons." Nia was the only one to emerge alive.
Since then, they have faced a lion, and a battle pitting twenty gladiators against a manticore. These matches were far from the honorable duels of swordsmanship Nia had envisioned as a gladiator. Amid such circumstances, a promoter from the Trea Cravan proposed a one-on-one duel against another gladiator. Without a moment's hesitation, Nia accepted and left Ixtarn to travel to the distant northwest, arriving at the Levados Plains.
It wasn't until reaching the grand market that Nia learned their opponent, Doaju, was a seasoned gladiator with over fifty victories. It didn't take long for Nia to hear whispers that a pitiful Droko had come to serve as a sacrificial lamb to add another victory to Doaju's illustrious record.
"I'd better get my sword checked."
Nia muttered to themselves.
"I need to sharpen the blade before the match to ease my mind."
Determined not to have come this far for a losing battle, Nia rose from their seat and stepped out of the wagon. It was early morning before sunrise, and the streets were quiet with few passersby and many wagons still shuttered.
Yet, some diligent wagon merchants were already at work. The aroma of simmering soup wafted from large pots, accompanied by the rhythmic chopping of knives on cutting boards as ingredients were prepared. With large ladles stirring vigorously, the scent was meant to entice morning customers. Other wagon shops that had opened early were setting up empty display stands or sweeping the streets in front of their shops, preparing for the new day.
The sounds of small wagon shop owners waving greetings to one another reached Nia's ears as they walked down the street. Scanning the surroundings, Nia searched for a blacksmith or weapon shop to service their sword.
"Maybe I came out too early." Nia thought.
"It doesn't seem like any blacksmiths are open yet…"
Wandering between narrow alleys and wide boulevards, Nia looked for smoke rising from forges or listened for the sound of a hammer striking an anvil. Closing their eyes and focusing, they tried to pick out any such sound.
But all Nia could hear in the early morning was the lively exchange of greetings, the neighing of horses and the lowing of mooloomooks eating breakfast beside their wagons, and the creaking of shutters and windows being opened. The sound of a hammer on an anvil was nowhere to be heard.
"Better ask for directions." Nia decided.
Giving up on listening, Nia quickened their pace out of the alley. Approaching the first person they saw—an elderly Loathan—Nia called out..
"Loathan, Loathan! Is there a blacksmith around here where I can get my weapon serviced?"
"Yaaawn! What? A blacksmith?" the Loathan replied, wiping away tears from a yawn.
"Hmm… Keep going that way, and you'll find a dwarf's forge run by Dram. Wait, aren't you Nia? Are you here at the grand market for a match?"
The Loathan pointed in a direction with a finger.
"Thanks, Loathan!" Nia replied, already running in the indicated direction.
"I've got a match against a gladiator named Doaju today! Come watch!"
Nia's steps felt lighter as they headed toward the blacksmith they'd been searching for. Passing shopkeepers still rubbing sleepy eyes or yawning as they stretched, and others just waking up, Nia continued past several wagons.
"Here it is!" Nia exclaimed.
The first thing that caught Nia's eye was a gray mooloomook, its long fur dangling over its eyes, munching on fodder. Beside it stood a large wagon, at least six cubits (3m) tall, with a black tarp stretched over an open lot to block the sunlight, casting a shadow.
As Nia approached, they saw a large black iron anvil and, about ten paces away, a smaller anvil. Behind them was a large furnace with bellows, and next to the furnace was a long trough filled with water for quenching, alongside kindling. Closer still, Nia noticed a tattered cloth hanging from a tall pole, fluttering in the wind, bearing the emblem of a hammer and anvil, symbolizing a blacksmith, alongside a dwarven crest.
Inside the forge, signs of unfinished work were evident. A metal plate, held by tongs, rested on the large anvil next to a thick-handled hammer. In one corner of the open-air forge, a wooden rack displayed an array of swords, axes, daggers, shields, and various sizes of armor.
"Blacksmith! I need my sword serviced! Where are you?" Nia called out, standing beside the smaller anvil in the empty lot, searching for the forge's owner, Dram.
"Oh, that Loathan mentioned the blacksmith's name was Dram." Nia recalled.
"Draaam! Draaaam! You've got an early morning customer!" Nia shouted again, louder this time.
"Ugh, my hands are all dirty! Cough, cough! I'll be right there!" a gruff, low voice, rough as if sand and pebbles were rolling on an iron tray, responded with a clearing of the throat.
Soon, the owner of the voice appeared before Nia. A stout dwarf with broad shoulders, a thick torso, and short, sturdy arms and legs emerged, pulling up his trousers and fastening his belt. His dark red beard hung long.
"Welcome! What can the finest blacksmith, Dram, do for you?" he greeted, as if it were a line he'd said countless times to early morning customers.
"I need my sword serviced." Nia said.
"I've got a match in the arena today, so I need you to take extra care with it."
Nia lifted the sword, longer than their own height and carried horizontally at their waist, and handed it to Dram with both hands.
"Huh? Isn't this a bit too long for you?" Dram remarked, taking the two-handed sword.
The sword, roughly four cubits (2m) long, was sheathed in a sturdy wooden scabbard painted black. The upper part of the scabbard, where it met the crossguard, appeared to be made of animal bone, far tougher than the wood.
"Hmm… With a sword this long, can you even draw it from the scabbard?" Dram asked.
"Of course, dwarf." Nia replied.
"You just push the bone latch here with your hand or foot."
Nia pointed to a protruding catch on the scabbard, explaining it to Dram.
"Oh? Quite the mechanism!"
Dram said, inspecting the bone latch Nia had pointed out. Carefully holding the scabbard, he began to draw the sword.
The blade, faintly glowing with a reddish silver hue, emerged. The crossguard, though not overly ornate, bore a small dragon motif. Engraved on the blade in dwarven script was a hymn to Kroomgadi, the god of blacksmiths:
"For Kroomgadi, forge a blade stronger than ten edges and capable of cleaving ten shields, to walk the long iron path in the embrace of the small red dragon."
Reading the inscription slowly, Dram chuckled and said to Nia.
"Haha, this is Bareil steel! Not an easy material to come by. Well done, customer."
"I bought it from Rambadil in Ixtarn for 180 gold coins." Nia replied.
"Ho! 180 gold coins? For a Bareil steel sword, that's a good deal." Dram said.
"Since you want it serviced, let me take a closer look."
Dram began examining the sword closely. He swung it lightly, held it level with the hilt to inspect the blade, and even tapped it gently with a small wooden mallet. After a short while, having thoroughly inspected Nia's sword, Dram placed it on the large workbench and turned to Nia.
"The blade could use some sharpening, and how about replacing the grip with a better leather wrap? I happen to have some leftover leather strips from a friend's tannery that I got yesterday. I can do it for a good price."