"Plying my trade in the north was something that I always wanted to try my hand at." Brokkrid admitted, "My mother said she had always wanted to visit, to see the hot springs, and to enjoy the lights up here. After all, a flame seems brighter in the darkness, and the winter is said to be spectacular up here." She noted the shaking of hands for future use, putting it to the back of her mind as a greeting of the northern folks.
"I've also seen the works of many of the metalsmiths from Halo while I was traveling down south, so I thought I might learn under a master Smith here if I can find one. The geometric patterns have always fit my aesthetic, as I have more hard lines than soft ones." She motioned to her own angular features and smirked. "My goal in life is to see the entirety of the world, and make pieces of my work in every part of it-" She paused to project the fire again and shrugged, "That way when the song of my life is ended there will be echoes of me throughout the world, whenever someone uses a kitchen knife I've made, or protects themselves with one of my shields, my song will echo on, broken, but still there."
It was something that her mother had wanted but hadn't been able to achieve because she had given birth to Brokkrid. Raising her had taken a lot of work, and by the time that Brokkrid had been self reliant, her mother had contracted the wasting disease, relying more and more on her magic, until she had passed in her sleep.
"I've also seen the works of many of the metalsmiths from Halo while I was traveling down south, so I thought I might learn under a master Smith here if I can find one. The geometric patterns have always fit my aesthetic, as I have more hard lines than soft ones." She motioned to her own angular features and smirked. "My goal in life is to see the entirety of the world, and make pieces of my work in every part of it-" She paused to project the fire again and shrugged, "That way when the song of my life is ended there will be echoes of me throughout the world, whenever someone uses a kitchen knife I've made, or protects themselves with one of my shields, my song will echo on, broken, but still there."
It was something that her mother had wanted but hadn't been able to achieve because she had given birth to Brokkrid. Raising her had taken a lot of work, and by the time that Brokkrid had been self reliant, her mother had contracted the wasting disease, relying more and more on her magic, until she had passed in her sleep.
