Gerst

Once making treasured weapons for the Afrean royal army, gerst the dwarven blacksmith found himself exiled after letting a group of slaves free. A group that had been delivering to his workshop the most precious orichalcum directly from the Afrean royal treasury under the watch of their personal guard. After years of these deliveries he found himself having grown attached to the people and could no longer bear to see them without basic freedoms. He found it relatively simple to hire transportation to wait in the back of his workshop and take the slaves to the border when they arrived. He did not however, expect the swift and severe punishment from the royal family. These slaves were among some of the only trusted with moving the immense wealth of the royal family around the nation. It would take years to vet and train the dozen slaves that would be needed to replace the only group designated to moving orichalcum within the capitol, Cidel. He even recieved backlash from some of the populous against slavery for freeing slaves with living conditions better than most citizens. For someone who's name held less weight, this would certainly have meant death. But, knowing the Royal family personally, he was sentenced to exile. After being exiled from Afrea, Gerst made his way from town to town until he found a job making weapons for Cil Audrey's forces, where he was satisfied that his skills were being used for more than horseshoes and chains. While nothing compared to his great foundry in Cidel, he adored his workshop in Morlis and the requests he is given to supply the house Audrey military.

He now lacks the numerous assistants and steam powered machines. This pleases him to no end. The joy he finds with his pedal operated mill, hand hammering his metal, and blowing his own coals, is both greater than that he found in Cidel, and even when using the simpler tools when he first learned to forge. Using his own body to make every detail of his creations is far greater than pushing out supplies at a breakneck pace. Sitting and sharpening a sword on a stone wheel, smoothly transitioning between the different faces as he works his way to the finer side of the wheel, bringing the blade to a razor edge, he ponders on how before he got his first job after exile, he hadn't sharpened a blade, or done any equipment maintenance in decades. Though he does miss those opportunities to create truly legendary pieces with near unlimited access to Afrea's trove of rare materials. He oils and racks the sword before grabbing a fresh ingot from the forge, before the clanging of a hammer on metal rings through the workshop once again.