Where's the Blacksmith

“Excellent” The Warlord said, wondering just how long he could keep Ruga busy for. His only asking price was leathers, and the Warlord could ensure he was well stocked by the time he left them. He would also be fed and housed under the Warlords roof while he worked.

Sirius leaned back, giving Ruga space in the small walking space between the shelves. The blacksmith's eyes roamed across the wares, and it wasn’t long before his paws were testing them as well. The Warlord said nothing for a time, letting Ruga make his judgments.

It was the red wolf who broke the silence first, commenting on the variety of materials. “We had an issue with our meat stores, so our hunting was rapidly upped as winter approached - it definitely left us with an abundance of skins” He explained, skipping over the majority of the issue. The pack was past that crisis now.

“Training, for the most part” he explained, sitting back on his hunches, his expression amused. “The Armada was created as a protective force to guard another pack - its name and its nature was crafted to build an image of strength. Deterring challenges, we win the fight before it begins. It’s come a long way since then… mostly it's a place to house and train those that have joined my home.” Was the lengthy explanation. “The things you craft will be to outfit my oldest grandkids, who will be venturing out of the pack with their Mother in the Spring, and start the training of my youngest grandkids” If he was hoping his weapons would be making a name for themselves as weapons of war, he was going to be dissapointed.


"Sirius Fatalis"