As he worked, his customers, mostly adventurers. They shared stories of narrow escapes and fierce battles, each more dramatic than the last. Caleb listened, occasionally chuckling or raising an eyebrow in amusement, but he never divulged any personal details about himself. He preferred to keep his mysterious past and his immense powers hidden beneath the surface of his affable blacksmith persona.
The door to the workshop swung open, and a particularly distressed adventurer rushed in, breaking the steady rhythm of storytelling. The man's face was etched with desperation as he approached Caleb with a weapon in hand. It was a sword, its blade cracked and hilt splintered, looking more like a relic of defeat than a tool of battle.
"George, you've got to help me," the adventurer pleaded, laying the damaged sword on the workbench. "I've been to every blacksmith in the city, and they all say it's beyond repair. You're my last hope."
