In the enchanting village at the corner of continent ,Arcanvane ,wooden houses dotted the landscape, creating a quaint yet vibrant atmosphere. The village is crowned by a small castle, which rises slightly above the adjacent blacksmith's workshop. This workshop is famed for its exceptional craftsmanship and is home to a tall, muscular figure rumored to be a beast man. He resides there with his twelve-year-old son, both of whom contribute to the unique character of the village.
The blacksmith's shop, though smaller than the nearby castle, is surrounded by a joint training ground and a research lab dedicated to potion-making. This lab boasts an extensive library managed by the only elven family in the village—a notable group consisting of two high elves and six elder fighting warriors, along with two toddlers aged fifty years. This family serves as a vital hub of knowledge amidst a predominantly human population.
Alongside the humans, a growing community of dwarfs has established itself in the village, with approximately fifty dwarfs primarily working at the blacksmith and running various lounges. Their presence adds to the rich tapestry of diversity within the village.
Nestled at the foothills of the great mountain range known as Zou, this village is isolated from the outside world, making visitors rare and often unwelcome. It has been ages since outsiders have graced its borders. The village is bordered by an ocean on one side, providing a picturesque setting reminiscent of a small kingdom's capital. The villagers are known for their exceptional vitality and energy, which distinguishes them from other communities in the region.
The atmosphere in this vibrant locale is friendly; all species coexist harmoniously under the leadership of Chief Marcus Standhart . A small river flows half a mile away from the castle wall, its gentle stream providing essential water for farming purposes. A modest enclosure has been constructed around this area to facilitate agriculture. In nearby forest, soldiers, alongside elven and dwarf warriors, hunt for their share of food while also engaging in cattle rearing and farming activities that have become quite popular.
When it comes to military might, the village boasts a robust population of 3,000, with an impressive 2,000 individuals trained as warriors. Among these skilled fighters, 600 are always on duty, diligently patrolling the streets and ensuring the maintenance of law and order within the community. Each soldier possesses a strength that rivals that of ten regular soldiers from any kingdom across the continent, a remarkable feat attributed to the villagers' exceptional wound healing abilities and innate vitality.
Within this formidable force, a unique and ancient practice of blood magic is regularly taught by Chief Marcus Standhart . This mystical art, shrouded in secrecy, has been passed down through generations and is regarded as a vital aspect of their training regimen. The villagers view this practice as a normal exercise, one that enhances their already formidable capabilities. Despite their rigorous preparation, the village has never encountered war; thus, their focus remains on readiness rather than aggression.
The village's fortified position, nestled against the imposing backdrop of the Zou mountain range, and its impressive defenses likely stem from undisclosed secrets known only to the head blacksmith, the high elves, dwarf representative and Chief Standhart himself. These secrets may hold the key to the village's resilience and self-sufficiency.
In addition to their military prowess, the community operates a small guild overseen by Chief Standhart , where villagers can seek mercenary work—primarily focused on herb collecting and other tasks that benefit the community. This guild fosters collaboration and camaraderie among villagers while allowing them to contribute to their self-sustaining lifestyle without the pressures of life-or-death missions.
In this village, the harmonious blend of cultures and races creates a vibrant tapestry of life. The villagers thrive in their secluded yet picturesque environment, where every individual plays a crucial role in maintaining both peace and prosperity within their beloved home.
The sun shone brightly from the corner of the mountain's peak, casting a vibrant light that illuminated the village and filled the air with warmth. The rhythmic sound of a hammer striking metal echoed through the morning, signaling the start of another day in this peaceful community. The master blacksmith, a towering beastman, began his work long before anyone else stirred, ringing a bell to announce the dawn. This daily ritual was a familiar sound that roused the villagers from their slumber.
However, today was different. Just as the master blacksmith was about to ring his bell and commence his morning routine, an uproar broke out in the usually tranquil town. A group of soldiers was pursuing a shadow darting across the rooftops of the wooden houses—a sight that was particularly strange in this village, where crime was virtually not existential and the population was well-educated and law-abiding.
The shadow flitting among the rooftops belonged to a mischievous child, armed with a small dagger and a spirit full of adventure. This was his third attempt to escape from the castle and sneak beyond the village walls. The master blacksmith , noticing the commotion, let out a hearty laugh while thinking ' like father like son ' and called out with a booming voice that carried through the air.
"Hey! brat here! show me your dagger "
Hearing the familiar voice, the child grinned widely and changed direction, leaping from one building towards the blacksmith's workshop. With remarkable agility, The master blacksmith jumped up and caught the boy mid-air as he landed. The child clung tightly to him and shouted,
"It's not 'brat' it's 'Vizz,' you crazy old man!"
After handing over the dagger, the child hopped off the beastman's lap and stared at him with wide-eyed curiosity. The master blacksmith, taken aback, examined the dagger closely and noted its exceptional craftsmanship, forged from strong materials and embedded with magical ore. In an astonished tone, he said, "Tell me, brat, where did you get this from? Did you steal it out of that bastard's invento—"
Before he could finish his sentence, a loud thud interrupted him, followed by a sharp voice. "That bastard who...?" A young elf emerged from the bushes, his expression rude and confrontational. This boy was named Ezekiel, an outsider in a village where such individuals were often viewed with suspicion and weren't even allowed to stand by the wall .
Sirius's presence was unusual; it was strange for the village to accept two random elves. However, one fateful day during a hunt, Chief Marcus Standhart had discovered Ezekiel trying to save his younger sister from a blood hound. The boy was covered in scars, a testament to his struggles. Moved by the sight, the chief took him in and ordered that he live among the elves in the village. Yet, Ezekiel choose to remain close to the blacksmith's workshop, often residing in a tree nearby while his sister lived with the other elves.
Ezekiel had developed a keen interest in craftsmanship and often watched the master blacksmith at work. The master blacksmith did not mind his presence and even allowed him to help with errands, fostering a bond between them. Ezekiel had sworn loyalty to the chief and could not tolerate any disrespect directed toward him. Thus, when he heard the master smith refer to Chief Standhart as "that bastard," he bristled with indignation.
The relationship between the chief and the master blacksmith was layered; before becoming a leader or a chief, they had been friends. This familiarity allowed for playful banter but also led to moments of tension when outsiders were involved. Ezekiel always stood first to defend his sister , his new home and dignity of his lord ,ensuring that any slight against the chief would not go unchallenged.
Annoyed by the persistent nagging of the toddler, the master smith picked up a small rock and tossed it toward Ezekiel, Poor elf was on the ground the next second. "Lad, I allowed you to be here because that stingy chieftain has taken a liking to you!" he barked, his voice booming with authority, echoing off the wooden walls of the workshop.
The young elf's eyes narrowed, his brows knitting together in indignation as he sprang to his feet. "What do you mean by that?" he shot back, fists clenched at his sides. The master blacksmith, unfazed by the elf's defiance, waved a hand dismissively through the hair of the toddler. "From now on, you're going to be my disciple," he declared, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.
Ezekiel's expression flickered between surprise and annoyance. "A disciple? You think I want to be your apprentice? I'm not some—"
Before he could finish, the master smith interrupted him with a hearty laugh. "You think you have a choice? You'll learn more here than you ever will lurking around like a shadow!"
Just then, the master smith threw two small hammers toward the toddlers, who stood nearby with wide eyes and an eager grin. The child caught them clumsily, his tiny hands struggling to grip the weight of the hammers. He held them up triumphantly and shouted, "Look! I'm a real blacksmith now!"
"Yeah," Ezekiel quipped with a smirk, "just what we need—another tiny tyrant with hammers!" He rolled his eyes dramatically.
The toddler puffed out his chest. "I can be a tyrant! Watch me!" He swung one of the hammers in an exaggerated motion, nearly losing his balance.
"Careful there! You might take out an eye!" Ezekiel exclaimed, feigning horror as he dramatically shielded his own eyes with his hands.
The master blacksmith chuckled at their antics but quickly turned serious. "From now on," he explained, "you two are going to be my apprentices. You'll learn the art of craftsmanship and help me in the forge."
But just as excitement began to fill the air, viz started to make a ruckus. "I don't want to work in the smithy!" he cried out, his voice rising in protest. "I want to go outside! I want to see what's beyond the walls!"
Ezekiel crossed his arms defiantly and leaned toward viz conspiratorially. "Yeah! What's so great about hammering metal all day? There's a whole world out there!" He raised an eyebrow and winked at viz as if plotting an escape.
An unbreakable bond of friendship bloomed or shall i refer to it as rivalry more vicious then archnemesis .
The master blacksmith leaned down closer to them, his face softening slightly. "Listen here," he said, his tone shifting from stern to earnest. "Every great adventure begins with learning how to forge your own path. You'll have your adventures later—trust me on that."
The Viz looked at Ezekiel with wide eyes and whispered dramatically, "What if we forge our escape instead?"
"Shh! Not so loud!" Ezekiel replied, stifling a laugh as they exchanged mischievous glances.
The master smith straightened up and added with a twinkle in his eye, "Besides, what do you think those hammers are for? They're not just for show!"
"Yeah," Ezekiel said with mock seriousness. "We could start a hammer-throwing competition! Last one standing gets to go outside!"
Viz nodded vigorously. "I'm in! But I get to throw first!"
"Fine," Ezekiel relented with mock exasperation. "But if you hit me in the face, I'm telling the master!"
The master smith grinned widely, clapping both boys on their shoulders. "That's more like it! Now let's get started before I change my mind!"
With that declaration ringing in their ears and laughter bubbling between them, both boys felt a rush of anticipation as they prepared to embark on their new journey under the watchful eye of the master smith—a journey that promised not only skill-building but plenty of mischief along the way in this enchanting village.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------