Slayg the Smith [Inv. Yangcong]

Cold winds howled their way through and over the stone of the Ashen Mountains, biting with invisible, icy teeth at the skin of any unlucky enough to find themselves near the peaks. In addition to the biting chill, they carried a painful payload of rock, dirt, and bits of ash that clung to the body and lungs... yet did not melt as snow did. To most mortal souls, and even immortal ones, this made for a rather unpleasant place to be. Those with bodies were exposed to awful chills and found themselves coughing up ash and dust as they struggled to make headway against the powerful winds. Those without bodies, the souls that wandered and waited for reincarnation, were often torn apart by the winds. Not killed, but made to exist as a disjointed series of pieces until they could finally pull themselves back together... Which could take millennia or longer.

But for Slayg, the mountains made for a safe hiding place. Ash did not bother his lungs, and the cold winds simply wrapped and bounced around his hide. His inner fire could not be dimmed or drained by any external cold. In addition, the mountains were full of ores and gems of all sorts. Iron, copper, tin, and all the other mundane elements and metals were in abundance, alongside mystical and rare materials that were impossible to find in the land of the living. This all added up to a wonderful, lonely place to practice a craft that Slayg had nearly forgotten over his long existence. The art of the smith.

The dragon had hollowed out a foothill over the course of a year, digging and scraping and shaping and reinforcing where he needed to. Once it had been hollowed, Slayg had filled one of the spaces he had made with wood from the trees that grew near the Blood Sea. The other space was also filled with wood, but this wood had been cured and dried by Slayg's smoke and heat for some time. When exposed to the heat of Slayg's fire... it was slowly turned into a charcoal beyond compare. The perfect fuel for melting infernal elements into slag and molten metal.

And this was occupying the great dragon's entire focus when he had an unexpected visitor. The fire that blazed beneath the charcoal pit had to be expertly maintained and fed plenty of air with flapping wings and fuel from the pile. Otherwise, it would fall below the needed temperature. The charcoal above, meanwhile, could be granted no air and no extra fuel or fire... or else it would simply become charred wood. When needed, the whole thing could be relit by Slayg's own breath, flowing from his maw to the fire below. Soon, soon it would be finished. The first step.