Lord Garius walked through the barracks, his sharp gaze inspecting the neatly lined-up soldiers. Alf, Erinnete, and Hesbeirn followed closely behind, their expressions serious. Behind them, Rasdingen trailed along, gnawing on a thick slab of meat with one hand while clutching a bottle of strong liquor in the other.
Garius glanced over his shoulder. "Rasdingen."
The dwarven blacksmith took a swig from his bottle before responding. "Aye, m'lord?"
Garius nodded approvingly. "Good job upgrading our army's armor and weapons."
Rasdingen grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Heh! 'Course, m'lord! With our own mines producin' the ore, we're gettin' nothin' but high-quality stuff! I've reinforced the armor usin' a mix o' mithril and iron—light 'nough fer speed, strong 'nough to take a good bash! Weapons too—sharper 'n tougher than before!"
Garius smirked. "That's what I like to hear."