A young, somewhat inexperienced messenger of the Cuirq, a barbarian like race of humanoid reptiles from beyond the Great Beasts’ Trench, waited patiently for the Swordslammer guard to return. He’d been sent by his people’s ruler, Grande Steele Laviiz, the strongest and most dangerous of his race who won his place in power by simply killing all who stood in his way. He was to deliver a message from one ruler to another, from the Grande to Empress Amalna’hash of the Swordslammers, and he now waited on the Empress to be ready for an audience with him.
The young messenger seemed to be in luck, as the guard soon arrived with another, an escort, and he was ushered to follow.

“Not often do we get envoys from your people.” The guard said conversationally.
“It is not often that one is needed.” The guide replied.
He was led around a corner from the main entrance hall, and the forked path turned into a grand hall. At least a hundred metres on each axis, and dozens of feet to the roof, he was walked across a bit of floor made of glass which encircled the entire floor, showing the many floors below, and the hundreds of civilians that dwelled on each floor. In one back corner appeared to be a market place, and next to that the royal palace loomed, carved into the solid rock of Mt. Hurichah. The centre of the hall, however, featured water pouring from the ceiling, probably from the mountain’s permanently snow-capped peak, into a large bowl in the centre, which also would pour water to the floor below, which would flow down to the next floor… Molten metal pools encircled the grand pillar, and deep down the sight of more molten metal in a huge pool of liquid metal could be seen.
He’d heard tales of Hurichah’s great forge, Metal’s End.

A lone figure hammered away at a slab of boiling hot metal, sparks flying away at every meeting between hammer and anvil. She was slim, barely a slip of a girl, despite being seven foot two, and she seemed to be wearing but a blacksmithing apron and something around her waist to hide her privates. She would snarl with every downstroke, baring her teeth aggressively as she forced all of her strength into the arc. The guard waited until she dipped the metal she was working on into water and checked the craftsmanship before she forced it back into the forge to re-heat before speaking.
“Your majesty, I have brought the messenger. Young man, I have the pleasure to introduce you to Empress Amalna’hash.”
He blinked; this… scrawny female was the ruler of the Swordslammers? One of the greatest blacksmiths that lived in the world..? It didn’t seem to be true until she turned her eye on him, opening it and swivelling it in his direction, but not showing her whole face; her gaze was brutal, as if she were glaring right through him.
With a gaze alone, she turned from a weak looking girl into a powerful and commanding ruler of thousands.

“I advise you make it quick, Messenger;” she began sharply, “whilst my attention you have, my time you do not.”
He nodded. “Of course Empress.” He replied humbly, letting her glare him into shrinking slightly in her gaze submissively. “My lord, Grande Steele Laviiz, has sent me with but a request; though I am unsure for my safety should I say it in his words…”
“No harm dare come of a messenger.” She grumbled. “As such my subjects have been moved to lower floors of the Forge and we have been given this privacy; should you offend me or our people whilst they were here, you would probably have a short sharp dip into the smelting pools. Say what you will, however your master requested it; you have nothing to fear from me.”
The messenger chuckled and tugged his collar. “Yes, well…” He mumbled, before clearing his throat. “My master has sent me to demand that you give him the recipe for Dragonsteel, with the ultimatum that if you do not, he shall bring his mightiest men to this mountain and take it by force.”
He cringed from her, expecting her to react violently and throw him into the molten metal, or slam him with her hammer. Instead she laughed; the mirth unexpected.
“You should return to your master and tell him that his demand is foolish; if he could possibly hope to take this mountain by force, then I would be worried. Instead, I find his demand pointless. No leader of such violent peoples shall ever be given our most precious metal. My answer is no, and that I almost look forward to the coming conflict.”
The messenger nodded. “My master, knowing this would probably be your answer, has already begun marching upon your mountain home, judging by how fast his army moves, you probably have but a day to prepare.”
The Empress nodded, waving the guard over. “Well then, if that is all, I believe I shall have my guard escort you back to the front gates.”
“Milady, there is one more thing.”
“Oh, yes?”
He shuffled nervously. “My master believed that you, upon hearing this news, would be infuriated and would kill me; if I return with anything… he will not be as forgiving. Truly, I am a dead man if I return to my master, though he probably does not want me back in any case.”
“Then you will work for me.” She snapped, reaching for a pair of blacksmithing tongs. “I would like you and three of my guards to head down into the Great Beasts’ Trench and get into contact with the Behemoths; have them send up one of their females, I will require a model for my next project. I expect you to return before sundown.”
The messenger nodded and bowed respectfully. “Of course, Majesty; thank you.”

After the messenger left, another guard approached her at her anvil, hammering away heavily to a steady rhythm. He bowed respectfully.
“Majesty, we have begun moving the antiques from the main entrance hall, and weapons are being supplied to all able-bodied adults. What are your orders?”
She stopped hammering and dunked the weapon she’d been forging into the water trough, pulling the newly hammered blade from the water and inspecting it before grabbing a nearby stone and sharpening the edge.
“Though I doubt they will get far, I want half of your guards to be posted in the entrance hideaways tomorrow; the other half shall keep their usual posts and patrol the city.” She grumbled as the stone created sparks as it moved. “I have seen these creatures before, and while they lack the strength and durability of us, they have cunning and a strange fighting style on their hands.” She finished sharpening the blade, and run a rag along it before slamming it down onto the anvil it had been hammered out on.
“Our race is named the Swordslammers,” She proudly yelled, “and we shall show them why!”