Casidhe was walking down the corridor, coming back from taking the stone crafts to the trade depot all the way up on the surface. She was feeling pretty good about the state of Denpaged - due in no small part to the rivers of extremely well crafted ale that had begun to flow from the still recently.
She had heard rumours that their Baroness had flipped and started breaking things, but she hadn't seen it, and her thoughts were filled with happy thoughts of coins, diamonds, and her favourite animal, donkeys - who she admired for their stubbornness.
She was half way through a fantasy about being a donkey driver at a famous diamond mine, and the vast piles of coins she would be paid for this, when all those thoughts suddenly evaporated.
She could think of one thing.
She brushed other dwarves out of the way, sending Lester crashing sideways into one of the mining corridors as she hurtled down the stairs, a fevered look on her face. Running in to the metalworks, she hurtled through the forges, and in to the room where the two metalsmith's workshops stood. "OUT!" she bellowed, and the senior weaponsmith, Meng, made a sharp exit.
With similar vigour she grabbed the components that her dream required. The workshop filled with clouds of acrid smoke, the stench of black bear bone being fused to still glowing steel. Noone dared look in, and she worked through night and day, hammering, twisting, forging, creating...
Ogtummasos MorassTragic, the Steel Mace.
It was perfect. Even holding it in her bleeding hands as she recovered consciousness she could feel it's weight subtly imploring her to swing it downwards, in skull crushing arcs. The surface flowed flawlessly in to the myriad steel studs which covered the head, and the black bear bone rings sat in stark declaration that this was a tool of death.
Casidhe slept, and dreamt of weapons. So much about balance, temper, edge...so much she understood now. When she woke, she would be senior weaponsmith.