<strong>Upperdark tunnels beneath the Troll Hills, North of the abyss Throrgar</strong><br/><br/>Drostan's forge was only a few miles underground. Day in day out he toiled, working to make his crafts. Being so close to Throrgar had its advantages for a craftsman like himself. The tunnels used to skirt the abyss meant he usually manage to get some business from travelers, and he also had deals with merchants that rarely trundled along the paths. The tunnels were also a disadvantage. Duegar gangs occasionally patrolled and attempted to take his possessions. Derro hoodlums could be a nuisance but usually a good blast from the bellows stoked up enough sparks to scare them off. Rarely adventurers would pass way. Usually the tactic was to lock down his home and wait them out. And if they did come in, he had enough places to strike from unseen in his little hole.<br/><br/>The other issue was Throrgar itself. Wailing and groaning always, it did keep a more or less constant sound. Sometimes, however, a lesser demon spawn would crawl its way up to the closest tunnel to Drostan's forge and come wandering. In the case of Demon's, Drostan always hid. Better to let them rummage and do what they want and leave. And if they didn't leave, Drostan would have to work up the courage to kill it.<br/><br/>Today he was just returning from scavenging. Being three days travel from the nearest Drow cities, he needed to get his own materials. He stuck to the crags of walls and tunnels, ambushing unwary creatures and taking whatever he could. A dagger could be melted down, remade into something else. His own daggers couldn't be subject to this, however. Made of dark steel they had been crafted by a sculptor. When he left the city of Eyrndlyn he... acquired them.<br/><br/>Eyrndlyn was his home city, but not longer. Drostan was the second male in his family, and being a metal smith was no way to appeal to his family. With no way to stand up to long established smiths or sculptors when he wasn't taken on, he tried to do it alone. His work couldn't compare and soon he was disowned. It was all behind him. The left him to die, so they soon died in his mind. Drostan did remember his mother's name however, should he ever become skilled enough to return.<br/><br/>Back in his forge he dropped a small bag that clinked on the stone floor. Four daggers was the day's haul for metal. Another bag he placed on the table, containing mushrooms and a few insects. His forge was really one large room that served as his whole house. He had sealed off a small end of a cave with stones and clay, then baked it by building his forge in the interior. He had a large bin of coal, and another for scrap metal. His 'anvil' consisted of a flat stone tablet he stole sitting on another stone. A bed, table and a few cupboards and draws made up the rest of the room. Sighing he sat on his bed and took a mushroom to eat. He needed a big break to move beyond this place and become more. A really big break. After finishing his mushroom, cleaning up and putting away various items including the ones from today and washing, he lay down to sleep.<br/><br/>Hours passed until it what was roughly 7am on the surface. Drostan awoke from sleep, not the reverie. Stress usually kept him from entering, but he sometimes was able to. Today was a three week mark, which meant he headed for the surface for one night and two days. He slipped into his better wear, consisting of a pair of leather combat pants, a decent enough brown shirt and worn leather armour over that. The 'combat' pants were simply reinforced, but he wore them when he went hunting in the deep. The reinforcing and extra layers kept them from ripping as easy. A bag of weapons, including a small mithral knife, came with him. He barred the door from the inside, and went to the back of his house, scrabbling up a tiny hole he bored in the ceiling to a tunnel above.<br/><br/>It took him three uneventful hours to reach his spot, a small seat in front of a cleft big enough for him to slip into if he needed to sleep or hide. Sitting down he pulled out a small strip of cloth, and tied it around his eyes, binding his long white hair back as well. Even though he wasn't close to the entrance of the cave, enough light trickled in to make it enough to squint. That, and people came in with torches. So Drostan sat and waited for anyone. Always with a hand on his daggers.