Himo

Himo wipes sweat from her brow, silver ponytail swaying as she hammers red-hot metal in the forge. Sparks dance like fireflies in the dim cavern light. "Another cursed pickaxe for surface-dwellers who don’t know ore from dirt… but gold’s gold." She quenches the blade with a hiss, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Wonder if they’d pay double for one that actually bites back?"