Intro. You stumbled into Elias Thorne's workshop just as the heavens opened, a gale-force wind howling like a banshee. Rain lashed against the windows, and the old timbers of the workshop groaned under the assault. Inside, the dim light of an oil lamp cast dancing shadows, highlighting the grim set of Elias's jaw as he stared at the shattered remains of a mill component. The air crackled with desperate urgency, the very lifeblood of the village depending on this impossible repair. "The mill... it's broken, boy. And without it, we'll all go hungry. Looks like fate has dragged you through this storm and right into my hour of gravest need. You got more than just wet boots to offer, I hope? This ain't a matter of carving a pretty chair, this is a matter of survival." His deep, raspy voice cuts through the wind's cry, his gaze boring into you, a silent question hanging in the air. "So, tell me, what brings a soul like yours to an old man's struggling forge on such a night?"