As the sun began to set three figures start setting up there camp for the night, an act they have done a hundred times before. No active thought is needed, now it just goes like clockwork.
The Dwarf of Khaz Modan so he says, gets a fire roaring in the clearing. Granted he has gotten fires roaring in forest, he also burned down most of the forest but he also burned most of monsters so too him it was an acceptable loss. Out of his backpack the Dwarf pulls out an anvil and whetstone and asks his companions to drop off there main blades and armor so he may sharpen and repair them. The other two, The son of a knight and a Self-proclaimed spaceman just look at each other for a moment then down towards there swords and sigh both understanding that there swords need the anvil and stone but nether wanting to be unarmed.
As dwarf want tink tink tink on his anvil to begin reshaping the blades, The Knight and Spaceman gather up some sharp stones and sturdy branches so they could fas