Vennar was a tall, raven-haired, middle-aged blacksmith who stood over an anvil, beating his newest sword into shape, occasionally looking over his shoulder towards the doorway to his forge. His children were yet to return, and after what had happened to his brother he feared for them being out alone in the city.
He picked up the sword, giving it a few practice swings and smiling as he saw that it was perfect as usual. This one was intended for a special use however, one he had long expected to come but had still dreaded. He walked over to where a small painting of a beautiful young woman hung, kneeling down in front of it and closing his eyes for a moment, before looking up at the image.
"I am sorry Ainur," he said quietly. "I have failed you. I promised I would protect our children from the wars that scarred this world, but now I fear they have no choice in the matter. I would go myself but...at my age I fear I would not make it. They don't realise the task I am about to give to them though."