Tired.

Exhausted, worn, fatigued, and, above all, sleepy. It had been a long night, especially with the demands on the modern working Dwarf, and he especially looked forward to hitting the hay for the remainder of the sunlessness.

Thinking back on the evening, Kokkol smiled fondly at the thought that he had done well. Not many old blacksmiths, such as he had become, happened to have such a chance at forging the future of the world, as he had so done tonight. True, he would not be the one to wield the sword, nor would he personally defeat the Enemy, whoever that was. But he had spent many a long hour by the forge, ensuring that the Heroes would. He especially liked the look of their leader... Caesar or something; yes, reminded him of his own son at that age.

After checking over the front, he bid goodnight to his staff.

"Goodnight, sir," his apprentice returned.

"You’ll tell me when they return?"

"Who, sir?"

"Those young people, for that sword..."

"Oh, yes sir."

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, sir."