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It doesn't take you long to find something suitable, that your master has kept for personal use. It is nothing more than a simple knife, intended for the preparation of food and the whittling of wood, but it is an acceptable example of your craftsmanship. Its edge has remained keen despite months of use, there is no sign of rust or any other damage and it feels as light as a feather as it rests in the palm of your hand.
When you present it to the Noxians, the soldier who speaks for the trio shares a laugh with one of his companions. You can't keep your cheeks from going scarlet with embarrassment and anger – do they see some sort of fault with your work? Shaking his head in disbelief, the speaker gives you a rough pat on the back as he guides you out of the workshop.
“Come. The assessor shall judge your work.”
After only the day, the invaders have made themselves at home. Tall tents made of bloody red canvas have been erected throughout the village and many sacred trees have been felled. It would seem like most of these soldiers also serve as craftsmen, as many of them are hard at work making crude furniture out of the fallen trees, or chiselling boulders into uniform slabs of stone.
The assessor can be found in one of these tents, not too far from the wind-weaver's shrine, where the makeshift desk that she sat behind yesterday is being carved into a more pleasing shape. When you are ushered inside and presented to her by your escort, she does not even look up from the documents that she is perusing. She speaks without glancing in your direction, turning towards her rough-hewn desk to set down her paperwork.
“Very well. Let us see what an Ionian 'shaper of steel' is capable of.”
Gloroteia turns to you at last when you produce the knife that you have made, and much like the other Noxians, she is amused by the display. Her pallid lips curve into a smirk as she takes the blade from your hands and turns it over, inspecting it and testing its weight. As the assessor examines your craftsmanship, her expression gradually becomes more complex, less derisive and more thoughtful.
“I had hoped for something more substantial,” she remarks as she hands the knife back to you. In that moment, you realise how vulnerable she is. There is nothing to stop you from lunging at her with the blade and sinking it in her heart, or slicing her throat. The trio of soldiers that surround you will surely punish you for such violence, but not before you have struck her. “Yet I must confess, you have some skill as a blacksmith. How did you go about forging this blade?”
