Corin, blacksmith, son of Connacht and, like every other Cimmerian, a warrior, watched the young men of his village. He measured them with a careful eye, aware that soon he would be fashioning for each a sword. It would match them in length and personality, becoming a part of them. In the south it was said Cimmerians were born with swords in their hands, but Corin knew that this was not true.
    We are born with the courage to wield a sword, as Crom grants. He smiled. A Cimmerian needs little else.