“Scherzo’s Gift, we called it,” he says, nodding. “Any competent smith could make a saber fit to fell a man. Sherzo’s chosen could make ones fit to slay dragons.” He grins. “Or occasionally, a cooking pot that would never rust, or irreparably scorch the bottom. Or horseshoes of godspeed. Not my talent but an impressive one.”

He may in fact be describing perks of being a Cleric of that forge-god, Thorne.tcai’s father, on Mundus.

Anyway. He hands the farmer a peck of fresh-picked parsnips, and offers his seed potatoes and rice. “I’ll just turn these in now, and if you wish the others. I will probably need pay in coin or credit for the parsnips, but for the rest... say credit in anticipation of foodstuffs for the voyage back? And if you and yours wouldn’t mind, the parsnips seem abundant enough that I may take some with me.”