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As the universe itself was rended in twain by the sudden stoppage of time in Skalreach Prime, The Council of Astral Sorcerors worked quickly to repair the growing paradoxes before all of the multicosmos was consumed in timespace pandemonium. Eventually they managed to solve this quandary by stitching the two wayward Blacksmith universes together using the golden thread of fate. 

The city shakes and the sky glows in brilliant colors as the universes forcefully collide! At once, everyone is forced to confront their duplicates with slightly different facial hair, and, in the confusion and combat that would almost certainly follow, would merge with their Other in a violent explosion upon physical contact. 6 wizards at once struggle to merge the twin suns without consuming the earth in rapturous supernova! And on a shimmering beam, one Astral Wizard descended upon the city to repair the damages caused by their handiwork.

With a wave of his hand and a stroke of his platinum beard, the psychedelic sage conjured a replica of Skalreach Palace where the old one once stood, floating above the meteor that destroyed it. A rainbow bridge extended from its gates to the edge of the crater, in front of where the blacksmiths all stood.

"BLACKSMITHS OF SKALREACH," The Wizard's voice sparkled from Everywhere and Within, "WE MUST APOLOGIZE FOR OUR HANDIWORK. THE METEOR WE SENT TO REPAIR PARADOX 8.000021732140000×10^15 MUST HAVE DAMAGED THE TRAJECTORY OF TIME IN YOUR SECTOR, CREATING A TIMESPACE VORTEX THAT EVENTUALLY PAUSED THE ENTIRE MORTAL PLANE OF YOUR UNIVERSE. WE WERE ABLE TO TRANSMIT YOUR SOULS AND INVOKE THE INTERFERENCE OF THE TRICKSTER GOD BERKHAZ IN ORDER TO CLOSE THE LOOP AND CONVERGE YOUR WORLDS."

The figure of the wizard, with a thousand shifting faces of amaranth and a robe of stars and galaxies that flowed down like honey, gazed from beneath the shimmering chrome skullcap with many gleaming solar eyes. He raised one finger, or many in succession that followed each other in a slow-motion path before converging- to point directly at the pasha.

"MALK ALHACK, FIRST OF HIS NAME. YOU WERE CHOSEN TWICE IN SKALREACH PRIME, AND ONCE IN SKALREACH 2^e10. THIS MAKES YOU THE VICTOR, AND RIGHTFUL LIEGE OF SKALREACH."

The Wizard floated down, and 1000 hands in concert spilled from the nebulas and constellations of his chest, holding a sack of mithryl thread, "FIFTEEN GOLDEN FRIJOLES, GROWN IN THE STELLAR GARDENS OF BELICHT-KAZIR. YOU WILL KNOW WHEN THE TIME HAS COME TO USE THEM."

All at once, the wizard began melting upward into the increasingly colorful sky, as the stars and planets shifted and danced incomprehensibly, in language that could be instantly recognized but never understood by mortal man. The whole spiral of the surrounding galaxy was illuminated by what looked like a nightmarishly large plume of lightning, before all activity in the firmament ceased, and all signs that The Wizards were, or had ever been here, were gone. Except, of course, for the floating palace and the bag of beans. The citizens of Skalreach, ever so happy that the ordeal of the contest was over, hoisted the capybara-man over their shoulders and cheered, carrying him away to his throne.

... But all was not lost for a Blacksmith aiming to work their way up in the world. In the neighboring Empire of Ostzwiebel, King Jurgen of the Twin Provinces was struggling. Many of his subjects were contacting him constantly with material woes, and the craftsmen of the two states of Bergany and Hyphalia were a dwindling lot- Many had been drafted as sappers and field repairmen during the Jahrhundertskrieg that had ended the previous year. He needed someone to rebuild the blacksmithing guild of the Twin Provinces, and quickly. In fact, he would reward any craftsman of proper merit with the title of guildmaster, and the lordly fief and manor of Volkheim to go with it!

In the span of a few short months, blacksmiths from all over gathered in the streets of Volkheim to ply their craft... And Squire Chet, who had been hurled into a wormhole at the behest of the Astral Sorcerors, was now spat out in the market square, awoken from a horrifying 10 minute drug trip 6 months in the future.

@Mizal @Ugilick @WizzyCat @hetero_malk @corgi213

@MrAce321 the scoreboard is reset and the game is starting anew there's literally no excuse anymore ya grugnoid

Perfect

Beam me up space penguin

I imagine the thread was slowly chipped and reshaped using the golden dong nun chuk Malk made or whatever it was

Squire Chet, white as a ghost, vomits up two days worth of PBR and campus  chicken fingers. Stuttering, he re-iterates his request, which can also be conveniently found in the last thread. "S-So, yeeah, I just st-started my adventuring career and need the cheap.. the cheap... I need the cheapest thing you can make me." 

Suddenly, a beturbaned scholar strides into the square. He accuses the Pasha of an un-Islamic interpretation of the First Teacher, prompting a loud metaphysical argument that removes the Pasha and all his eunuchs from contention for the next round.

A moment later, an adventure rides in, astride a leased horse. He hasn't shaved in a couple days, and his eyes are weighted down by bags of monumental proportions. He's wearing a beer-stained sweatshirt that reads Skalreach Frosh 1103. He clears his throat as he speaks. "Uh, hey guys, I'm Squire Chet. I just moved out of my parents yurt for the first time, and have been striking it out on my own. Obviously, my budget is pretty tight, and I'll be paying off my loans to the Adventuring Guild for the rest of my life, so I need the cheapest thing you can make me."

Darkness... an endless void... and whales?

 That was the world that Jimi Hamdrix woke up in. He floated in an endless dark void, the only sense of distance being the ghostly whales drawing ever closer.

 Before Jimi was swallowed, the world warped and changed. Before long he was in a large throne room. In front of him was a throne made up of the skulls of noobs and would-be trolls. Sitting on this throne was a hooded figure in dark robes. He looked down at Hamdrix, and a chill went through him. This figure could erase Hamdrix from existence on a whim.

 The figure stood up and snapped his fingers. A door materialized on the other side of the room. Jimi was compelled to open it. On the other side was a grotesque wasteland. The landscape was crawling with noobs, swarms of flying alts, inactive zombies, and oozing toxic sludge. Jimi was frightened. He never wanted to end up there. 

"Please" Jimi begged. "Please do not send me to that horrible place." The two stared at one another for a long while. Then the figure turned and sat back on this throne. The room started fading and Jimi felt a sensation as if he was flying. He jolted upright, suddenly in his body. He was unharmed, but he vividly remembered the place he might have been fated to and determined to never go back.

 Jimi made his way back to skalreach. He caught the tail end of what this discount knight needed. He looked around and found exactly what he needed.

 A few minutes later he walked up to the poor indebted fellow. "I am Jimi Hamdrix, and I have exactly what you need. Behold! The Sharpened|Stick! It works as a weapon as well as a walking stick. And the best part is that it is free!" He then walks away to find a food stand. Dying gives one a huge appetite, as everyone knows.