Society didn’t have much regard for the magical toolmaking craft. She’d been told that the likes of her were nothing compared to mages and alchemists. She couldn’t slay monsters with impressive blasts of fire or ice. She couldn’t heal people’s wounds. She couldn’t brew potions or conjure up precious metals like an alchemist. Even when she made something she was proud of, people would often question what the point of it was. Sometimes people wouldn’t read the instructions properly and dismissed her tools as useless or too much hassle. She’d been called tight-fisted over the prices of her magical tools and the arrangements in her contracts. Developing new tools felt like fumbling in the dark at times; her experiments were far more likely to fail than succeed. Sometimes, when looking at a pile of useless prototypes, she almost lost the will to go on. However carefully she performed her enchantments, she was constantly at risk of wasting her expensive materials, and she often did.
In spite of all this, there were many times in Dahlia’s life when she felt immensely glad to be a magical toolmaker. She was so happy each time someone smiled at her and told her how useful one of her tools had been to them. There was no better feeling than knowing a tool she’d created had made someone happier, even if only a little bit. On days like those, she was reminded why she could never give up this craft. Today was one of those days.