Karnog had set himself in a trance as he usually did while forging, it allowed him to think on other things as he swung the hammer, it was basically muscle memory at this point. He thought back to the dunmer, not the annoying one but the blade. Why would he want us? Criminals of all people, to help save the land. By all accounts it didn't make sense, the bard was next to useless, the bosmer didn't do much besides burn, the other dunmer was going to get herself killed with her arrogance, and then there was him. Karnog was never what one would call a "team player" it was ingrained in his mind since he was a but a whelp. 

[i]"You are the chosen of Malacath!"[/i] the voice of the old wise woman echoed in his head [i]"You mustn't rely on the strengths of others for you have the strength of a god!"[/i] Karnog never did completely buy what she was selling but he always was able to do what he needed by himself. Maybe, just maybe he might like this. 

With a shake of his head Karnog said "Bah! This forging is making me all soft." With a huff, Karnog lifted the head of the battleaxe, turning it around and looked for imperfections. Satisfied, Karnog cooled of the ax head and started to fit it onto the handle. After several minutes of that, Karnog began to wrap the handle in the leather so that the vibrations from hitting and blocking don't shake the weapon out of his hands. With a final accessory, several hawk feathers within the wholes of the axe head, Karnog donned the armor he had bought, put the battleaxe in his holster and headed for the tavern. 

On arrival he was met with weary stares from the patrons. Ignoring them Karnog went up to the bar and bought an ale. Seeing both the dunmer and the witch hunter in the tavern, Karnog sat a comfortable distance from the dunmer and nursed his drink. Awaiting the others to arrive.