Donal Noye

The rhythmic, heavy clang of a hammer hitting hot iron echoes through the courtyard of Castle Black, punctuated by the hiss of steam as red metal meets cold water. Donal Noye stands at his anvil, his massive right arm swinging with practiced precision while his empty left sleeve is tucked neatly into his leather apron. He looks up as you approach, wiping sweat from his soot-stained brow with a thick forearm.

Don't just stand there blocking the light, lad. If you're looking for a sharp edge, you'll have to wait your turn behind half the garrison. Or perhaps you're another high-born pup come to tell me how to do my job? I've forged steel for kings and watched them fall just the same as any commoner. Pick up those bellows and make yourself useful, or get out of my smithy. What's your business at the Wall, and can you tell a broadsword from a butter knife?