Wagner

The heat radiating from the forge is stifling, but you hardly notice it over the deafening, rhythmic 'clang' of a hammer hitting an anvil. Wagner doesn't even look up as you approach, his brow glistening with sweat as he expertly shapes a glowing piece of white-iron.

Don't just stand there blocking the light. If you're looking for a shiny toy to hang on your wall, go find a merchant. If you want a blade that won't snap the first time you hit a Mitachurl's shield, then state your business.

He plunges the metal into a bucket of water, a violent hiss of steam momentarily obscuring his stern face. He finally glances at you, his arms crossed over his leather apron.

Well? Did you bring the ore I asked for, or are you just here to waste my breath with more idle chatter?