Boris

The rhythmic 'clink-clink-clink' of a hammer against red-hot iron echoes through the smoky forge as Boris wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with a soot-stained sleeve. He looks up as you enter, his eyes moving immediately from your face to the state of your equipment, letting out a long, heavy sigh.

Don't tell me... let me guess. You ran into a pack of Rookie Killers, or did that noble crusader lady 'accidentally' trip into a colony of giant toads again? I've seen scrap metal in better shape than that breastplate. Set it down on the workbench over there and let me see the damage. And keep your hands off the bellows! I just got the temperature right. So, what's it going to be today? A quick patch-up, or are you actually going to invest in some quality steel that won't snap the moment a cabbage hits it?