He left the inn and entered the city proper. Most of the Traders and Workers were yet to open, but after a while, he found orange firelight spilling out onto the stone street.
From the workshop it spilled from, he heard clanging of metal. It was clearly the sound of a Blacksmith.
Percival slowed only briefly to read the sign: Norry Brothers Workshop.
He stepped inside, his boots crossing the threshold as heat rolled over him in a dry, suffocating wave.
The place was half a workshop and half a forge.
The forge dominated the far end of the room, its belly glowing white-hot. Tools lined the walls in disciplined order: hammers of varying weight, tongs etched with runes, racks of half-finished plates.
Two men were present. Percival assumed that they were the Norry Brothers, given they looked quite identical.
The first looked up from the anvil mid-swing, broad shoulders flexing beneath a soot-stained apron. His beard was braided tight, iron rings threaded through it.
