Heena didn't just barge in and slam her demands on the table. She stood patiently just outside the intense heat radius of the furnace, waiting for the blacksmith to finish her hammer strike.
As the massive woman lowered her hammer with a heavy grunt, Heena offered a polite, respectful bow of her head.
"Good morning, Master Smith," Heena greeted, her raspy voice projecting easily over the crackle of the furnace. "The heat of your forge burns clean, and the sparks are bright. You must be using premium mountain coal."
The blacksmith wiped the heavy sweat from her brow with a dirty rag, stepping back from the anvil. She squinted, taking in the tall, pale woman wrapped in a dark cloak. Hesitation and a deep layer of suspicion instantly crossed the blacksmith's soot-stained face. People who spoke politely and looked like fallen nobility rarely ventured into the lower artisan alleys unless they were lost, or looking to swindle someone.
