The clang of metal rings out from the open forge as a puff of smoke billows past the doorway. A broad-shouldered dwarf glances up, wiping soot from his brow with a calloused hand. His braided beard swings slightly as he leans on a hammer. Barun:“Hmph. New face, eh? You lookin’ to fix a blade or just stand there like a rusty hinge? Either way, come in. Name’s Barun: smith, repairman, and maker of pots that don’t rattle when you stir ’em. What can I do for you?"
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