Snippet #2687401

The door to Weland's Forge opened.

The description that was given to Doran matched the man that stood in its doorway. He was a mountain of a man, his head nearly touching the door frame. Long red hair that flowed into a long red beard framed his face. He was a man full in his prime. His arms alone were three times larger than the average adult. It's no wonder he had bent an iron sword, even if it were only pure iron.

Doran had received a report from the blacksmith guild that a “giant red-headed smith” was bending swords and driving off business, claiming the swords were of low quality. He couldn't have that kind of rumor spread. It made no difference that it were true. How else could he make a profit from selling swords to soldiers and refugees? He couldn't afford to have his blacksmiths taking the time to produce thousands of high quality steel swords, so inferior pure iron was the product. And of course bronze swords were out of the question, with more than half the One Kingdom's tin mines in the south, all trade of tin dried up.

“Good morning! My name is Doran Merekson, I am sure you know of me.” He shot the big man a look that said he thought it was doubtful he hadn't. “On behalf of the Merekson Coalition, I would like to speak to you about your business.” And why you are undermining my own. He thought to himself. If he could just convince this man to join him, then he can save face and say that he hired such a skilled smith to help him improve the quality of his product. Of course he would be recruiting the man's silence and his blacksmith guild would continue selling subpar weapons.

“As a matter of fact I would like to commission a project from you.” He let the bait sit for a second, then said, “Dear me, it sure is beginning to get rather cool is it not? Thank Wynari for winter to slow The March but my arse may very well freeze off long before they reach Dyrlyn. Would you kindly share a fire with me?”