FORSYTHE
The workshop was less spacious than his old home, but Forsythe was on his own this time around. He didn't have any apprentices to worry about, and the materials he brought with him were remarkably limited. After all, he had sold every finished piece he had laying around in order to procure the coin needed to move here. The place smelled of mahogany, a sturdy, fire-resistant material. The air also smelled of perfumes, which constantly wafted down from the richer parts of town. Forsythe scratched his nose at the pungent odors, but figured that would be masked by the coal and burning slag before the weekend. For now, he had only a crate of ingots, a crate of ore, and three large crates worth of tools.
After tossing a tip to the horse-drawn cab driver that had brought him and his belongings to the workshop, Forsythe hefted the heavy crates inside, and began unpacking.