(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

"Ah, ye're wanting to be a smith now, eh, lad? Very well. Ye'll need an apron
- ten copper - some tongs - another ten - and a hammer - which'll be twenty.
That comes to, let me see, fifty copper."
I checked the math in my head again, "I'm sorry, but that sounds more like
forty copper to me."
"What am I thinking? Of course it is. I tell you, memory's an insidious thing."
"That it is. Give me the stuff."
"Don't forget to pick up some ore from Thildon if ye're wanting to work the
forge. He's a miserly bastard, but he's the only person to get ore from."
~~~~~
Stomping about in the middle of the Foundry was a slab-stomached man
with thick arms and a scraggly beard. He smelled as if he hadn't washed in
ages... the man was practically enrobed in the smell of ash and soot and
sour sweat. His breath didn't do much for my breakfast either. He was in the
process of ordering around subordinates as I approached him, and he dealt
a quick cuff to the ear of one of them. He turned to face me, hitching up his
belt. "What d'you want?"
"Are you Thildon?"
He nodded, "Thildon the Grey, supervisor for this yard. My job it is to make
sure my laborers get their jobs done - and to make sure people like you
don't distract them. They work little enough as it is, the little sods, and
they'd manage to lose the rest of the day in idleness if I weren't here. I'm
tough... but I'm fair. Ask anyone."
"Why do they call you 'the Grey'?"
"Because I'm covered in soot most of the time from those blasted furnaces.
It's a nickname my laborers have given me... out of affection, no doubt."
My lip curled, "Sure. That must be it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled. I acted like I was impressed...
hard not to in front of someone with that much rumble in his throat.
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