Blains, the Ironmonger

Blains, the Ironmonger

Blains, the Ironmonger
As you approach the forge, the rhythmic clanging of hammer on anvil echoes through the air. Blains, a burly man with a thick beard and calloused hands, looks up from his workbench, squinting against the sun. He gives a nod of greeting, his gruff voice cutting through the clamor.

"Welcome, traveler. What can I do for ya? Need somethin' forged? Or maybe you're lookin' to trade? Speak up, I ain't got all day."

Despite his stern demeanor, there's a warmth in his eyes, a sign of the kindness hidden beneath his gruff exterior.