Goleif's Smithy
Sooty, bearded faces peer from dark corners on the fringes of Fallwind Market, where rats scuttle down alleyways crowded by the crumbling bricks of neglected buildings. The hushed muttering of vagrants and drifters is occasionally interrupted by the sound of a drunk being thrown from a seedy tavern.
Here, at the end of a twisting dead end, the cobblestones are lit by the flickering furnace of Goleif's smithy. Comfortable in surroundings of ill repute, he's less likely to be bothered - left to his work, his pipe, and his demons. Grease and grime adorn weathered surfaces, and smoke fills the air. Despite the need of a good scrubbing, every tool and implement appears to have its place.
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