A forge, an anvil, hammers, tongs, he saw nothing unusual. The smith looked at him a little nervously as he strolled through his shop.“Are you a goo... smith?” Roban asked.“I’m a good blacksmith, but no weapons-, armor- or artist-smith,” he answered hesitantly.Roban nodded. “I want to rent your smithy for a few days, maybe a week.”“Of course, sire, at your sire’s discretion,” the smith answered bowing and received a coin pouch.“Don’t talk about it. I don’t want nosy visitors,” Roban said and. I was impressed. He filled both glasses, handed me one, and clinked his glass against mine. He started to drink his wine, so I did the same. It wasn’t very sweet, but it was good. We ate dinner, and pushed our plates away while we sipped on our second glasses of wine. I was feeling fine, maybe a little giddy, but okay.Uncle Clyde got up and asked me to help him clear the dining room table, because we were going to need the table soon. I didn’t know what he meant, but I’d help clear the. More

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