"...at the moment, we have company…"
Ollie knocked once, purely for politeness, and then pushed the door open.
Warmth rolled over them, along with a smell so thick Eira could almost taste it. Acrid quenching oil. The sharp, metallic tang of worked steel. And beneath it all, the sweet, rich scent of exotic woods. Shavings lay scattered across every workbench like fresh snow, pale gold and deep red and nearly black. The forge in the far corner glowed a dull, sullen orange.
This had once been a swordsmith's workshop, but the racks along the walls no longer held swords. Instead, the shelves were crowded with lumps of strange, dull metal and crystals that caught the forge light in shades of purple, orange, yellow and green.
