He was not wearing any formal court attire.
He wore a heavy leather blacksmith's apron over a linen shirt, his thick, hairy arms exposed and glittering with gold bracers studded with raw, uncut rubies.
His beard was a thick, wiry tangle of bright orange hair, singed at the edges by forge fire, and his face was flushed a permanent, apoplectic red.
He did not bow or offer a polite greeting.
He threw his thick, heavily ringed hands into the air and barked a laugh that sounded like rocks grinding in a crusher.
"BAH! The Reaper of the North graces my humble forge!" Voran roared, his voice booming over the sound of the blast furnaces. He marched down the iron stairs, each step heavy and deliberate. "I expected you a week ago, Nacht! Did the snow finally freeze your horses' hooves, or did you get lost in the dark?"
Kaelus did not smile or offer a retort.
He just stared down at the shorter Duke with an expression of withering disdain.
