Boot heels made their solid, reassuring sound on the cobbles as the Aviar Elwood stepped up to the Metal worker’s store. Smithee work was a constant in the castle town, with orders constantly being fulfilled and fresh steel being packaged and couriered from Yetvalia. Now that the thaw had diminished greatly in the recent months. Julios warmed the goodwomen and daughters, who either worked in linen aprons tied at the waist or strolled in flowing skirts adorned with flowers. Men went about their business in shirtsleeves and buttoned collars in the Yetvalian fashion. 

A dark skinned, clean shaven man wrote neatly in a ledger on a small table at the mouth of the store. Elwood unsheathed the blade and the man leapt to his feet, producing a hammer used for smith work.

“Peace!” He cried, and Elwood was confused. 

“Are you not the smith? I mean you no harm,” he said. 

The smith edged back on his heels.

“My apologies sir, in the eastland one only brandishes their steel when the time of fighting is close. Sheath your blade and I will be calmed.” Elwood did as the strange eastlander said. The man was soothed and sat back down.

“You are Aviar, even an outsider such as myself can see that,” the smith said. “What service can I provide for you, good knight? I was under the assumption that only Aviar Smiths handled orders of one of your salt?” In response Elwood unbuckled the broadsword from his person and laid it in the table. 

“You are correct, but this is meant for a brother in arms. See to it that the blade is improved upon and waxed in tempering mixture.” Elwood ordered. The foreign smith penciled in the order into his ledger and this time took the blade with care in his hands. 

“I would be honored my Yetvalia friend. I am but a journeyman working under Mastersmith Sorian in this shop, but your sword will shine and cut well.” Elwood and the smith agreed on a price and Elwood paid for the service.