Name: Torbrand's Forge
Location: Gryphon's Grin
Type: Blacksmith's
Hours: 7am - 7pm
Employees: Torbrand Ash-Hammer
Services: Tools, arms and armour, wheelwright, farrier.
Enchanted items are NOT available, though it seems his creations carry strange virtues imbued by his singing.
The forge bears an air of neglect but there is no denying the quality of the work.
Description: Torbrand's forge is hardly an encouraging sight: a dark, shadowy hovel shrouded in soot and grime. The rustic interior features rough-hewn stone walls and a tiled roof riddled with holes; shafts of sunlight filter through to illuminate the dust particles in the air, the only source of natural light save for a single grimy window. On one side of the room, a basin-shaped forge is built into the wall, with a flue leading up and outside that fails to direct the smoke out of the room.
Sharp, cruel looking weapons of all shapes and sizes hang on the walls, amidst an assortment of tools, horseshoes and other items. Numerous anvils and workbenches are bolted to the bare wooden floorboards, every surface covered in soot and ash. It is difficult to find a free space that is not cluttered with an assortment of ores, metal scraps or coils of wire, and the many discarded mead bottles bear testament to the smithy's air of neglect. Potential customers pass through a small cobbled yard, with the L shaped building flanking two sides. The wooden doors stand ajar, rotten and with peeling paint that might once have been green but have faded to a sickly-looking olive colour. Upon these hangs a slab of slate, a handwritten sign in chalk typically bearing a rather unfriendly sentiment about timewasters.
Location: Gryphon's Grin
Type: Blacksmith's
Hours: 7am - 7pm
Employees: Torbrand Ash-Hammer
Services: Tools, arms and armour, wheelwright, farrier.
Enchanted items are NOT available, though it seems his creations carry strange virtues imbued by his singing.
The forge bears an air of neglect but there is no denying the quality of the work.
Description: Torbrand's forge is hardly an encouraging sight: a dark, shadowy hovel shrouded in soot and grime. The rustic interior features rough-hewn stone walls and a tiled roof riddled with holes; shafts of sunlight filter through to illuminate the dust particles in the air, the only source of natural light save for a single grimy window. On one side of the room, a basin-shaped forge is built into the wall, with a flue leading up and outside that fails to direct the smoke out of the room.
Sharp, cruel looking weapons of all shapes and sizes hang on the walls, amidst an assortment of tools, horseshoes and other items. Numerous anvils and workbenches are bolted to the bare wooden floorboards, every surface covered in soot and ash. It is difficult to find a free space that is not cluttered with an assortment of ores, metal scraps or coils of wire, and the many discarded mead bottles bear testament to the smithy's air of neglect. Potential customers pass through a small cobbled yard, with the L shaped building flanking two sides. The wooden doors stand ajar, rotten and with peeling paint that might once have been green but have faded to a sickly-looking olive colour. Upon these hangs a slab of slate, a handwritten sign in chalk typically bearing a rather unfriendly sentiment about timewasters.
