Deep in the forest, with a faint glimmer, the portal rift sealed behind the woman, leaving nothing to mark her unorthodox arrival. Filtered dawn-light streamed through the thick pine needles and sweeping oak leaves, dappling the back of her hair with bright motes of flame and fire. Even in the early hour, the day promised to be hot, as RhyDin summers are wont to be, the breeze barely stirring. From the clearing where she appeared a moment before, the woman inhaled deeply, the smell of pine and oak and their composting remains winding around the sweetness of fruits, the softness of flowers, and the musk of fur and feather. It had been long since she had felt so alive, like the world was hers for the taking.

With a sharp tug, she opened her sole possession, a leather satchel bag, the top of which was bound with elaborate braids and cords, which she was now unwinding with great care. Dark smudges stained the leather, soaking into the braidwork, smearing into royal blue wax embedded deep within the nap. At last, the top yawned open, and slowly, she pulled free a simple sword - or half a sword, given the blade was broken off roughly two inches from the guard, the ends of the metal distorted and curled, almost like the blade had been twisted clean off. Her expression hardened as she gazed at the now-useless weapon, her knuckles whitening from the strength of her grip, causing her fingers to tremble slightly. With a huff of frustration, she shoved the sword back into the satchel, and retied it just as it had been, with a reverence only seen by the owls as they returned from their hunting, settling into the trees above her.

She slung the bag onto her shoulder, the braids that looped about her arms allowing it to settle high on her back. Turning towards where the portal gate once stood, she bowed deeply, her right hand tight against her left fist. Straightening herself, the young woman broke into a fast paced walk along a trail leading south, her sandals rustling faintly through the fallen pine needles and last year's leaves.

And once her scent faded from the clearing, the deer within the trees finally relaxed.

The ash stained figure held up a lone finger asking for patience, before gloved hands took up a twisted rod of metal, throwing it carelessly into the white-hot coals of the smelting furnace. Sweat was wiped from his brow before turning to regard her with eyes belonging more to an animal than human. Removing his gloves, the man stepped out of the sheltering forge and into the light. Hair darker than raven feathers was pulled back into a tight braid, the length impossible to tell. The smith was far from a large man, though still powerfully built. Musculature all sharp cords and sinuously defined to a perfect balance between strength and grace. "Depends entirely on who wants to know..."

"I want to know." She met his weighed gaze without flinching, answering his unspoken challenge with one of her own, leaning over the fence to close the distance between them slightly, which had the advantage of showcasing her lithe figure, currently sheathed in a blue minidress. "It's my understanding that the best smith in RhyDin is named Sylus Kurgen, and I find myself in need of the best smith. So, I ask again, are you he?"

"Wouldn't say I'm the best, but yes. I'm he," came his modest reply stopping a pace short of the fence. Arms crossed his barrelled chest in what may have appeared a defensive posture, but the truth was he simply felt comfortable doing so. "How can I help you?"

Accepting the piece and the satchel he jerked his head towards the door to the main shop. "Come around and I'll take a look, then we can discuss time frame. If it can be done, I expect payment up front." His tone might be considered brusque, but it was still from a business owner's stance. Turning away from her, he stopped by the forge and took up a set of tongs to turn the rod from before. Some may call it disrespectful the way he was flipping the broken end of the sword in his hand end over end and catching it, but in reality he was feeling the weight and balance.

"If you can do what needs done, I'll give you double what your usual price would be." She frowned a little, watching her sword tumble end over end, but given he didn't drop it, or flail it like a small child playing soldier, she didn't say anything about it. He was supposed to be a master at his craft, and masters could be eccentric at times. Just as she opened the door to the shop, a screech and a shriek healded the fast approach of a wild-looking woman on a bicycle. She made a dash for the showroom, but not before the bicycle rider clipped her hard in the shoulder, spinning her against the doorframe. As the crazy cyclist sped past, she snarled after her, that formerly elegant voice now growling low in her throat.

Ducking through the beaded curtain his ears took in the shriek and rattle of bike chain, both common enough sounds for this neighborhood. It was the sudden snarled growl that had his head turing with curious and concerned eyes. Good thing he had a weapon in his hands it seems. Watching her carefully all the same, deft hands began to spread out the broken pieces of the commission.