The sun was barely up when Jodiah Ayreg left the Red Dragon Inn, again. With his cloak set onto his shoulders, and his hood drawn up, the death knight braced himself against his the cold. A light layer of frost covered the grass, trying to vain to cling to the winter night's chill. Though accustomed to waking this early -- battles waited for no man to sleep in, after all -- he was still amazed at how much the cold affected his aged body now. If someone offered to cut off his right leg and replace it with a block of steel from the knee down, he'd have very likely thanked them for their kind consideration.

The Dragon's Breath Forge seemed to serve all of this city's metal-working needs. Having already inquired about a position as a blacksmith, the middle-aged man was disappointed to learn that the only position available in the forge was that of a silversmith. Having been quite experienced in metal-working himself, and needing to actually have a job to help fund some capital into his schemes, Ayreg lowered himself to taking the work of a commoner.

How humiliating. Hopefully, noone would recognize him.

The smithy recognized him, of course.. Ayreg pushed the man out of the way to get access to the forges to make his own blade. With his mix of sable and gray hair pulled back with a leather cord, the death knight presented his case to the smith. Not that it was easy understanding what he said, or anything. Hopefully, though, the man wouldn't remember that the death knight had manhandled him the other day.

"Ah-pprentice?" the man asked.

"Yes.. I came the other night, inquiring about working your forges."

"Ah' seem ta' remem'er ye' makin' tha' sword. Also seem ta' remem'er ya' pushing me ow-o' tha' way ta' do it."

D'oh!

Jodiah flashes his teeth at the man, but only a fool would mistake it for a smile. "Do you want my work or not, old man?"

"Nah, nah, lad; ye' do goo' work n-all. Don' got na'-jobs f'er as to wor'in' wi' tha' steel, 'doh. 'Ere--" said as he pushed a bag of silver stock into Ayreg's hands, "--see wha' ye' c'n do wit' tha', aye? Ah've go' some or-ders from some o' tha' other shops, an' some privy citizens, so ya' don' go horsin' 'round, ya' min' me now!" Raising a hand to point to the silver forge, the smithy turned back toward his own forge. Ayreg already knew that silverwork was the only job available in the forge at the moment, so he just went along with the man. A quick raking of his eyes over the forge told Jodiah the man was working on some iron scantlings, used quite often for reinforcing the beams on ships. He, himself, turned and walked toward the smaller silver forge, listening to the smithy bark from behind him. " When y'er don' wit' tha' bag, brin' tha' work ya' don' back ta' me, an' Ah'll decide if'n ye' c'n work 'ere!"

When he arrived at the forge, he hung his cloak onto a wall peg, and removed his coat and shirt. Taking up a leather vest, he decided against the apron -- silverwork couldn't be as dangerous as blacksmithing, after all. The hammers here were... very light. Very small. Otherwise, everything seemed to be fairly common between the two forges. Everything in the silver forge, though, appeared to be smaller. The anvil, the work bench, the grinding wheel... it almost looked like he could do everything sitting on the low stool. Posted to the wall on a wooden mount-board was a list of orders for silver work. It did indeed seem to be from several shops -- the General Store and another place called Arcane Lore -- and from a few private citizens. One order for a half-dozen silver candlesticks, another for a set of four forks, the General Store wanted a full set of silverware eating utensils. and there were several orders for jewlery mounts.. the list went on. He seemed to have his work cut out for him.

Taking a few diminuative hammers, a cold chisel, and a sharp-topped miniature hardy, Ayreg got to work.