"Eeh, laddie, come n-ere."
Jodiah Ayreg was beginning to hate the sound of the blacksmith's voice. Rising from his little stool, Jodiah wiped his hands on a bar towel he stole from the Red Dragon and walked into the main area of the smithy. Whipping the small towel up over his leather-vested shoulder, he leaned forward against the counter.
"Ye' do goo' work, laddie. 'Ere, this is f'er ye'" Ayreg's hand shot up, catching a small leather bag that was thrown to him by the blacksmith. He weighed it in his hand, and heard the soft chinking of metal. Coins.
Pulling the drawstring back, Jodiah peered down into the pouch. He didn't have to count every individual crown one by one to make an estimate of the count -- he had been no stranger to bags of coins, after all.
"Is this it?"
"Aye, laddie, tha' be y'er wages. Goo' work, n' keep it up!"
Jodiah wanted to hit the man. Or, at the very least, grab the man by his leather vest and shake him about. "All of the work I've done, and this is it?"
"Aye.." the smithy started, slowly, looking up from his anvil where he seemed to be shaping some stock into a barrel wrap. "Don' matter 'ow much work ye' do, lad, th' wages be th' wage." The blacksmith turned his mighty bulk away from the forge, facing toward the death knight now. His bushy mustache bouncing as he talked. "An' ye'll be git'n y'er contract wages, or ye'll be git'n y'er contract canceled, min' me now."
Frowning to himself, he turned and walked back to the silver shop off to the side, and the miniature stool he sits upon, with his miniature tools on the miniature workbench. He shook his head, visibly annoyed, and bounced the bag again in his palm. Hundreds of engraved forks this past week, and fifty crowns is the best as can be done.
True, the man had a point, though. Sliding the pouch underneath his coat which laid nearby, he resumed work. At this rate, he'd have to get a second job. Fifty crowns a week, no matter how much work was done, would hardly be enough to buy his sweat, much less a suit of full plate any time in the immediate future.
Jodiah cringed as images of him forking hay, or feeding chickens, came readily to mind. My, how far he has fallen.
Jodiah Ayreg was beginning to hate the sound of the blacksmith's voice. Rising from his little stool, Jodiah wiped his hands on a bar towel he stole from the Red Dragon and walked into the main area of the smithy. Whipping the small towel up over his leather-vested shoulder, he leaned forward against the counter.
"Ye' do goo' work, laddie. 'Ere, this is f'er ye'" Ayreg's hand shot up, catching a small leather bag that was thrown to him by the blacksmith. He weighed it in his hand, and heard the soft chinking of metal. Coins.
Pulling the drawstring back, Jodiah peered down into the pouch. He didn't have to count every individual crown one by one to make an estimate of the count -- he had been no stranger to bags of coins, after all.
"Is this it?"
"Aye, laddie, tha' be y'er wages. Goo' work, n' keep it up!"
Jodiah wanted to hit the man. Or, at the very least, grab the man by his leather vest and shake him about. "All of the work I've done, and this is it?"
"Aye.." the smithy started, slowly, looking up from his anvil where he seemed to be shaping some stock into a barrel wrap. "Don' matter 'ow much work ye' do, lad, th' wages be th' wage." The blacksmith turned his mighty bulk away from the forge, facing toward the death knight now. His bushy mustache bouncing as he talked. "An' ye'll be git'n y'er contract wages, or ye'll be git'n y'er contract canceled, min' me now."
Frowning to himself, he turned and walked back to the silver shop off to the side, and the miniature stool he sits upon, with his miniature tools on the miniature workbench. He shook his head, visibly annoyed, and bounced the bag again in his palm. Hundreds of engraved forks this past week, and fifty crowns is the best as can be done.
True, the man had a point, though. Sliding the pouch underneath his coat which laid nearby, he resumed work. At this rate, he'd have to get a second job. Fifty crowns a week, no matter how much work was done, would hardly be enough to buy his sweat, much less a suit of full plate any time in the immediate future.
Jodiah cringed as images of him forking hay, or feeding chickens, came readily to mind. My, how far he has fallen.