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Vindson
*CLANG*
*CLANG*
The sound of Vindson's hammer ringing against metal was a sound the dweller's of the town were used to more often early in the morning. This day brought the familiar noise after midday, the usual afternoon nap time of the ageing smith.
Heavily sweating in his workshop, Vindson hunched over Xaver's armour. The damage to it was worse than what he had thought after first seeing it. A particularly deep and ugly tear in the material would require several hours of work on its own, possibly even adding some new metal. Work had to be done, had to be finished on time. And Vinson was a man of his word. So he hammered on.
*CLANG*
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