Drake heard what he assumed to be the voice of the lady he met earlier, so he continued on through the entrance to the building. Immediately after entering, an almost unbearable heat shot across the room as a foundry crucible passed by. A few men looked over to see the faces of the intruders, but quickly returned to their tasks after seeing the walking tank charging through. Six anvils were lined up along the left side of the large room, along with two large furnaces. A group of men were busying themselves with hammers and tongs, forging and drawing tools and weapons with surprising fluidity.

Steam erupted from a bath of water which one of the metalsmiths dropped a metal rod into. The painfully loud sound of metal on rock pierced the air as a man spun a grindstone. The right side had a wall of molds and a rack of tools and materials set in an organized chaos. At the far wall was a wall of buffered and finished-looking items, a few doors, and a flight of stairs. Drake continued his quick pace until he reached a table with what seemed to be a merchant behind it. “Ahh, you’re ba-“ the man behind the table started, a fake smile lining his face.

He was instantly interrupted by the guard as he shouted, “I need light armor, something I won’t laugh at.” He then gestured behind himself and added, “suit her up and put it on my tab.” With that said, the merchant nodded at Drake, who then shifted over and rushed up the stairs, his footsteps heavy on the wooden surface. The man reached the second floor and walked over to a lady at a leather molding station worked at her task. He stopped a few feet away and gave a quick bow, then waited for her to respond.

“You’re too polite,” the leather crafter commented, smiling over at him, “give me a minute, I’m almost on quota.” Drake then nodded and walked over to a chair, cautiously taking a seat. “You’re getting careless,” she added, continuing her craft as Drake watched. The guard was silent, more concerned than nervous. The leather crafter looked up after a minute and asked, “what’s wrong?” Drake sighed, then pointed to his helmet. “You know how much I hate taking this off,” he started. The lady giggled after hearing this, her voice bemused as she responded, “want me to handle it again?”

Drake shook his head, quickly adding, “Delta six.” The leather crafter looked up in disbelief, but said nothing. With one last tug, she finished making what looked like a quiver and set it on a mold to dry. “I’m honored,” she commented, her voice laced with venom as she wiped off her hands on her apron, “that you would ask me for something like this.” Drake rose from his seat, then began walking back towards the stairs as he said, “don’t let him down.” The guard then walked back down the stairs, a frown set across his face beneath his visor. [i]I’m sure she can, but this is definitely pushing the limit[/i] he thought, looking around to see where the merchant took the thief-lady.