Harfen huffed and puffed at the lost merchandise he'd miss while the monk was gone, but with his mercenary pool consisting of one, he couldn't argue. In the back of the merchant's mind, he chuckled, thinking that he would deduct some money from the payment for ignoring the rules. Content with the thought, Harfen carried on trying to move his goods to the few remaining passerbys.

The dwarf didn't notice the new arrival at the shop until he almost cut him with a red hot blade on a turn. "Tim!" he yelled, tossing the blade away, once again into the waiting hands of the apprentice, and inspected the newcomer. It didn't take long for the seasoned dwarf to notice the bottle in Keystone's hands, but the dwarf didn't make a move, boring into the monk with a long hard stare.

"Does this look like a proper forge, boy?" he said, sticking out his hands, mocking the hovel."Me homeland, the Delzoun homeland, now that had forges! Heat so strong yer blood would start boilin' if you came close! THAT 'ere forges!" he yelled with the volume of a foghorn. "This is but a campfire compared to that! So don't call me Forgemaster till ye know what a forge looks like!"
Satisfied with the rant, the dwarf grabbed a full mug of ale standing on the table, gulped it down in one go, belched and wiped his beard. With his free hand he took the bottle from keystone, smelling the contents before dumping it in the mug.
"Get that stick out o' yer arse and sit down fer a second," the smith commanded, reading the charcoal note.

"Well, not sure what to tell ye, boy. Fer one, ye didn't transcribe all of the writing on dem bracers of yers, and fer two, I doubt ye have the same sense of humour we do," he exclaimed, having finished reading. "If ye like jokes about the dwarfkin, yer bracers are a goldmine."