The foreman seemed genuinely about to turn away upon the conclusion of their business with Jericho, once they'd taken the box. However, the question caught their attention in probably an unexpected manner as they abruptly stopped and looked over their shoulder at them in near confusion.
While the foreman stared, four newts emerged from the boxes to take notes on what Gangraena described, nodding to eachother and showing notes before one slapped their forehead and pulled the others close before drawing something. All of them gave a collective "Oooohhhh" besides the one who'd drawn the example, instead crossing all four of their arms and nodding broadly in admired triumph. They all scurried off in the same direction, slamming of metals and grinding noises rising from what was very quickly becoming their apparent workshop of sorts.

"Fek...it...oll..." The foreman started in disbelief before his hands raised from his hips and clapped before giving Jericho 'fingerguns'. "Neh-neh-neh-neh, fek y'll if y'wan  mi ta'b-liev!" they chirped, their head lowering to look at Jericho from under their brow, their eyes visibly looking them over before they shook their head. "I thot ya-e'll a fek toll! Fek! Na way th'fek a fek fekin' about!" They coo'd and barked before turning back, "Aye, who free'd ya? I need a hand ta shake!"
Their demeanor shifting, wholly aware of the details without anything being said, the newt jived a bit before tossing a bit of their fuel into their pipe mid-drag and snapped back to Jericho with a point. "Thay told ye fek-about...[I]OLL[/I] tha fek, ah? Ya need ta know!" they chirped, looking to them, expectantly. A glint behind their eyes immediately replaced their jaded stance not even a minute prior.

"And...With- yeah! That! Curves and...th-" A newt barked in the backround, slams of metal on metal and sparks flying across the floor accented the foreman's abrupt interest as work was no doubt being conducted in the back with disgusting efficiency. One of the salamanders was already lugging something across the floor, giving it a turn and pushing it back while clad in long, thick-looking gloves appropriate to the red-hot metal they handled.
The foreman spoke and a few blurs skirted dull red lights around until a loud [i]HISS[/i] cut through the tension. Six salamanders carried out something in the shape of an anchor. One on each end of the arch at its base, one at each end of the cross, one at the 'bottom' to aid and one quickly giving the end after the 'top' ring a proper wrap as well as an equal bit after the cross to give it a more comfortable grip if the wielder wanted to choke-up on the...
Well, it was in the shape of an anchor, though after the grip and the handles it was tailored about as sharp as a splitting maul.

"Miss! Miss!" the salamander in the back chirped with determination, their scales bristling as they gave the blade which, in its pristine namesake that was justified only by the de-burring that they gave the freshly-crafted mooring nightmare. Their voice was guttural and wrought with determination as they so eagerly smoothed the contours of Gangraena's answer. The guttural tone was merely a layer of excitement and anticipation, dropping their end to run around to the front in order to personally hold up the handle for her to take. "Please...Slay many traitors with it!" they implored, dancing with enthuse. Even the other creatures who held the rest of the armament off of the floor watched, eager for the corpse-lady's approval for providing something that they thought was an 'anchor'. 
It was! If...there ever was such a massive axe to be tailored in the shape of an anchor. It was not exactly the anchor she may have been looking for, but why would such heavy, rusty junk make its way into the storeroom to begin with? The workers overheard, and at the mention of rust, the crew replied. Before she could even take it, the two lizards at the bottom set the end down and began etching foreign writing along the end.