The Isur stood around the forge within the Sword and Plowshares smithy, his hand lifting the smooth hammer that was loaned to him by the Master of the shop. He slowly brought it down on a piece of metal, letting it strike an angle he desired. He was working hard on the dagger, a new display piece for the shop, even as his dark eyes traced the line of the metal.
His arm tensed, the green-tinted arm coming back up. He could hardly believe he had found such a good job here in the city. It was a good work, work that Lord Izurdin could be proud of, that an Isur could be proud of. Now, he worked for Master Jerzy, a smith who spoke the Isurian tongue, which Lan thought much less confusing then common.
Lan slowly dipped the heated blade into the water nearby, tempering it even as he turned to place it on the shelf. He had done nearly as much work as he could on it. All that was left was a few designs, but that could wait until he had Jerzy's approval.