“Yer not much of a talker, are ya?”, says the smith, the comment only a small part of the ongoing stream of one-sided conversation. “Get all types in here, I do. Farmers, traders, soldiers, townsfolk, but yer definitely a first fer my little shop. Yep, rarely ever see you fellers this far north. And I ain’t never had one o’ you as a custermer. Kinda nice to make somethin’ a bit different. Mind you, this’s like to take a mite longer than usual, seeing you has special needs. But if yer not in a big hurry…”
The man’s prattling fades into the background as the warrior continues to devour the hunk of smoked ham, savoring the wondrous flavor after several days of charred wild meat and barely edible plant matter. Olegton was a backwater, but familiar, and the locals had only given him strange looks rather than trying to run him off.
“…can’t have too much of that, if you know what I mean. So I clocked him upside the head and sent him packing, just to teach him a lesson. Anyhow, let’s have a look-see how this might be for size.”
The burly man hauls the breastplate over, grabbing a pair of leather straps to temporarily secure it in place.
“Yer gonna hafta take of that jerkin to give it a proper try, boyo.”
The warrior sets down the remainder of his meal and begins striping off the worn leather.
“Nasty work that”, comments to craftsman, “Hard to believe that thing could stop a blade. This here steel will serve you loads better. Say, you never did mention what you was doing here in town…”
The commentary stops dead as the jerkin is removed, revealing the holy symbol beneath. The blacksmith’s eyes widen and he pauses for a moment before quickly and efficiently returning to the fitting. When he is finished, he quietly returns to his work, making only one final comment.
“That should be all fer today, my lord. If ya care to come back tomorrow afternoon, I’ll have the rest o’ the alterations done.”