The rising sun brought warmth to the later morning however I still found few people to be about. I walked up the gentle hill and into the guild tent. To my right was the corner occupied by the Armourers Guild. Their anvil stood proudly before their room and bore their emblem. I settled on the edge of light and shadow in the entrance of the guild tent and put pen to paper. The arts of the armourer are something of a mystery to me; method, understanding and a spirit of craftsmanship take form and function within the hot coals, the plate of the anvil and the quenching barrel.
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