Broken stood in front of Fokil's Smithy with a satisfied smile, finally setting foot on this ground and breathing in the fresh Yunatea air through his virtual nostrils. As he opened the door, the resounding clang of metal filled his ears. The air was thick with the heat of melting metal, the sweet aroma of burning coal, and the lingering scent of old fires. His nose tingled with the fragrance of singed ore, heated blades, and the sweat of hard labor.
"Good Morning, sir," he greeted.
"Close the door and immediately do your job," Fokil gruffly commanded.
"Yes, sir," Broken replied, trying to maintain a steady voice.