His eyes glimmered with greed at my words. "Ah, I see you're a man of great means! Allow me to remend this beauty here." He gestured to a large, blackened anvil positioned prominently in the center of the room. Its surface gleamed with oil, and its edges were suspiciously sharp for a tool that should see daily use.
"This," the merchant declared with a flourish, "is the pinnacle of artisanal craftsmanship. Forged by our finest dwarven smiths. It's a perfect blend of function and beauty. Truly, my lord, only an anvil of this caliber could be worthy of your sky-high ambitions."
Kaelira's mental voice sounded into my mind. She was entirely unimpressed.
I ran a hand along the edge of the anvil, letting a small frown tug at my lips. "Unmatched, you say? That's quite the claim. I'm curious, though - what exactly is it made of? And has it been tested under load? Striking steel, repeated use…"
The merchant's eyes flickered for the briefest moment, but he recovered smoothly. "Ah, of course, my lord. It's cast iron, treated for additional durability. And while it hasn't seen prolonged use since it's a new product, its craftsmanship alone speaks volumes."
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