There had been, near the heart of Myrkentown, a construction upon and a remodeling of a particular building for some time. It had been halted at the various occurrences of apocalypse that had somewhat recently occurred, but the men continued nonetheless after each passing plague.
And now, it was complete. The place was constructed over the already existing stone building, simply adding on and repairing in necessary places. Now it stood, a glory to the carpenters that had hands in moving and binding the stones.
Their jobs were done. Now it was time for Harold to do his part.
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There was one obvious front door into the building, a heavy wooden one set on thick iron hinges. Two windows sat on either side of the door, encased wholly in stone. No other windows would be found, and the other door was at the other end of the building, opening into an alley shared by the adjacent buildings.
The entry room was simplistic, and was all a visitor was meant to see. There was a teak counter that extended for the greater length of the room, parting with a small wooden door that wasn't uncommon with bars and counters of its type. It was there to deter, but it would be silly to deny access altogether, for special occasions were always privy to declare themselves.
Behind the bar, and there was a decent amount of space back there, was a large case where an assortment of large, deadly weapons hung. A hulking battle-axe that clearly wasn't made for a human being hung over the rest, everything from a spiked club to a short sword to a ranseur to a katar. A display case, iron hooks holding each weapon in place, while even more iron bars kept the weapons from easy theft.
Four chairs, two against either wall adjacent to the front were available for anyone's leisure, and a long scroll of parchment was posted against the wall beside the door, listing the various items that could be sold - or made, at Harold's Smithy.
Soon enough, a sign declaring his business and his name would go up with the rest of the building, and now the thick, balding man ran a hand over his beard, simply waiting for the customers to roll in from the harsh environment of Myrken Wood.