20
Silas was well on his way to getting drunk. This was a good thing; he always worked better when he was a little buzzed. But first things first.
He was in a little shack of a shop. The room looked like a cross between a workshop and a garden shed. Tools and weapons hung from the wall and lay stacked against it. Ingots of metal were stacked against one wall. The whole room had a metallic scent, mixed with burnt coal and dust. It almost felt like home for Silas, it was only missing the perpetual scent of rot that permeated Hell. Heat, dry and draining, radiated from the large forge in the middle of the room. Coals glowed in the chamber, winking on and off.
Against another wall were all the tools of a modern metal shop, albeit older, smaller tools that looked like they’d been s
