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It puts you behind the very slow-mannered and slower-paced dwarven blacksmith, Gundrik. You hail him down, quickly matching the shorter man's pace.

"Hm? Didn't know monks could be so youn-oh wait, is that ye, Ronald Dunhall? Thought humans your age were all 'bout bright clothes, shows how much ah know."

The dwarf is a talker and then some; you realized that from helping out at the forge two summers ago. "—'fraid mah wife will have me throat slit afta gettin' coal from tha forge on me tunic. Ah been finishin' up retouchin' tha new-weds sword." You had completely failed to notice the blanketed bundle on Gundrik's back. The blacksmith has been longtime friends with Bregan's father and grandfather, so a ceremonial blade is the perfect gift.

Wait a second. The Gundrik you know only makes gates, nails, and farming equipment. "Ah, that be true, 'ah don't usually make weapons. Just ain't the demand for 'em. But I'll be darned if a dwarf works ah forge who don't know how'ta make a straight edge!" Speaking of straight edges, Bregan's makeshift sword needs some serious work done on it. And not just a new coat of golden paint or whatever it is that he's so intent on it having.

"He asked me before, aye. Tha golden one. O'course it ain't be real gold—tha'd be a laugh—just colored with plated brass that be well-polished." The blacksmith pauses, visualizing the weapon as if he is holding it in his hand. "Edge needs work…but ta sharpen steel that damaged, ye be lucky to get 'ah shiv after I was done with it."

With Bregan's birthday coming up in a few weeks, you figure that the perfect opportunity has presented itself. It's not that you care that much about it…just that you can't help but plan ahead, is all. What do you ask of Gundrik?