>>42876520
>>42876529
>>42876573

You stand by the sign and raise your voice. “Is anypony home!?”

Your words vanish into the quiet lane. No reply. Twitching your ears, you hear an even clang of metal.

You try again, louder this time. Still no reply.

A frown creases your brow. How in Tartarus does this pony get any commissions if nopony can even step inside his forge? The warning sign suddenly feels less like bravado and more like a philosophy.

You begin to scan the area. Tripwires along the fence line? None. Chalk marks? No. Wards carved into the cobbles? Just old dusty earth and uneven stone. If the blacksmith is paranoid, he’s subtle about it,or confident enough not to bother with obvious deterrents.

Your gaze drifts upward.

The chimney tells a different story.

Black smoke curls lazily into the sky, thick and steady, carrying the sharp tang of hot iron and coal. The forge is active. Somepony is inside, working, very much alive and very much ignoring you.

Whoever this blacksmith is, they’re home.

They’re just deciding whether you’re worth answering.

[What is your next move?]

>>42878335
Head to the house to speak with him.

>>42878335
Take a page out of Murk's book and announce our intentions. Let him know we're heading up to the house to enquire about some metal work.

>>42878335
Hello good sir, I was hoping to converse with you about a job of great importance that requires your skills, may I please enter your property?

>>42878350
>>42878396
>>42878398
You raise your voice again, keeping it measured and polite. “Hello, good sir. I was hoping to speak with you about a job of great importance,one that requires your skills. May I please enter your property?”

There’s no answer. Only the steady, rhythmic clanging of metal on metal, slow and deliberate, echoing from somewhere beyond the walls.

You huff under your breath and step past the warning sign, following the narrow lane that winds up toward the forge. If this is how he greets potential clients, it’s a miracle he stays in business at all.

You pass beneath the archway and enter the forge proper.

The heat hits you first, thick and heavy, carrying the sharp smell of coal and iron. The clanging continues.

You glance toward the anvils. Empty. Then to the forge itself, coals glowing, fire alive and hungry. No smith in sight.

Slowly, you turn toward the wall that backs onto the house.

A pair of blacksmith’s tongs hangs there, swaying back and forth, tapping against the stone just hard enough to produce that unmistakable clang.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
A pendulum with no hoof to guide it.

You approach cautiously and steady the tongs with a hoof. The sound dies instantly.

“Is anypony here?” you call out placing all hooves back on the floor.

No answer.

You turn back toward the forge. The fire still burns hot, the coals shifting softly, as if the work was abandoned only moments ago.

[What is your next move?]

>>42878443
Look around for movement. Be ready to react. I can't remember if anypony told us his name to call out.

>>42878443
Check for swiftly incoming branding irons. And a door to knock on.

>>42878443
Tell him the iron gates in the basement of the temple should be fixed. If our branded ass is his price for it, so be it.

>>42878454
>>42878475
>>42878508

You move along the wall until you spot a door hanging ajar. A thin draft slips through the forge, making the hinges creak just enough to shatter the quiet.

You move closer, hooves careful, ears pricked high. The last thing you want is a paranoid blacksmith swinging a red-hot branding iron on reflex.

You peer through the narrow gap.

Beyond the door stretches a long, unlit hallway, swallowing what little light spills in from the forge. The air feels cooler there, stale, like it hasn’t been disturbed in a while.

You consider calling out,Hello? Blacksmith?,but stop yourself. Brio never mentioned a name. Not even a nickname. You silently curse yourself for not pressing her for more details when you had the chance.

Your voice carries down the hallway, echoing softly off unseen stone.

“Is anypony here? I’m Marrow, PHEER operative. The iron gates in the basement of the temple need to be fixed.” You pause, then add with a tired huff, “If my branded rump is his price for it, so be it.”

For a few heartbeats, there’s nothing but the low roar of the forge behind you and the faint whistle of air moving through the house.

Then,thud… scrape.

Something shifts at the far end of the hallway.

A heavy, uneven set of hoofsteps begins to approach, slow and deliberate. Not sneaking. Not rushing. Each step lands with the dull weight of iron-shod hooves on wooden floorboards.

A voice answers from the dark, deep, rough, and dry, like it hasn’t been used in days.

PHEER…” A pause, heavy and deliberate. “…Luna’s own batpony depopulation program.” The old pony exhales through his nose, and the silence that follows feels sharp enough to cut. “You’re lucky,” he growls. “Another twenty minutes and I would have branded you a trespasser.”

[What is your next move?]

>>42878549
Say we came for his help to fix a crypt which has a bent metal causing unrest for the spirits dwelling on it.

>>42878549
No, there's more to PHEER. For starters, bat depopulation doesn't explain the vatic skull in the center of the picture. If some of the initial design goals were eugenical in nature, I think it was about getting rid of latent thestrals, not all and any bats.
Anyways, how much does he know about the so-called oubliette? Apparently, some builders broke the grille that used to seal it. We haven't figured out if it really was an accident.

>>42878564
I think we should avoid mentioning spirits directly, if he isn't aware of them I wouldn't want to stack more conspiracies on him and risk breaking his brain entirely. My play would be to go along with whatever he thinks we think is down there.