Emily has been wandering through the market. She's fairly certain that this is too elaborate to be an actual setup by the communists, so she's either been attacked with mind magic, actually gone mad, or it is what it appears to be. None of them are very comforting options, but on the other hand, she can't do much about any of them by sitting and lamenting her fate, either. For now, she's progressing as if it's door number three, because there's no help for the first two.

It's the forge that catches her eye first, the shirtless man second. She gives both him and his work appreciative looks, though the work gets a longer and closer inspection.

"I suppose custom work's damned expensive, isn't it?" she says, wistfully - it should be, if it's good work, but she hasn't found a job yet. Still, she'd like more ammunition than she has, and she'd dearly love a small grappling hook.

She's new to Baedal and looks it, but only a truly dull observer would mistake her for an innocent abroad.