Amongst all of their masters, Anvil is about the closest to a real leader the Smithys have. He’s been around just about as long as time itself, and every man jack of them bends the knee in respect. Those steely eyes of his betray nought but years of experience and wisdom, matching the words he speaks when he offers advice or answers a question. If you might look to Furnace for honour, Burnish for pragmatism, and Farris for dedication to duty, it’s in Anvil you’ll see pride - the true rock, the immovable object against which his enemies break.

Anvil might look intimidating with his scarred hide and stern expression, but he’s never been one for putting out the pain himself. Oho, don’t mistake that for weakness, lad. He’s tough as old nails, more than capable of sending a man to the dirt and keeping him there - but setting up the apprentices is really how the old boy prefers to work. Even when he’s playing the game Anvil is teaching the young ‘uns something about the trade, showing where to strike for the most effect.

Woe betide anyone foolish enough to go after the Smithys’ patriarch on the field. That’s a grave mistake, likely to earn a whole world of hurt - Anvil’s apprentice isn’t the only one devoted to him. Several of the other masters were once apprentices themselves under Anvil’s steady eye, learning their trade thanks to his stewardship. The Blacksmiths are an old Guild which values tradition and respect, and most take severe affront at anyone hounding such a revered figurehead.

Besides, it’s difficult not to like a man with a willingness to take a seat and break open a bottle of mead with you after the game, even if you don’t care for the rest of his kin. I’ve called him friend for a fair few years myself, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. Trust me, underneath his long beard is a warm smile, the kind that belongs to a man proud of his work, and secure in what the future will bring after his days are past.

- Tapper, Brewer’s Guild Team Captain