Silas sizes up the minotaur from across the ironforge. His exposed abs, broad chest, shoulders, thick trunk-like arms- all of these immediately stand out to Silas and his heart begins to race.
"Stay calm, Silas," he thinks to himself, "You're here to commission your new sword. Nobody believes you are man enough to fight with this out of date emerald sword. Having a diamond hilt will keep the naysayers off your back for a while."
Silas exhales and steps through the door.
The minotaur turns to see who walked in and finds himself staring at a young woman with an hourglass figure clad in the usual royal garb that the rich pansies seem to prefer. He approaches the countertop and waits for the girl to speak.
"I am Silas, son of Duras, heir to the throne as you may know." The minotaur is surprised to find that he is looking at someone who claims to be a man.
"What do you want?" The minotaur asks with a gravelly tone. He's sick of the royals coming in for swords they will never use. Nevermind the coin. He cares only for his craft and the acts that his weaponry allow men to properly commit.
Silas puffs up his chest and feels his neck getting hot. "I'm here to commission the finest, hardest, longest and most long-lasting piece of equipment in your possession!" Little does he realize, Silas just told the minotaur everything.