This man is tall and lean with a great hooked nose and a wide mouth full of seemingly too many teeth fitted tightly together. A shock of pale hair covers his head and watery blue eyes look like two mirrors revealing nothing of what goes on inside the head behind. During the day this lanky man pounds away at his anvil or finishes metal goods, pausing only to deal with customers or exchange money.
In order to keep the town’s otherwise stagnant economy alive from just the occasional trade with desperate caravans and travelers passing through, the Usurer has established an artificial currency system manufactured himself from bars of pig iron, which he regulates and adjust based on the town’s needs. The Usurer changes money at a rate of 5 gp to 1 iron bit. He does not haggle, refusing the exchange to anyone who becomes too belligerent, knowing they will soon be back if they wish to purchase any goods or services in Weepingbell.
They say the Usurer himself actually built much of Weepingbell himself, as he was there before any of the other current inhabitants. Many of the older citizens claim they stumbled upon the town after wandering lost in the wilderness for days or fleeing the shadows of a life left behind only to find the place fully constructed waiting for people to arrive. Whatever the truth, it is clear the Usurer holds absolute authority within this town, and each citizen respects his rules without complaint.