Fovart's Blades and Bows (III)

[Trinity]

Forvarts Blades and Bows was another two storey building nestled in amongst the busy streets of Narim City. A large wooden sign, hanging from the thatched roof names the store, and on either side of the large, bold writing, a picture of a sword and shield has been painted.

As you enter the store you are caught of guard and surprised, as a very large, completely black, what can only be described as a half wolf jumps out at you with a snarl. He bares his teeth, in an angry grin, snapping constantly at your legs, which are only inches away from his shiny and very sharp looking teeth. Though the dog can’t go anywhere, and as you notice he is chained to the far wall to a large, studded collar, and can’t go anywhere, but it is still a scary sight, and you move away from the dog as far as possible. The dog then barks twice, and then continues to growl at you in a very menacing way.

From a door in the back of the room, a large man walks in. He was very tall, over six feet, and his dark ebony skin rippled with large muscle. He was wearing a ripped, sleeveless shirt and dark breeches, and at his waist a large, elven steel sword hangs at his side; its hilt gripped by one of his massive hands. He snarls at you like his dog does, his clear blue eyes staring at you with threatening glare. By looking at his appearance it is obvious that the man, who can only be Fovart is at least part Vysstichi.

“Down Fang,” he sounds in a loud rumbling voice and the dog whines as if to say “but I’m hungry”, and backs away from you appearing to slump down in his corner and go to sleep. “Now state your business,” Farvort says. He motions his other hand, (the one not gripping his blade tightly), to a board with words and prices on it. If you are wondering where the weapons are, it seems you will not be told or shown until you have made your choice of purchase. It is obvious that this man does not trust anyone, and would you if you were part Vysstichi?

What we have on offer

Adze 40 Crowns

Arrows
Barbed,single 1 Crown
Broad-head,single 1 Crown
Blunt-head,single 7 Silvers
Normal,single 1 Crown
Normal,dozen 12 Crowns
Silver,single 30 Crowns
Spiral,single 5 Crowns
Wooden,single 5 Silvers

Axe,
Battle 80 Crowns
Hand 45 Crowns
Throwing 75 Crowns
Two handed 140 Crowns

Bow,
Long 175 Crowns
Short 100 Crowns

Crossbow,
Hand 300 Crowns
Heavy 300 Crowns
Light 250 Crowns

Dagger
Parrying dagger 30 Crowns
Stiletto 20 Crowns

Dart, throwing 5 Crowns

Javelin 75 Crowns

Knife 15 Crowns
Throwing knife 25 Crowns

Lance
Light 45 Crowns
Medium 75 Crowns
Heavy 90 Crowns

Morningstar 100 Crowns

Polearm
Glaive 110 Crowns
Guisarme 130 Crowns
Halberd 95 Crowns
Spetum 80 Crowns

Spear 80 Crowns

Sword
Bastard sword 90 Crowns
Boku-toh (wooden sword) 25 Crowns
Broad sword 200 Crowns
Gladius 60 Crown
Great Scimitar 220 Crown
Long Sword 100 Crowns
Rapier 85 Crown
Sabre 100 Crown
Scimitar 110 Crown
Short Sword 80 Crowns

Warhammer 70 Crowns

Quiver
Small, holds 12 arrows 30 Crowns
Large, holds 24 arrows 55 Crowns
Regular, small, holds 20 quarrels 30 Crowns
Regular, Large, holds 40 quarrels 60 Crowns

Scabbard, Sword
Specify for weapon 10 – 40 crowns

At he bottom of the board it reads: If there isn't anything you want than GET OUT OF MY STORE!

Credit: GM Rain; GM Tatercake

NPC description:

Fovart:

Physical desc.:

Six-foot ebon-skinned Vysttichi that is well in shape. Clear blue eyes, mean disposition. Basically has an aura that just bellows gruff and rude at basically anyone.

Mental desc.:

Fovart is basically your 'mad at the world' type of Vysttichi. He has a very short temper and it runs out really quick. He has a tendency to snap and glare a lot, but enough common sense to keep his head when selling things to his customers.

Fang:

Physical desc:

Half wolf, about the size of a full grown german shepherd. Smoke-colored fur, brown eyes. Fang has a studded collar on and rather sharp, yellowed teeth. Sometimes he is chained to the wall next to the door.

Mental desc.:

Fang is about as mean as Fovart, but listens to him when he needs to. Usually, Fang lays around when he gives up barking at customers. He has a tendency to be agressive but lazy, a disposition that makes his bark more than his bite for lack of the will to get up and actually go after anyone. He can be a sweet dog.. but only to repeat customers. Fovart usually has to call him down.

[Savvy Thalassic]

Savvy came into the shop and was rather surprised to see a wolfish creature lunge at him. His instincts made him flinch into a protective stance, but once the realization of the threat was diminished, Savvy again stood tall and approached the counter. He read the menu and tried to think of the kind of blade that would best suit him. He wanted something light, flashy, and deadly. Most men at sea bore daggers or cutlasses...for what reason, he knew not. However, he remembered that most officers he had seen tended to favor the rapier instead. Yes, it was very much a gentleman's blade and Savvy very much wanted to be a gentleman.

The Vysticchi was short with him, but then again, he was a Vysticchi. Savvy supposed he too would be short with people if he was an abomination. Nevertheless, the half elf found it rather rude. He let the shopkeep know of his disgust by giving him a snobbish guffaw before turning back to the matter at hand.

"My business, good sir, is to purchase a weapon. What other business should one have in this establishment? Perhaps there are those that enjoy being threatened by a mongrel dog, but I am not one of them. Rather, I come seeking a rapier and it would appear that you sell them. 85 crowns is the price, I believe? I'll throw in another 20 for a fancy hilt and some silver tracery. A knife as well, if you would be so kind. Can you accomodate me, good sir?"

Savvy waited and for a moment he thought the unkind shopkeep would not reply, but in the end the blade was produced and Savvy paid for it. With a bow, he left the shop in search of better company.

[Tius]

He had just come into the store to notice a wolf dog snarling and barring his teeth at him. fortunately the owner called him down, and then asked for Tius' business here.

" I seek a custom job, and I have been trying for a while, but it seems that there are lesser craftsmen in this world, however, you might be able to help me.

" You see, I need, to start off, Elven steel one handed battle axes, razor sharp if you could. The shafts should be cyclitrical, at a foot and a half in length, and no more than an inch and a half in diameter.

" I also acquire an all elven steel forged arm band with a retractible dagger blade." Tius holds out his hand to demostrate his request, " Here at the palm should be a small plate, the plate should function the retraction of the blade itself. Around the wrist a metallic snap should fasten the first section of the arm band, then toward the forearm another metallic snap should fasten the second section of the arm band.

" The arm band should be no more than 10 1/2" long, and the blade should be no more than 2" wide and 91/2" in length. And again all should be made of elven steel. The metal, I request should be as thin as you can make it, but not easy to crack or break, if that makes sense.

" Payment, I am willing to offer 200 CR up front and 600 CR when the job is done. If you could do this job within 4 brightenings, then 300 CR up front and 700 CR when I see the merchandise.

"Do we have an accord?" Tius did not smile, he seemed to have no emotion, and he was tired of making this order, but he knew it must be done, and he'd search all of Alleria to find a smithy to do it.

[Ver'drak]

The young nimble Theylri walked into Fovart's Blades and Bows, his golden-blonde locks falling across his face rather roguishly. The immediate thing he did was jump at the sight of a snarling gruesome beast of a dog, before calming down and walking past the angry pup towards the counter. Sea-green eyes stared intently around the shop, their gaze shifting until it finally settled upon the Vysstichi at the counter. A slight scowl went up and adrenaline began to pump through the Thelyri. The Vysstichi, the main cause of death to his peoples, the great wars that were long forgotten amongst his kin. His face flushed with a slight rage, his hands clenched but hidden underneath the counter's edge. Fovart was quite short with his customer, but then again it was quite expected. Ver'drak knew the Vysstichi were none too kind to strangers. Only to their kin, curse them all to Aerternia!

"I'd like to purchase a rapier and scabbard, if you please. Another fifteen crowns for a somewhat fancy hilt and silver designs, if you please," Ver'drak spoke, lying his money upon the counter. For a few seconds the alarming thought that the Vysstichi would scam him and take his money lingered in his mind, until the disgruntled grunt from the man in front of him complied. Minutes later, Ver'drak found himself walking out of the store with a weapon carefully sheathed. A pirate he would become!

[Ryoc Nakumir]

Timestamp: Late Evening Solaria, Brightening 1 of the Third Cycle of Optia
Spring of Era I of the Celestine Mandate
Era X Post Fractum in the Age of the Darkening, the Mageocracy of Julos the Mad

Ryoc tugged on his hood and bent his head down to hide his face before he entered the store. The moment he went in he was startled by a ferocious beast. Ryoc sneared at the dog after seeing that it was chained an could do him no harm. He might have kicked it had the shop owner not given the animal a comand to back down.

Ryoc approached the counter and Fovart didn't like him from the start. Ryoc was dressed in black from head to toe and none of his person could be seen. Easily a reason for Fovart not to trust this shady man. "What do you want?" Fovart snapped.

Ryoc did not look up to the Vysstichi, but answered in a low voice. "I'm here to make a purchase..." said Ryoc who shifted his gaze down to the price list which lay on the counter. "I'll take a hand crossbow and four throwing knives" Fovart frowned. So the shady concealed man was asking for small easily concealed weapons without letting him see his face. "I don't think so" said the vysstichi. "I don't have to sell you anything, and unless you show me your face I don't think I want to."

"Relax," said Ryoc. "I mean to do no harm... I only ask to aquire a means in which to defend myself. I have gold, four hundred crowns total as the list indicates. Are you going to make this sale or not?" Fovart did not believe Ryoc for a second, nor was he going to sell him what he asked for at this point. He had half a mind to call the city guards or to release fang. "The answer is no." he said. "Now get out of my shop!"

Ryoc paused, the vysstichi was ill tempered and he knew he would not be easily manipulated. But Ryoc was not about to reveal himself to Fovart or anyone else in this city. Although he knew he would need weapons and this was the only shop he had come across that sold what he was looking for. "Five hundred crowns and no questions asked." said Ryoc standing firm and offering an extra hundred crowns to Fovart for letting him make the sale and remain secretive.

Fovart grinned. He knew he now had the man playing in his hand. Sure he would let him make a sale if he was going to pay well over the valued price. However five hundred still seemed a little low. "Seven hundred crowns, or I unchain the dog," he said. But Ryoc was not intimidated. "I am no fool, I can easily get what I want elsewhere whether you want to sell to me or not. I have ofered five hundred crowns which is a fine profit for you. Take it or leave it." Ryoc spoke in a tone so serious that Fovart knew he wasn't going to get the chance to haggle again.

Fovart knew it was probably a bad idea. But the man didn't scare him. Should he really care if he was giving this guy weapons? It was true that if not from him he would most likely just buy them somewhere else. At least if he made the sale now he would be making an extra profit. Fovart decided to agree although soewhat reluctantly. He went into the back and returned with a small hand crossbow and four throwing daggers. Before putting them on the counter he asked for the money.

Although the vysstichi couldn't see it, Ryoc smiled as he took out and counted five hundred crowns. After he payed, Fovart handed over the weapons and the sale was complete. Ryoc gathered his items in one hand and tucked them under his cloack as he turned and walked out of the shop.

[Dimnersti]

lazy timestamp
first few days of my visit to narim

Entering the shop dimnersti first browsed about to see the wares. Though to no suprise he didn't find anything resembling what he was looking for.

"Sir. Could I perhaps make a special order? Nothing complex just a blow gun with a couple hundred blow gun darts. If the blow gun could be about 5 feet and able to be split in the middle. That would be perfect." He said quickly

The clerck only nodded breifly as the description was given to him "Have to charge ya extra for the special order. But come back tommorow" he said with a shrug as he turned away from the vysstichi.

~mid brightening the next day~

Dimnersti returned the next day and entered the shop and saught out the man he'd spoken to the day before. "Would my order be done sir?"

"And what did you arder darkie?" He responded in an annoyed tone

"The blow gun." Dimnersti responded shakeing his head. It wasn't supriseing really as he likely had alot of orders, but still, a vysstichi with a scar on each cheek and a freakish streak of mscolored hair, you'd think he would stick out in peoples minds more.

"Ah yeah, got it right here" He said as he pulled out a package of about 3 feet and set it on the counter. "be about 90 crowns"

Dimnersti pulled out a few crowns and set them on the counter letting the man count it before he gathered it up and exited the store.

OOC: special purchase aproved my trinity.

[Celethor Tyran]

Timestamp:
9th candlemark of Solaria, Brightening 1 of Cycle Three of Imperios
Summer of Era I of the Celestine Mandate
Era X Post Fractum in the Age of the Darkening
Paradigm: Occupation of Jaedaxia

Celethor walked into the shop. He was familiar with it, and walked up to Fovart. "Fovart! How are ya doing t'day? Listen, could I get somethin' from ya? Just be askin' for a nice parryin' knife and a stiletto. And... uh, if ya happen to have a sheath for both o' those, I'd truly be appreciative."

Fovart squinted at Celethor for a second, trying to recognize the dracon who obviously recognized him. Many customers every day and only breif meetings with the dracon could account for this second of unfamiliarity. But, once he realized who it was, he perked up a bit. "Aye lad. I can get ya those. Won't ask what ther for as I know ya won' tell me... Hahaha! But, let me see if I got sheaths for these..." Fovart had reached up to a counter and pulled off the knives, and went to the room in the back in search of sheaths.

Celethor thought to himself what they were for in the meantime. They were more of a precaution than anything. He was to go to the trial for the Sherian Inquisition soon, and he obviously wouldn't be able to bring his greatsword along with him. That weapon was far to conspicuous to be carrying around at a political meeting. He would be treated like a madman. But he did need some type of weapon on him. If he did not, Celethor would feel naked and extremely vulnerable. Therefore, he decided to go with a weapon he had been trained in also, and wouldn't be conspicuous at all. The knife.

Fovart came back gleaming or... as gleaming as one could get being a Vysstichi. He set two identical sheaths on the table. They were hardened leather, with steel bolstering. They had leather stips from either side, to tie it to something. Celethor made note of them and already knew where they would go.

"Here ya go, laddy. Yer lucky, found these behind a stock of longswords. No idea how they got there... But anyways, that'll be 30...20...5 and 5... 60 crowns fer all o' it then." Celethor reached into his pocket, pulled out a couple bank notes, and set them on the table. It added up to 60 crowns.

"Thank ya, Fovart. See ya later then." Celethor took what he had purchased and left.

[Malius]

Malius entered the two-storyed building, Fovart's Blades and Bows. He saw Fovart standing at the counter, and began to walk toward him, but Malius stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a wolf growling and baring its teeth at him.

His hand grasped his dagger. Malius almost chuckled at the thought of how little damage this would do to the creature. He was relieved when he saw the wolf chained to the wall.

"Great pet," Malius mumbled. "I would like a two-handed axe, good sir," Malius stated in a clearer voice. But Fovart had seen the dwarf's reaction to the dog.

"Tryin' te' kill me dog, are ye'?" Fovart grunted. "I dun't know if I want to sell ye' anything." Fovart eyed Malius suspiciously.

Malius replied by placing his 140 credits on the counter. Fovart reluctantly took the money. A moment later he returned with the two-handed axe, and forced it into the dwarf's extended hand. Malius chuckled as he walked out of the shop, not even noticing the wolf's menacing growl.

[Esteban Cavarro]

Time Stamp: 1st brightening of Junctior, early morning

Shortly after arriving in Narim the previous brightening, Esteban had tossed the useless rusted dagger the Terramarique bastards gave to him into the seaside mud. Although he later picked it up and kept it concealed in the inside of his coat, he knew that he would have to have a real weapon. After all, what self-respecting ex-convict recently released back into the world would go anywhere but an armory? Fovart's Blades and Bows soon came into view once Esteban had stumbled upon the Shvakkim district, and he opened the door with a slight grin on his craggy old face. The wolf-dog must not have been hungry at that time, because when Esteban entered, it sat harmlessly on the ground snoring.

Immediately, without any spoken word, there seemed to be a connection between Fovart and Esteban. The Kemite caught a look in his eye that made him want to say that Fovart had once been in Terramarique as well, but it may have been pure speculation. Perhaps everyone would look like one of those despaired souls now; Esteban was too newly returned to the empire to be able to say. Each spoke cautiously, but it was obvious that Fovart was being a bit more hospitable to Esteban than he was to most people, and vice versa. Birds of a feather apparently flocked together even when one was human and one was Vysstichi.

"Gladius," Cavarro slurred in his best "I've-been-to-Terramarique-and-I'm-tough-as-nails" voice, "better make it elven steel."

"Aye," came the reply. "Ye looks like one who'd be needin' tha' sort o' quality in 'is weapon." Apparently one was in stock. It took the Vysstichi only half a minute to go into the back and return with a shimmering elven steel gladius and a simple leather scabbard for it. He handed it to Esteban, who carelessly plunked 130 Crowns onto the countertop.

"I hope you don't mind your weapons being used illegally, Mister Fovart," Esteban mused aloud as he felt the gladius's weight and took a swing or two.

"Wha' I don't know won't 'urt me, eh?"

"That's the idea."

With a new weapon and no masked intentions, Esteban marched coolly out.

Let me know if any of this was a no-no.

[Ganlon]

hi may i buy a Bastard sword,and a Bastard sword Scabbard? if so how much would it cost all together?

[Reldass Treem]

Reldass walked into the shop with a small scowl, how he missed the underdark, this burning hell on telath called the sun, was a pain in the butt. Pulling his hood off once he entered, Reldass approached Forvart and spoke,

"Serale, I want two wristbows, and armor piercing bolts to go with"

Forvart looked at Reldass and snapped back a quick reply, his eyes rolling at the sight of the Vysstichi,

"Custom job, five hundred crowns a piece, and fifty for twenty four bolts"

Reldass laid out, eleven hundred crowns in a pile on the counter, and he waited for a response.

Forvart, scopping up the crowns pocketed them and then spoke quickly,

"Come back next brightening"

With that, Reldass turned and he left the shop.

The next Brightneing

Reldass entered the shop and walked over to Forvart, who saw him coming pulled out the twin wristbows, and laid them on the counter with the bolts. Taking them and strapping them on, Reldass nodded his thanks and then walked out of the store.

[Vehemence]

Already it had become evident, this affinity for deviance. On his way onward through the streets, busied with those idle and those hurried, his philosophy was further augmented. The doctrine which was to spread, words foul in the eyes of the democratic and humanitarian, were embraced by him alone. This though could possibly change should he find followers. Said resources were easily obtained through feats of war and a deft mind with a keen insight into psychology. The latter was already his and the former was yet to come, but, it would. Martial skill had already been acquired in the realm of unarmed combat, raw talent present in all forms of brutal savagery though perfection and mastery had not yet come. To achieve a greater understanding of the tools he would buy today, it was decided that isolation was necessary. The aspiring dictator must first learn that which proves most useful in acquiring power, power itself and in it's most pure form, physical violence. And these intentions, his own, could find him dead should word escape of his new world order and due to this, nothing was spoken and naught a soul told. Mind's eye would also have difficulty peering into his persona for it was the abyss and the knowledge contained within would prove a great trial indeed. Still, what reason was there to suspect? None. He was not evil so nothing could be detected in that arena and yet he was not good either, neutral rather and most chaotic at that.

Inside this shop he came and bombarded with feral cries and growls; there was a dog. As the beast ushered long messages, loud and obnoxious, something hit the philosopher and it would further support his own theories. This creature had already scared off several prospect customers with it's antics and seemed to keep this establishment relatively empty. Why? It was a form of fascism, ruling with the iron fist, it alone being enough reason for the individual to have power in the first place; might is right. The dog got his way; people stayed out. The shoppers did not get their way; they could not enter. Why? Intimidation and fear, the key aspects of a successful leader. The 'big brother' image is what Imahri had developed. A big brother is one you trust, look up to, depend on and ultimately fear, never daring to cross his wisdom and control. Loved and feared at the same time, the greatest of feats, was possible through this method. It would be one he would adopt; taking upon him to exercise this persona to it's fullest when the chance was offered.

Inside, and with the dog recalled by its master, a gruff and apparently uneducated voice bellowed out syllables requesting what it is that the elf required. And, his request was answered; a piece of parchment of a very light brown was handed over, the design to his armament. The first was a shield.

This shield itself was illustrated deftly with several models of differing perspectives. The first showed it straight on, being 3.5 feet in diameter and circular also having certain triangle shapes upon its surface as well as apparent imperfections which would be seen as various grooves and indentations for tactical purposes. The next drawing showed it from the side, it lacking the curve of most shields, being flat and with the spikes now very visible, marked as two inches in length and placed haphazardly along the surface, no real care taken in their placement. The final showing was that of its backside, a groove where something was to fit in and then an arrow pointed downward to show the next design.

The gauntlets were of plate armor and guarded the back of the hand all the way down to the forearm near the elbow, the fingers free to do as they would, this done for the fact that one style he practiced and had trained with on his way here, involved the forceful extraction of nerves and tendons through use of nails and pinpoint pressure of the fingers. This brutal art was made readily available through the absence of finger protection on the armor. Every side was covered on the arm, being below and above as well as the sides and this allowing for numerous defensive options. And, on the back of the hand, was a groove and a flat prong that was apparent as a bar, able to attach the shield described before as well as various blades and crossbows if they were altered. In some cases, they could be used to augment backhand strikes even. But, the most notable part of the shield and gauntlet combination was that of the ability to eject the shield itself at high speeds as a weapon. The store owner looked up the paper once more to find an area on the shield, on its inside, where a sword could be inserted and then a note leading to another page. He fingered through the parchment to find the one he was searching for, engaged in his viewing of the weapon and armor designs.

The sword as a scimitar of a 32 inch blade, to be crafted of elven metal as were all his items, light and sufficiently durable. The curve was wicked though normal to any other scimitar and its tip dude not contain the 'wave' of a curve, rather being the same all the way through as was a katana yet the sword was bigger and with a more profound curve. The hilt held a diamond shaped guard and then the handle itself held indentations for the fingers and cloth-like material--though more durable than typical cloth--wrapped about it's length. A diagram illustrated the placement of the scimitar into the shield and then a swift draw, grooves in the shield sheath to aid in iaijutsu-like slashes as well as an 'accelerated edge' on the blade itself, this cutting down the time on the draw greatly. Combine this with his own custom draw cuts, these being thought up as the metal-worker looked over the paper--made a blur of a cut. The pulling back and then forward from two separate limbs simultaneously added with the twisting torso and rotating hips from drawing across his body made it a lethal move indeed. In fact, should his hypothetical foe not draw beforehand, his own cut would likely hit before they even removed their blade. Now came a cough from the elf and a motion of his head to signal a new page whose corner was peeking up. It contained armor.

The first were shoulder plates, a singular structure across both and with two spikes sticking outward from the right side, the left to be oversized and protect the neck from said side as well as the heart from all angles, the front, back and side from under the armpit. These structures came down to the biceps in their protective covering.

The shop-keeper pulled up a new page.

Plate armor guarded the thighs now from the front and sides, the backs neglected for obvious reasons, one being he would never allow one to get in that position, the other being more noticeable in times to come. They came up to the pelvic area, defending it then wrapping around from both sides across the midsection from the front and side, stopping disembowels and augmenting his torso's defense. Spikes protruded outward and upward in pairs at the knees.

With no more diagrams to look at, the man now made mention of the price and it was met with a malevolent "Heh." from Imahri. This singular syllable would quick become a trademark of his persona.

Time in waiting was spent with his back across the building and then several blows throw into the air, his shadow dancing with his physical form to form an ethereal apparition of blurred strikes and deft motions of throws. This was continued for some time.

The night found him wide awake and writing, endlessly to dawn in which he continued his task, filling countless pages with ideas, concepts and theories of all natures. These writings would be saved in a back pocket and perhaps made available for public viewing in the near future.

He had grown hungry, craving physical nourishment though no came for he could not pry himself away from his work, lost in the high of mania from his illness, manic depression. It continued through the day and deep into the night. Sleep followed soon after....

By the time he had awoke, all was ready for testing and he took it upon himself to strap on the armor and simulate draw cuts and offensive rushes against a tree outside as the angered man who sold him the goods commented on it's lack of being put to good use. No care was given to the tree.

Goodbyes were informal, beginning with a few angered slurs from the metal worker and ending with the young elf stepping over the ruins of the tree as he made his way into the crowd and off into the bleak and weary night, 830 crowns poorer.

[Dâlroth]

"Pfft," Dâlroth's lips formed the sound as he entered Fovart's Blades and Bows, clearly not a name for any respectable forge in the Empire. One survery across the room told the dwarf all; beady brown eyes relayed the image of a Half-Vysstichi standing behind the counter, and a snarling dog beside him. There were no shelves in the room, nor was there anything up for display. Yes, this was definately ran by that crude looking elf in the far back corner. Oops, no, that was a customer. My mistake. Oh, sorry sir, didn't mean to bump into you. That man calls this a store? Goodness me! Mental dialogue continued as Dâlroth slowly eased himself into the forge, his stumpy frame rigid with muscled body mass as he stepped forward onto wooden surface, metal-tipped boots clicking against the oaken planks. Burgandy red hair was brushed about from his head, and a fiery beard neatly plaited rolled down his chest; still growing in fact. A thin smile had formed upon the dwarf's pale lips, and the swollen cheaks glistened in sweat from the long walk to get here. All for practically nothing. Dâlroth proceeded forward, ignoring the heat that was beginning to overwhelm him, what with wearing linen beneath a leather jerkin, and then a tabauld underneath for precaution. The dwarf approached the counter slowly, his eyes scanning the board behind the elf for the weapons and prices. The prices were good. The weapons were not. That was clearly evident from the lack of diversity that was offered. Not even a single speck of armour. Albeit Dâlroth was considered a beginner in this craft, he at least had the decency not to open a business until he could produce at least some quality work. Fovart, on the other hand, seemed to have jumpstarted his career early, perhaps a little too early now to think of it...

"A fine selection, and I love the renovations," Dâlroth sneered as he cast a burly hand over the blank room, not even a carpet to plush out the decor of the threshold within. Fovart's eyes narrowed at this rebuke, but he made no comment, as if he thought to disgrace the dwarf without a comment. Dâlroth ignored this false thought, and proceeded to make his purchase. "I would like a warhammer crafted from fine steel, and...a hand axe, yes, of the same quality. I'll add five crowns if they're done decently," Dâlroth spoke in a rough tone, his right hand reaching upward to stroke his long beard thoughtfully. Narim sure had dropped somewhat in dignity since he had last been here. The mere remembrance of watching someone be mugged upon the street on the short walk here had screamed the impulse for weapons. Yet...to buy them from an elf, a Vysstichi at that, was just somehow...wrong. No, it wasn't right. "Here's your crowns elf," the dwarf spoke as he lifted a bank note and placed it upon the counter, adding to it twenty crowns. Five extra were to be counted among them, as promised.

Not surprisingly, Fovart had already crafted the blades, and took them off the rack from the storage room behind. The elf deftly swept the crowns and bank note and deposited them into a safe-chest before placing the weapons on the counter. Dâlroth thought he saw the elf wipe off some dust from the warhammer, but brushed off the speculation and inspected the weapons. The hand axe was of mediocre quality, Dâlroth was sure he could have done better if he had spent a more lengthier time upon it. The warhammer was fine though, much better than what Dâlroth could have made of it, and the leatherwork upon the handle was done carefully as well. Dâlroth grunted as he took the weapons and placed them in their prospective places, the handaxe latched to his belt and the warhammer thrown over one shoulder. "Serale," he muttered as he stepped out of the rather plain store, taking with him his merchandise. So, he thought to himself as he made his way down the cobbled street, so that's the competition, eh'?

[Halldor Rannveig]

Halldor shut the door firmly behind him, his thick fingers and burly knuckles relaxing their death-bidding grip atop the bronze doorknob, falling silently beside the rippling chiseled frame that was comprised of plain muscle. The right hand lazily scratched the well developed abdomens, whilst the left formed a fist and punched through the air before stifling a yawn. It was hardly even dawn and the Barbarian was already awake and functioning. Ioannes knew how many people were awake at this hour, and Halldor was sure only the guards patrolling the walls northeast to Ire would be on alert. The best time for a raid was early morn, when people were either still asleep or too tired to move properly. With an indifferent shrug, the Human walked forward towards the Vysstichi Smith, casting a bemused eye at the small pup snarling at him.

Towering at 5'11" and weighing nearly two-hundred pounds, nearly all of it pure and raw muscle, Halldor Rannveig was a force to be reckoned with. Even more so when he was angered. The Barbarian wore the hide and fur of a Mountain Lion as his vest, the fur of a bear tattering his old cloak. And yet despite his large burly arms and exercised frame, he sported no weapon aside from the large, dense fists that seemed to be able to pound through steel. No doubt he would have made an excellent blacksmith, even better a soldier. Rather, he was in a sort of way, selling his sword to the highest bidder. When he had a sword. "Serale," a deep baritone voice seemed to thunder from the Human's mouth, catching Fovart's rapt yet disgruntled attention. "I'm here to purchase a bastard sword and scabbard. Nothing more," Halldor spoke with a grin, wondering if he should tell the Smith to hurry up as an after thought. There was no real need, once the pouch containing one hundred crowns was placed on the table, Fovart was more than willing to comply. All the more quickly to get the intimidating figure out of his forge.

Only a few moments later did Halldor have the smooth yet firm grip of a bastard sword in his hand, the blade cutting smoothly through the air as he practiced a few strokes, much to the dislike of an apprehensive Vysstichi Smith. With a grin that meaningfully teased the Vysstichi of his weakness, Halldor took his time practicing with the weapon, only once having it collide with a wooden wall, but with one tug free the sword was safetly sheathed. Yawning once more and casting a bemused eye around the small forge, he finally stared down into the depths of Fovart's enraged pupils and spoke in a sly, lazy tone, "Alright, alright. I'll leave. Have a good brightening!" And with that tongue-in-cheek statement the large burly man left, strapping the bastard sword over his back without effort.