Auspice

Quote:

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Dirge, Gift of the End
Dirge is an steel short sword.
Fire Enchantment:
Heartbeat Heat:
The edge of the sword glows bright orange and becomes hot enough to burn flesh (the strength of a hot iron) or cause fires when pressed and held to flammable material for 30 seconds.

Heartglow:
The sword’s heat can be channeled as a healing item. It can heal minor to moderate (non-lethal) wounds if pressed to them for 3 minutes, though it will leave a scar. This ability can be used twice daily.

Whoever owns Dirge, Gift of the End accepts the OOC terms found here.

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The short sword was well forged, with a sharp blade and a hilt wrapped in soft leather strapping. It was displayed at the side of the aging auctioneer, whose blue eyes were sharp and alert, piercing from beneath a brow of angry grey.

"Who would bid a mere 20 gold for a sword with the power to burn your opponents or stem your own bleeding wounds?"

"15 gold?"

To call the elf petite would have been more than accurate, but to call her presence commanding would not have done her justice by half.

She didn’t walk towards the aged auctioneer, she glided. Her movements full of all the lithe bravura of a dancer at the pinnacle of her art. It was a movement of physical adeptness that was at once a form of locomotion, and an exposition of supple athleticism, made all the more compelling as it was natural and wholly unconscious in its exacution.

The Coronian sky-blue riding dress she wore was well made, but otherwise plan, making the determination of her status indeterminable, she could be a mere goodwoman in her market finery out for a purchase, or a she elf of more lofty station dressing simply.

The ordinariness of the stateliness of her gate, the poise obviously observable in her back and neck, and the regal forbearance etched upon the glances she gave to a group of of shopers hovering about at a stall for knives and sundery, half of whom were watching her with lurid avariciousness, gave more weight to the conclusion of the former than the latter.

“I have heard,” she said to the elder salesman in clear crisp tones, “that you have a short sword in your possession forged by Karl Hofftman, and see that said rumor is not false.” She eyed the weapon near the aged fellow for a moment, but only that, as if only a glance was all she needed.

“I shall pay the going rate of fifty gold Crowns. What say you?”

The Auctioneer raised his brows for but a moment but continued on. It was clear that the young woman intimidated those around her. No one felt the urge to enter into a bidding war with her.

"50 gold, and the sword is yours!" The Auctioneer seemed to almost melt away, as the sword was brought forth and placed within the young woman's possession.

Out of Character:

Sold to Eylana