This blade of mine...

[Winterhair]

The sun beat down upon the giant swordsman as he pushed through the crowd of people slowly, using his immense size to intimidate pick pockets and those wishing to pick a fight. He strode forth through the flood of bodies slowly, holding his serrated nodachi on his shoulder in its ivory sheath on his shoulders as to not accidentally smack someone upside the head with it. His face was one of irritation, a scowl placed there as he watched a group of children run giggling by.

He hated the Bazaar. Too many damn people, too many damn weaklings. He grit his teeth at the reason he had come here and his fist clenched around the ivory scabbard harder. He searched the tents around him intently, looking for a weapons shop, until he finally found one that stood out above the rest.

The tent was smaller, much smaller than the others, and yet Vincent felt compelled to go to this one rather than one filled with bustling people. Why he did, he did not know. Shame at the choice he was making? Maybe. But his heart felt heavy as he stepped through the smaller tent, ducking his head so he wouldn't bump it on the entrance's low ceiling.

Standing up inside, he found himself surrounded by blades. Giant two handers, one handed swords, falchions, claymores, rapiers, every type of sword that existed was here. Hanging on the walls or sitting in giant barrels full of them, almost the entire tent was filled to the brim with them.

Vincent allowed a small smile to cross his face as he gazed around at the weapons, and a small shiver of excitement crossed his spine. Suddenly, he felt a lot better about what he was going to do. Crossing the ground carefully as to not hit any of the blades poking out or disturb them, he came up to the counter.
In the back of the tent was an older women, bending over a forge as she pounded a molten blade with her hammer, bending it, forging it into shape. Every few seconds she would wipe the sweat off of her forehead, then continue to pound the molten sword, the clangs ringing loudly through out the tent. Vincent watched her for a few moments, examining her body as a hawk might consider its next meal. He noticed the hard muscles lining her body, the callouses on the back of her hands, the way her outfit clung to her skin as she cocked her arm back before slamming it to the anvil once more.

He waited until she was just about to wipe the sweat from her brow once more before he cleared his throat loudly. The old woman stopped and looked over at Vincent, then waved her hand while speaking in a strong, commanding voice. "I'll be right there in a second, dear." And with that she stoked the fire of her furnace quickly before dipping the molten blade in one smooth motion into a vat of water behind her. The tent was filled with a loud hiss as steam rose from the water, and quickly she pulled the blade out once more to reveal a shining, leaf-edged sword with an engraving across the flat of the blade. "Hmm..." She murmured, before testing the edge of the blade with her finger. It pierce the skin and a small droplet of blood ran down its length. "...Good enough. I'll just have to go to Gorgax's for the enchantment." She spoke to herself before setting the newfound sword aside and turning to the counter.

"Now, how can I help you dear?" She asked of the swordsman, who towered over her. However, it was he who backed up a step at the intensity and flame in her eyes, and he had to swallow a gulp before he spoke.

"How much can I get for this?" He asked immediately, and laid his serrated blade, scabbard and all, upon the counter before him.

The sword is made out of below average-quality steel and yet still has a good edge to it. I'm selling the scabbard along with it; the scabbard itself has a few nicks here and there and is made out of the ivory bone of an elephant's tusk.

[AdventWings]

Alita looked down at the blade, scrutinizing its design and the accompanying sheath. The blade spoke of its creator's skills, but the unfamiliar design caused some concern for the seasoned smith. A specialized weapon would certainly mean a specialized use... And finding a buyer with such a specialized taste was going to be one big adventure.

But, no matter. She could always send it to that Akashiman blacksmith who had worked under her many years before.

"A fine blade, but I do fear for its durability. If you do not find my offer... Unfulfilling... I will buy this blade for two hundred and fifty gold pieces."

[Winterhair]

Vincent debated the price for a moment before nodding his head. He never had been good at bargaining, and it seemed a fair price to the swordsman. "It is a fine blade..." He murmured, watching it being taken away by the old woman and set aside next to a stack of papers. "...I hope it reaches good hands someday."

Without a weapon by his side, as he had left the blade that Death had given him in his room with Samantha, Vincent suddenly felt naked. He felt exposed, and his hands itched for the feel of a hilt again. Looking around the shop, he started browsing as the lady laid a sack of gold coins on the counter, watching him with professional interest.

There were dozens of blades here, enough that a swordsman could have field day trying each one out. However, Vincent did not have that sort of time; he was supposed to be preparing to leave Radasanth with Samantha and Skeith. And so he only spared a glance at the swords, looking until one caught his eye.

It was a claymore. Hanging on the wall next to a halberd of some sort, the blade itself was easily four feet long, the hilt being another good foot. A humongous blade, the crosspiece was of simple make, the blade itself designed for combat and not beauty. The steel of the weapon was a whitish gray color, its edge untarnished by the wear and tear of the inevitable clash of blades. The hilt was a simple black, with a steel barb decorating the end. The only strange thing about the blade, it seemed, was a single rune decorating the bottom of the blade, marking it with the mark of its creator or wielder. Now Vincent was no scholar, but he knew instantly what the rune said upon looking at it; it was common knowledge to all warriors like he. Cleave.

Lifting the blade off its holdings on the wall, Vincent nearly staggered with its weight. Damn, the thing was heavy! Holding it in both hands, the point shooting up to the ceiling, he examined the blade's length and edge once more while the old woman watched him with a cocked eyebrow. He definitely wouldn't be able to wield it in one hand, that was for sure, but he could in two...something he hated to do.

And yet, there was something about this blade that attracted him. Was it the simplicity of it? Or the rune on its length? Eh, who knew. Laying the weapon out on the counter before him with a heavy thunk, he looked the woman straight in the eyes. "I got two questions for ya on this weapon: One, how much is it? And two..." He looked down at the blade with his strange eyes. "...Does it have a name?"

EDITED: Claymore is made of delyn; its heavy weight comes from its size and the density of the metal. Sorry for the change.

[AdventWings]

The blacksmith eyed her customer with half-sleepy eyes, even as she resumed pounding the white-hot metal bar at the forge. She could tell he was inexperienced... But it would not be long until he would become more streetsmart about the world.

"That's a Delyn Claymore, child." She calmly stated as a hammerblow flattened the edges of the burning blade. "Eight hundred and fifty pieces is my price."

The forge roared with intensity as Alita pressed her foot down on the bellows. Her eyes remained fixed on shaping the metal into a fine weapon of balance and speed, but even the words of her customer did not escape her attention.

"...It has no name yet. Its owner, and him alone, gives the weapon a name. Remember that, child."

[Winterhair]

Eight hundred and fifty. Vincent grimaced inwardly at the price, as it would basically run him broke, but one glance at the shine on the claymore's unmarked blade convinced him. Besides, he was a man who ran on instinct; if he thought too much on it, what kinda man would he be? "I'll take it." He reached into his traveling sack and brought out a sack of gold coins, huge and filled to the brim. "This has six 'undred, plus the two 'undred and fifty I got from sellin' the other blade makes eight 'undred and fifty." Without waiting for an answer he set the gold coins down and picked up his newfound sword, the heavy weighted weapon pointing up to the sky regally.

"No name, eh?" He murmured as he watched the blade, his silver eyes shining strangely against the shine of the weapon. "...well, I think its better off that way. A sword is just a sword, right?" He asked the blacksmith rhetorically, before shouldering the heavy weapon with a small grunt of effort. "In any case, thanks." He said over his shoulder as he walked out of the small tent, brushing the opening aside with a sweep of his arm as he stepped back into the morning light.

[AdventWings]

"Hmph. A sword is just a sword indeed..."

Alita shook her greying head as she watched the swordsman walk into the bustling Bazaar. Quenching the curved black blade into the trough, she slowly gathered the payment and set them in a safe place. It would be a shame to lose her hard-earned money, but there were more important things than riches.

"...But a sword will remain nothing but a sword... Until you give meaning to its existence. Then, shall your sword deserve a name."

((Transaction Complete!

Winterhair loses 600 GP and receives a Delyn Claymore imbued with a rune. The rune itself is unenchanted; You will need to get it enchanted separately.

Winterhair receives 100 EXP for good IC interactions.

Thank you for your purchase! Please come by again!))