2113

[Slayer of the Rot]

A cumulonimbus of thin white smoke gathered around the tall man's person as he cut his way through the morning's bazaar crowd, one arm hanging at his side, the other up at his mouth, where a smoldering cigarette sat perched on his lips. Perhaps it was the man's body language, or simple imposing figure, but the men and women and children scrambled out of his way. The way his jacket hung carelessly at his elbows, his posture, the light hair hanging down to his shoulderblades; they spoke of a refined thug that would be very sore to get one's blood on his expensive Raiaeran loafers.

Courtesy did not seem to be something he was mindful of, either, as when he turned into a weapons shop, perhaps at random, he kept smoking, the cigarette leaving behind it's twisting ribbon to fade away before reaching the shop's cieling.

He stood in the middle of the store for a moment, his harsh gray eyes looking around at what was offered. Axes, spears, swords, bows, hammers. All well built; his experienced eyes could tell, fairly well, for having no experience in blacksmithing or mercantilism. The late morning sun shone on blades of different color and material, but he didn't seem to be rather interested in them at all.

"I'm looking for something to crush and pierce. Or stab. Something heavy, something that speaks business. I don't want to waste my time with it. Maybe a lance? Yeah....maybe." He turned on his hips to the door and flicked the cigarette butt with one finger, and it shot like a little biege bullet into the crowd. He lit another as he looked up to the ceiling in contemplation.

"What do you say? You got something like that?"

((Note: Whatever mod takes this, AIM/MSN me if I don't get to you first. I have something specific in mind, but I'd rather explain it in person.))

[AdventWings]

As one of the more frequented smithy on the main Bazaar road, Jirou thought the Akashiman had seen every kind of customer there was.

Apparently, he might be wrong.

As the blacksmith moved to the front of the shop, his skin still coated in a fine layer of ash and glued with sweat, he could not help but feel a bit annoyed by the rudeness of this certain customer. Then again, he had his fair share of these shady types from time to time. The majority coming in closer to dusk than in the middle of the day.

"Well, sir. I believe I have something of that caliber." The blacksmith cleared his throat as he eyed the large man, wondering to himself if he should be wary of hostility. But as a measure of precaution, he realized this man meant more business than just the usual customer.

"But I am curious about your request... sir. How heavy do you want that lance to be?" Jirou called in one of his helpers to the front, a strong-build young man with clean-shaven face and a rather squarish face. Roaming the shop to make sure most of his customers did not flee from this odd buyer, the blacksmith decided it was better they continue business somewhere... safer.

"If you would allow me, please follow me into the Forge. I have a few that you might be interested in."

[Slayer of the Rot]

The man released another slender stream of smoke from his lips as the blacksmith entered, apparently having heard every one of his words. Taking another pull from his cigarette, he settled his hand against his chest as he briefly considered the question. Then, he laughed shortly, and shook his head.

"Ah, friend, on a good day I could probably lift this shop over my head." To prove his point, he snatched up a hefty, square headed warhammer, it's head three times the size of his, and swung it around a few times like it was nothing but hollowed pasted paper instead of the hardy iron it was.

"So I want it heavy, I guess," he said through his self satisfied grin, and began to follow the man after he replaced the hammer.

"I want something I can deal some real damage with. I don't want to play around. A heavy spear, some kind of enormous cudgel, a bladed lance; I don't know. Show me what you got and then I'll let the gold do the talking." The man fell silent as he brought his cigarette up to his lips, the two of them passing into the forge. He let out a brief sound of repulsion as the hot air slapped him in the face, drew the sweat from his skin, matted his long hair and made it hang as heavy as iron chains. It almost appeared to be that he wilted under the stifling atmosphere, slouching a bit.

"Ugh...I have to say I admire you for the fact that you've chosen to make your money in a place like this. Makes me feel like someone's sitting on my chest...damn."

[AdventWings]

Jirou couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle when the customer showed off his considerable strength, lifting one of the blacksmith's "medium-weight" warhammers and twirling it around like a baton. It definitely carried the message that this man needed something very heavy, which was a very helpful hint as to how heavy the weapon had to be.

"Harsher the life, stronger the man." The Akashiman blacksmith casually mused as he saw how the large man was holding up. "That's the life of a Southern Akashiman."

Walking through the searing heat with little visible perspiration, Jirou scanned the workshop momentarily before heading towards a row of pole-arms lying on the floor.

However, they only looked like your average garden-variety pole-arms. Picking a rather wide-bladed lance up, the blacksmith heft it over his shoulder and walked back to the forge's entryway where the customer was waiting.

"I think this should do you nicely, sir." Jirou let the heavy lance down, the impact of its butt end sending a small shockwave rippling from the small depression on the stone floor. It was hand-forged entirely from tempered Steel - the six feet long pole alone was a good two inch thick and weighed as much as a full grown man. The lance head had a distinctively wide drill-like shape made of folded Steel using the traditional Akashiman forging techniques, giving it extra durability and weight.

"I've added a blend of Steel-Dehlar alloy to the collar of the lance," Jirou grinned as he tapped a thick ring at the joint between the blade and the pole. "So its weight is just a bit heavier than normal. Seeing that this is a one-of-a-kind weapon, I'll need to ask a bit of a high price from you."

The blacksmith was not a very shrewd man, but he did not care that much about money. He did care about how much work went into the design, especially the rotating mechanism inside the Dehlar-Steel box. Then again, it was no longer working the right way. After thinking for a few seconds, he held out five fingers.

"Five hundred Coronian Crowns - equal to about the same amount in value to five hundred gold coins at the moment, my guess. So, deal or no deal?"

[Slayer of the Rot]

Though long since departed from the fire and the hammer, the enormous polearm still held the warmth of the forge in it as the man took it in his hand, careful to inspect the weapon for his needs. With the steel-dehlar alloy the blacksmith had mentioned, and the feeling of it's girth in his hand, he was sure he could count the number of people who could effectively wield the thing on only one hand. The wreath of smoke thickening again around his head, he touched the conical blade of the lance - spear, he sound to prefer to call it, running his fingers over the spiraling effect running down it's head.

It reminded him of a drill.

A pleased smile came over his face as he moved a little closer to the weapon, looking up into the collar Jirou had pointed out, arching an eyebrow as his finger came away black with a mix of oil and grease. Touching his fingers against the cone again, he sought to understand it's design with his terramancy. Within he could feel gears and a simple, efficeint, but broken design. The head of the massive polearm had been designed, at a time, to rotate in order to increase it's damage potential, but the driving mechanism had most likely shattered under the intense pressure, probably on the first test. Sighing with dissapointment, he shrugged his shoulders and summoned the crowns to his hand. It fit his purposes, well enough. It could crush. It could pierce. That's what he had told Jirou he'd wanted, and busted mechanism or not, it was still a fine weapon.

"Deal. You wouldn't believe how hard you have to hit some of these god damn people to kill them, just because they're using magic." The huge spear vanished as he tossed the blacksmith the crowns, a big grin spread across his face. The prospect of using was sending fire through his blood.

Pausing for a moment before he stepped out into the crowd, his grin growing all the bigger, he leaned back, hair falling across his face, he said, "And hey, I'll leth them know who made the weapon. And I'll let you know that Dan Lagh'ratham appreciates your fine work." Laughing in a manner that belied his murderous ways, the Red Beast melted into the crowds.

((Ugh, hung over, sorry if this sucks))

[AdventWings]

((Lime and salt, Dan. Chew, spit, rinse with water straight up. ;)))

Jirou looked up at the departing customer as he placed the five hundred Crowns into the deposit box as he heard the man leaving. With a surprised look on his face, if also a tiny bit alarmed, the Akashiman blacksmith muttered to himself in disbelief.

"Did he just say... Dan Lagh'ratham?"

His eyes sought the Red Beast within the crowd, only to find the bustling sea of shoppers and merchants going about their daily business.

The raid on the Bazaar a few weeks ago was still fresh on his mind. And even though Jirou did not know what the leader of the raiders looked like, he distinctively remembered the name.

"...Oh, shit."

((Oh, shit indeed. :D

Transaction Complete!

Slayer of the Rot loses 500 GP and receives the following:

- "Oni Yari" : a heavy Steel-Dehlar alloy lance with a broken "gearbox" at the collar of the lance head. Weighs as much as a grown man, but nothing Dan could not handle with one hand.

- 75 EXP for good IC interactions.))