War Ensemble

[Slayer of the Rot]

Scowling, Dan Lagh'ratham marched once more into the Bazaar. It hadn't been all that awfully long since that night drinking with Godhand had birthed the new clan. And the memory of the declaration of the impending assault on Imperial was more than fresh in his mind. It hovered in his thoughts like a funeral pyre. Shoving his hands into his pockets grumpily, he veered off through the crowd, shouldering his way through easily, and stepped into the first armory he noticed.

The Saraelian poked through the racks, still frowning. Nothing honestly caught his eye, and he wasn't even certain why he was here, having just purchased a new sword a short time ago. Nevertheless, he had came on simple intuition. His gut told him he could use a new weapon for the slaughter.

With a grunt, he crouched, and came back up with two identical sword; long, flat, and sharp, they reminded him absurdly of the Rotslayer in miniature. He fiddled with them briefly, and almost tossed them down, before a thought crossed his mind.

Flipping the blades out to either side, Dan joined the sword at the pommel and twisted; and found himself with a double bladed sword. Impressed with his find, he ignored the remaining racks and approached the counter.

"How much? This looks like plynt."

[Zook Murnig]

It had been a relatively slow day in the shop. Thomasson, the old and experienced merchant that he was, had several stores to tend, and he had thought about putting up for the day and seeing about the outfitter down the road. After all, that tomfool of a boy he'd hired to look after the place had no idea how to make a sale, and he'd probably lost a purse full of gold that day alone on lost transactions.

Then, the large man came in and settled upon a pair of his more interesting blades. Old Tom wiggled his grey eyebrows and smoothed out what little bit of hair he had left as he approached this potential patron of poniards. "Those two? Indeed, they are of plynt. You have quite an eye for metals, good sir," his voice was gravelly, but with a bit of a squeak to it, like a set of gears that needed oiling. "Yes, yes. I believe I could part with those two for, say, four hundred or so gold pieces?"

[Slayer of the Rot]

"The eye comes from years of war. Personal and otherwise," the Saraelian said in a tone that suggested he wasn't interested in small talk. The money began to spill from his palm and onto the counter, and he watched it with disinterest.

"You have to learn what cuts best...what breaks the harshest," he finished with a sigh, and counted the coins one final time to make sure the sum was correct. Dan laid his hand on the weapons and they vanished under his touch, now that they were rightfully his.

"Thanks, old man," he muttered curtly before leaving the shop.

[Zook Murnig]

The old man's grin widened, stretching nearly from ear to ear as the gold glittered before him. He paid no mind to the curt reply he had received, only the gold. "Thank you for your business, sir. May your new weapons serve you well!"

Subtract 400 gold.

[Witchblade]

GP deducted!