Not To Shabby

[Yeor]

A slight wind picked up as Limrén advanced further into the trade district, looking for nothing in particular he glanced from store to store seeing if anything caught his eye. As the wind picked up he quickly found refuge in the first store in sight. Walking through the door he saw many different hats and tunics that might suit him well, but not many things in his price range. He would need something affordable, Limrén so desperately was in need of work and money, it wasn’t helping that he spent most of his nights drinking away what money he did have.

Getting closer to the counter he did see something he might like to wear atop his head of thick strawberry blonde hair, a dull brown helmet. He wasn’t sure what material it was made of, hell he didn’t much care either probabily hide of leather. As dull as it was Limrén thought it might fit him well, matching with the rest of his dulled down leather rag tag clothing.

Now if only that damn shop keeper would hurry up. He thought impatiently leaning over the counter his face with several expressions on it, none of them resembling even the slightest grin.

"Hello anyone back there?!" Limrén was in a rush for some reason although in reality he had nothing to do but spend his night in the bar, drinking and listening to drunken fools tell their stories of great heroics.

[Slayer of the Rot]

Cyril rushed out of the back, his hair hanging in sopping wet strings down his back and all around his face. A towel was clasped around his waist, but aside from that, he didn't appear to be wearing anything else. The merchant panted, smelling strongly of soap. Behind him, his little burlap sack familiar came waddling out, spitting out a bar of soap. It would be an incredibly good guess to suggest the merchant had been using him as a makeshift washcloth.

"Hey, yeah, I was taking a shower. What do ya need, pal? We got everything, and I mean everything."

[Yeor]

The wind outside was picking up so quickly that it slammed the wooden shop door that Limrén left wide open. From the back of the store a long haired man shuffled into the main showroom. Limrén turned quickly enough to exchange a dumbfounded look with the strange shopkeeper. The mans hair damp in some places and drippings in others, he was obviously in the middle of a bath. Either way Limrén could care less he had already spent to much time in this shop and needed to get a move on to the tavern, before the wind picked up much more.

"I need that dull brown helmet..." Limrén muttered almost under his breath, pointing towards the old hide cap building dust in the corner of the shopkeeper highest shelf. "...How much will that cost?"

[Slayer of the Rot]

"Uh..." The merchant blinked and looked over to the helm. He didn't recognize it, but his familiar was constantly spitting new things up, and Cyril was almost having trouble selling everything to keep his shops from looking cluttered. He padded over to the helm, doubled the tie holding his towel around his waist and picked it up. He turned it over a few times in his hands, staring at it, quietly, then dropped it on his own head. Expressionless, he stared straight at the customer as he poked and prodded, testing for cracks and breaches. Finally, he removed it, checked to see if it was wet (it was still dry as a bone), and held it out to the man.

"This thing? Fifty crowns. I'd suggest something metal, or arctic hide at least, though."

[Yeor]

Limrén wasn't sure what he should get, his budget was so low and sitting here bartering with this merchant wasn't helping him find work. He reached into a small leather pouch and clanked together several coins.

Ah what the hell might as well get the artic hide if it's in the budget. Limrén wasn't a tight pocket and needed something to rest on top of his tangled strawberry blonde hair.

"What is the cheapest hide helmet you have, pal? I don't have much to spend." Limrén glanced at the neatly assorted shelves behind the merchant trying to find something he could afford. He glanced up and down looking for something that might be a little stronger that was affordable. As he looked around he noticed the strangest familar spitting things onto the floor. He knew he had caught the merchant at the wrong time.

"What's wrong with that helmet if you don't mind me asking?" Limrén now not even looking at the merchant, but more at his odd familar.

[Slayer of the Rot]

"Um, nothing at all," Cyril mumbled, looking at the helm again. "It's just that arctic hide is a little tougher. And while it's heavier, steel or iron is a lot harder to cut through than hides. I used to have a sea serpent scale battlesuit, myself." The merchant sighed to himself as though reminiscing over some fond memory of war.

"Well, the cheapest we have is this, in leather for fifty. A steel one will cost seventy five or eighty five, depending on if you want light or heavy. Arctic hide will be ninety. It'll keep your head warm, too, if you venture off into Salvar."

[Yeor]

Limrén took a second or two to think about his choices, artic hide or leather. He couldn't think clearly with the merchants familiar still coughing things up onto the floor.

"I will pay the ninety crowns for the artic hide my good sir." He said finally being able to pull his eyes from the burlap sack. He reached into his coin pouch and removed ninety coins. "Hopefully we can do business again."

[Slayer of the Rot]

"Sounds good to me. Make sure you got money, though!" Cyril chuckled, and glanced around the helms quickly gathering at his feet from Bagley's mouth. After a moment, he nudged his foot under one and kicked it up into his hand.

"Always a pleasure to do business, yeah?" The merchant handed the helm over, collected his payment, and began to quickly collect the helmets.

[Yeor gains the following:
-Arctic hide helm
-50 exp

And loses the following:
-90 gp]

[Witchblade]

All Done!