View Full Version : My Sword Hand Is Singing
A cloaked man enters the small backstreet boutique whistling to himself a tune unheard in an artless age. He turns and pulls back the cloak revealing a chirpy and dapper young man's visage, one who seems rather intent and immaculately prepared for the haggle-thon to come.
It was a small and poky purveyor of simple wares. Basic travel equipment, arms and the like - truth be told Duffy wasn't sure what it was they sold, but he'd been here countless times before for this that and the other, and he was sure they wouldn't let him down.
"Hello? Helllo?" He peered about the place for the tender, and waited.
The simple man with simple wares and simple tastes rocked in his wooden rocking chair. Creak, creak, creak, went the rocking chair as the simple, old man smoked his simple, old tobacco pipe. His eyes gazed upon the simple wooden floor, and the simple wooden counter. Truly, he loved his shop because of it's beautiful simplicity.
It was then that the cloaked one entered the shop, whistling and disturbing the old man's peaceful mindlessness. The crackle of the fireplace became dull and disorienting amongst the merry, chipper tune of the younger cloaked man who conveniently pulled his hood back to reveal his youthful features. The old man sighed silently and bemoaned the overexuberance of youth.
"I'm here -- I'm here young man," the old shopkeeper bellowed in retort. Though he rarely bellowed to customers, this one seemed far to cheery and bushy-tailed to be bringing any sort of joyous transaction to the shopkeeper. He looked at the younger man once more, "You can call me Jacob. What may I do for you, son?" Most considered Jacob to be a fatherly figure, though most who knew him were barely ten years his junior. This little whippersnapper was closer to thirty years or more his junior.
Watching the shopkeeper brought bemusement to Duffy's addled little mind. The boisterous shuffling and realisation that the shopkeeper was not in fact the same person that had served him last time stumped him somewhat, dislodging the carefully prepared list of demands from his memory and replacing it with a stutter and a clamour.
This must be the younger lad's father, probably the brain's of the business...stubborn as old boots and hard as the nails that cobble 'em no doubt... He clears his throat politely and slides up to the counter to rest his fists gently and coyly, clenched and close together, like a child peering up over the man's shoulder in a sweetshop.
"Evenin' there Jacob sir, I was wandering if you 'ad some sort of sword, short sword that is, of a light but not particularily expensive material - with no 'ilt and a small pommel - curved slightly like a sabre if possible. With that I'd pester ya for some travel rations, a water bottle, a bottle of your finest wine and a small, tightly bound and waterproof lockable book to write m'travel memoirs in - ermm," he turned his words into silent concentration as he tried to ascertain wherever or not that was everything he needed for his trip to Radasanth.
"Oh! And, if it's not too much trouble Sir, a whetstone, sheath to keep the sword on my back under a cloak, and some bottles of ink - the sword is the key though, not that I'd know how to use it jus' now - call it an investment for the future hobby, which 'course brings me t'ask how much we'd be talking - I'm not as flash as the Dock Lands Merchants, but I've got some gold stocked away -" he flashed a smile, one that said 'haggle me this,' but also 'thanks.'
He had a long journey ahead of him, and he needed to make sure he was prepared.
The old man scratched his chin with the slowest of movements. His eyes quizzically looked at the young man before him. "Well, son, I gots to ask ya why on this dagdurn Althanas you'd want a blade with no hilt. See, 'round here, swordsmen try to not cut themselves during battle or war, so why would ya be wantin' this here particular blade," Jacob's slow drawl began to show just a bit.
The rocking chair continued to creak as the old man rubbed his chin a bit longer, and shrugged, "I can't think of any reason unless you're one of them dadblamed masso-whatch-a-ma-call'ems. Ya know, them boys that go 'round hurtin' themselves to 'tap inta some power beyond' or something like that. So what'cha want such a contrapulation fer?"
In all god's honesty, Duffy didn't know a good enough answer as to why he requested a sword with that particular description. It seemed a natural build for someone who relied on rampant swinging and dance fuelled acrobatics, to keen an edge and to thrust aside attacks with a reverse hand and to push blades away from his hand with the curve of a sabre, or the weight of a kriss. Ugh...solidarity amongst fighters is one thing, but how to put across what you want when you don't know what that is? He mused to himself for a moment, before taping the counter with a rattatat flourish.
"It's part of the play I'm acting in, the character is from the far North, apparently they use hitless blades there, cat-hannah's I think - but I wanted something a little more familiar to Scara Brae's audience...y'know, localisations and wotnot." Ugh, you buffon, think!
"Somethin' lightweight wit't a curve is all I really need, hilt o' not, and what about the other gobbets I requested, do you have them to hand? I want to set off for Radasanth as soon as the sun rises tomorrow; you'd be doing me a t'mendous favour sir!" Somewhat pre-occupied with making an impression and trying to sound like he was a customer that knew what he was buying, when and how, the troupe master's accent briefly meandered between street slang and upright, good honest merchant tradespeak, it must've sounded a bit peculiar - but what didn't in this city?
Natural or not, a blade with no real handle was essentially a useless one. Jacob set his hands upon his slightly rotund protuberance from his midsection as he looked the young one straight in the eyes, "Perhaps ya might be thinking of a kah-tawn-ah?" His expression changed as he thought about his inventory. He only had a couple of those type blades in stock, but then he remembered a peculiar one he'd received in a shipment from a blacksmith friend of his that was neither katana nor sabre, but more an intriguing mix of both. He'd debated for a long time sending the sword back and asking for a replacement for his inventory. He just never did.
"Well, I'm guessin' that you ain't got much experience when them there blades, but even them katanas has them a hilt. They just tend to calls it a handle instead of a hilt, but t'aint much difference in'em. I think I might just have wha'cher lookin'fer in the back," the slow drawl seemed to get worse and worse with each passing sentence. He rose from his chair, quite slowly, and proceeded to the back storeroom of the trader's shop.
Moments passed into what had to seem like an eternity for the fast-talking, quick-moving young man, but eventually the older man returned from the back holding a very peculiar blade. He stretched it out before the younger man and moved the young man's hand onto the handle of the blade. "See, this here blade is right 'bout whacher' lookin' fer. 's'gots that curve ya wanted and the handle's kinda light n' balanced like. Fer this particular piece of work, I'd part with for 'round 'bouts a hundred n' fifty gold," his final words came slow and to the point.
Jacob concluded shortly after the intentional pause, "As fer the rest of your desires, I've got them all, but by the ends of it, yer surely lookin' right 'round two hundred gold. That's already with a special multiplicity itemizational discount, of course. Only fer my best clientellers."
That was actually quite the discount considering the expense of the whetstone was usually significantly more, but Jacob seemed to take a shining to this particular young man. Perhaps there was something to that...
Duffy thought to himself for a moment with fervently growing resentment for himself. Of course he didn't mean hilt, what an idiot he was! He meant the cross-guard, which would be otherwise useless to him, and would break whatever misjudged dream had lead him to this purchase to begin with. The silence that filled the gap between Jacob leaving to whatever room lay beyond the first and him returning laden with the various artefacts he'd requested was monotonous and excruciatingly long, or at least it appeared so.
The elderly but capable man held out the ‘kar-tarnha’ for Duffy, and he took it with nervous fingers and felt the weight with the blade pointing outwards and to his left, cutting across his midriff. “This is certn’ly what I was looking’ n’ opin’ for sir, a fine blade indeed, light,” he drops it so the point is straight down, “and I’m sure I’ll be getting’ the ‘ang of it soon enough - I wager that if I don’t, I’ll be on some foreign store shelf sold as a scalp, or wherever me adventures be takin’ me,” he slid back into street slang and felt at home with the weight in his hand. When the shopkeeper mentioned the cost he was a little reserved in the speed of his reply, but didn’t really have the time or the freedom to say no, or to haggle, although he longed to do so. It seemed reasonable, and it was of a better quality and craftsmanship than he imagined it would be.
“Two hundred sounds a fair price for such a quality inventory Jacob,” and that would be one step closer to answering Lucian’s Call… A deed no other troupe master of the Tantalum, indeed, of any troupe in Scara Brae had ever dared brave. “Is everything good to go as we say ‘on the double?’” He fishes out a small leather purse and arranges a small quantity of silver coins onto the counter, which should about total 8 gold pieces, and then drops a larger purse next to it to bring out the full sum - everything he owned currently, more or less - the rest of the gold belonged to the troupe, and was something he daren’t touch for such a selfish endeavour.
“Everything coloured green or deep crimson, if possible - I’m not altogether too fond of Magenta or Blue,” he smiles warmly, and awaits his small pile of essentials to appear. The old man made him feel warm and fuzzy and beyond contempt - you could learn a few things from the shopkeepers of the city - and not just how to spend your gold quicker.
The old man examined the pieces before him and nodded and he counted out slowly, "One...two...three --" He continued on for quite a while before he finally concluded with, "two hundred." With a smile, he shook his head, "To dye the blade wouldn' be possible, n' I wouldn' recommend bringin' any attention to yerself with such a fine blade the likes of which it is. The bottles a' wine n' water be green already, n' the whetstone is, too. I'll tell ya what, I'll throw in a darker n' blood red piece a' linen to wrap them travel rations in."
Jacob quickly wrapped the travel rations as he continued, "And as fer the book, it's leather, and is the color it is. Ya can bring it by later and gets it dyed though. My sons should be back from their expediatories to Fallien's to gets me some new supplies, and Kale would be the dye-man o' the bunch." He eyed the young man closely.
A remarkably close fit for Joseph. Looks jus' like 'im, the old man thought to himself.
((OOC: If that concludes everything I'll get the gold transferred from your account and you can start using the equipment right away.))
Duffy flipped open the book with a great deal of satisfaction and intrigue, he took a deep sense of it’s smell, and was reminded of a murky library or ancient plays written on luxurious parchment - it was the Writer’s smell, his cloak, his dagger, his environ. In addition to the whetstones and the various bottles he also looked at the blanket and ration wrap, all in an almost perfect shade of deep red - it was his colour, his sigil, the same trademark tones that every troupe master emblazoned himself with regardless of his role on the stage, be it a knight, a princess (as with the dubious performance of He’s A Lady last year) or a vagabond.
He looked at the shopkeeper and smiled, “dyeing the remainder is something’ I’ll definitely keep n’ mind guvnor, I’ll take these now and be on my journey, I’ll be back in two to three turnings of the week no doubt, with plenty more gold to satisfy’ya hunger -” he picked up the kartahna’s sheathe and tucked it behind his cloak, using one of the Tinder Gear’s straps to keep it in place. The remainder of the goods he bundled into the cloth, and tucked the bottle of wine into his trousers. “It’s been a pleasure doin’ business, once again, your family has kept me goin’ these past few occasions, I ‘ope to be keeping’ you the same for a great deal yonder!” He nods, bows, winks and smiles, and then departs the shop with his hood up, his whistling more vibrant than ever, and now in a state of financial destitution…nothing new there then!
That's about me wrapped up Logan, it's been a pleasure - who do I ask to re-open this thread, I'd like to keep it as a continuous one for when he comes back to get the sword enchanted if I manage to IC his next ability (I has plans!) Just to keep a better and concise record, and to hastle you for more quality role play in the future :D
((I'll still have to have them close the thread. We like to keep things cleaned up, hence no open threads. But, feel to create a new thread when the time is right and specifically request Jacob.
Also that sword's made of steel. Just to clarify.))
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