Duffy
06-11-11, 06:04 AM
You needed to really want to spend your money to get good value in Scara Brae. Whilst it's markets were superfluous, open and free, many took to the black under tones of the streets to get profit from their ventures, leaving the talentless merchants and sub par goods in the open and offered freely without question.
Duffy really, really wanted to spend his, which meant he required a certain sort of tact and knowledge set to find what it was he wanted.
There were many shops along the narrow streets, but only a few were shops within shops, whitewasher laundry shops concealing weapon stores, potion shops acting as fronts for the importation of Liviol wood and dragon's breath, that sort of thing.
"Good afternoon Horace," he said with a chirp as he entered one such establishment.
On the outside, Horace's Hair Saloon was a typical, dreary and wood-chip covered affair. The wooden floors weren't quite swept properly, it's seats, often unoccupied in the time of economic instability caused by the civil was in Corone, were covered in specks of long dried blood.
"Hello Mr Brandybuck, I trust you are well?" The moustached man paused mid slice with his razor blades across the mutton chops of a noble, who did not best seem pleased to have his trim delayed. When Duffy nodded, Horace gestured to the door at the rear of the saloon, and went about his work.
On the inside, the true inside, there was a second counter, manned by a large gruff looking man with arms that could toss naval yards free of their ships, and a scar on his face that ran from eye socket to cheek and halfway down his neck.
"Jackson", Duffy nodded, his compulsive need to look away abated by the fact that Jackson was the best tinkerer and smith on the island.
"Duffy!" He said cheerily, with as much smooth talk in his voice as a steaming kettle rattling away on a rusty hob. "Did you bring the items you wanted adapting?"
Duffy set his satchel onto the mahogany counter, which had clearly just been polished with linseed oil and beeswax to touch up the many axe marks and beer stains that had once covered it. The bard chuckled mentally, having just discovered the location of The Harbour Inn's recently stolen bar.
"I would like you to increase it's potency as much as possible, take it from," he waved his hands ad hominum, "cantrip flame," he bit his lip, "to outright flame-thrower."
Jackson investigated the contents of the sack and pulled out one of the flint covered gloves with a curious expression. He looked at Duffy, who smiled back nervously.
"Tinder Gear I calls it, but I want Dragon Hands, not child's toys now!"
If nobody attends to this in a few days, I'll happily write it myself and you can deduct a suitable amount of gold for the requirements. Essentially, I'd like to upgrade the utility of the Tinder Gear;
Damage output.
Cost efficiency.
Size and bulk, so it's easier to wear/carry.
Duffy really, really wanted to spend his, which meant he required a certain sort of tact and knowledge set to find what it was he wanted.
There were many shops along the narrow streets, but only a few were shops within shops, whitewasher laundry shops concealing weapon stores, potion shops acting as fronts for the importation of Liviol wood and dragon's breath, that sort of thing.
"Good afternoon Horace," he said with a chirp as he entered one such establishment.
On the outside, Horace's Hair Saloon was a typical, dreary and wood-chip covered affair. The wooden floors weren't quite swept properly, it's seats, often unoccupied in the time of economic instability caused by the civil was in Corone, were covered in specks of long dried blood.
"Hello Mr Brandybuck, I trust you are well?" The moustached man paused mid slice with his razor blades across the mutton chops of a noble, who did not best seem pleased to have his trim delayed. When Duffy nodded, Horace gestured to the door at the rear of the saloon, and went about his work.
On the inside, the true inside, there was a second counter, manned by a large gruff looking man with arms that could toss naval yards free of their ships, and a scar on his face that ran from eye socket to cheek and halfway down his neck.
"Jackson", Duffy nodded, his compulsive need to look away abated by the fact that Jackson was the best tinkerer and smith on the island.
"Duffy!" He said cheerily, with as much smooth talk in his voice as a steaming kettle rattling away on a rusty hob. "Did you bring the items you wanted adapting?"
Duffy set his satchel onto the mahogany counter, which had clearly just been polished with linseed oil and beeswax to touch up the many axe marks and beer stains that had once covered it. The bard chuckled mentally, having just discovered the location of The Harbour Inn's recently stolen bar.
"I would like you to increase it's potency as much as possible, take it from," he waved his hands ad hominum, "cantrip flame," he bit his lip, "to outright flame-thrower."
Jackson investigated the contents of the sack and pulled out one of the flint covered gloves with a curious expression. He looked at Duffy, who smiled back nervously.
"Tinder Gear I calls it, but I want Dragon Hands, not child's toys now!"
If nobody attends to this in a few days, I'll happily write it myself and you can deduct a suitable amount of gold for the requirements. Essentially, I'd like to upgrade the utility of the Tinder Gear;
Damage output.
Cost efficiency.
Size and bulk, so it's easier to wear/carry.