De-clawing A Tiger

[Arden]

Arden walked into the small armoury by the river, hand clutching a pouch of gold, heart racing. He had crossed the city of Radasanth in search of this particular establishment. The smiths of the Citadel, fresh from repairing his battered hauberk, had told him exactly where he needed to go.

“Hello is anyone there?” he enquired as he pushed the glass door to. A bell bounced on a spring overhead. The afternoon sun streamed through the portal’s warped panes, casting a glow on the well-worn slate slabs underfoot.

The long counter on opposite was the shop’s only prominent feature. The room was a twenty by twenty foot chamber, lined with weapons of various descriptions. Arden scanned the produce quickly, named several of the more obvious styles, and fell short when he saw a peculiar curved blade with three notches in it. He raised an eyebrow.

“If anyone smith can help me, he will be here…” he muttered.

He crossed the floor, rested a gauntleted hand on the mahogany wood, worn yet cared for, and called again.

“Is the proprietor in?”

With deep red glow in his cornea, the swordsman, newly returned from a war in Akashima, waited for his rebirth to begin. A swordsman of his nomenclature required a change of appearance, and mind, and in Arden’s case body before he could begin life afresh.


Given the nature of the pending sales, re-moulding, and new purchases I'd like to role-play this a little more than a standard transaction.

[Logan]

Hearoh Mettlewerk was one of the few remaining smiths who continued to find business trickling in, even against all odds. Althanas' economy had become one of stagnation, and even the Bazaar shops had begun to feel the pinch. In spite of, or perhaps because, the other shops saw less business, Hearoh found his own business thriving.

The earlier years of The River's Crossing Smithery had been rough, with only but a few select clients paying regular visits. As time passed, the Mettlewerk name became synonymous with craftsmanship and quality. Some even attributed the Mettlewerk clan with the need for economic reform propositioned by some of the transcontinental political figureheads.

If Hearoh was being honest, none of that mattered. The only things he desired were the jingle of the gold pieces in his pockets, and the sound of hammer meeting metal. He actually disliked the heat of the forge, but it was a means to an end.

A few days prior to Arden's arrival, a deeply-connected friend of the Mettlewerk clan had stopped by offering an opportunity to Hearoh of which he simply could not refuse.

"Hearoh, I knew your brothers. A couple of them I even called friend. I understand your reservations, but really, in light of everything else I don't think you have a choice in this matter."

Hearoh thought to himself for many long moments. The anticipation of the other man seemed to heighten with each pang of the hammer against the metal.

"So yer sayin' all's I hafta do is setup this 'ere trap fer ya, and yer goin' ta do all tha rest?"

The man nodded solemnly, his hands coming to rest on the hilts of his short swords.

"Yes. Word travels quick through the Brotherhood, and he will be by in three days time to request some services, and perhaps to purchase a ready-made weapon. All you have to do is talk him into a weapon you will have made prior with inperceivable imperfections which will cause the weapon when struck repeatedly by a weapon of a stronger material, to shatter."

The dwarf moved the metal strip back to the furnace for a few moments.

"I reckon I 'ave no real choice in tha matter, now does I? Barnabus be damned. I'm in."

The man smiled and patted the dwarf on his shoulder.

"It is the right choice, Hearoh."

The dwarf shook his head as the two parted ways. As the days between passed, Hearoh thought of his fallen brothers. Barnabus and Farrow were adventurous, and very much not smiths. At least, not to an expert smith like him. They could still use a hammer and anvil, and their work was still prized among the untrained. Their time, however, was spent mostly working for their gold by finding treasure. The most recent excursion ended the moment they had set foot back in Radasanth.

"Tha Scourge will learn ya don't mess with tha Mettlewerks. I'll show those lily-livin' cowards whose tha boss 'round 'ere."

Hearoh worked the final day in silence, his work on the special blade the only sounds permeating the air. As the time drew near, he measured the blade by naked eye.

"If'n I didn't know better, I'd hafta say this blade be's perfect."

Just then the door's special bell sounded. The dwarf set the blade down and put on his best smile as he slipped from the backroom.

"Welcome, welcome. How may I service ya, fella?"

[Arden]

Arden had to raise an eyebrow with a wry smile when the proprietor, or his assistant, stepped through into the shop.

“You can service me, good sir, with a suit of armour and perhaps some enchantment work,” he said it in a matter-of-fact manner. Though no mystical relics were on display, Arden had it on good authority that this was the place to acquire items of a peculiar, magical, and curious nature. It was the place for The Hound to sniff out such sanctuaries.

Queen Valeena’s edict of magical quashing had forced most of the artisans of Scara Brae underground. Death was a high price to pay for bringing metal, quite literally to life. Arden knew to be careful in approaching anybody that might report him to the Knights of Scara Brae.

“Specifics?” the man asked. He raised his own eyebrow, trying to work the man out. Though he had it on good authority that this was the Scourge operative he had heard so much about, there was something…odd about him. “I don’t work on assumption,” he clucked. He did not press his without trouble onto the counter, “nor do I work for free.”

“I will not make you think and work at the same time old man,” Arden sighed. He noticed his discomfort, and had to wonder…was this the smith? “Here,” he began, producing a parchment from beneath his crimson cloak’s veil. “The armour in question is already ‘made’, so to speak.”

Hearoh reached over the counter from his raised dais of mercantile wit, and snatched it from the swordsman’s fingertips. He scanned it, and muttered something under his breath about being out of luck. Arden examined the dwarf with interest. There was something not quite right about him. He had hammered too many blades, or riveted too many studs or something…

“What is this?” the dwarf asked. He looked up at Arden, looked into his bloodshot eyes, and waited.

Arden began to explain, “It is the armour of a particular position within the Scourge.”

The dwarf blinked, gasped, and tried to regain his composure.

“Please, sir, spare me the faux surprise. It is in my nature to know my potential colleagues, and what I know of you is this…you are the best. I also know that someone else wants you to throw a hammer once too many times into the fire.” The metaphor might have been lost on Hearoh, but Arden’s tone put the point across.

“I don’t know…”

“You do, and you do well,” Arden nodded. He pointed to the parchment. “The armour requires adjustment to fit its new owner.”

“Who is that, then?” he sighed.

Arden pointed at himself. He pressed a gauntleted digit against the tiger motif of his mithril plate. The dwarf’s eyes widened.

“I also require the pauldrons, a fitting motif of the office, to contain a…” Arden ran his tongue over his teeth, “pet of mine.” He made a motion for the dwarf to turn over the page. He did so, and read the continued instruction.

“This is all very…”

“Elaborate?” Arden rolled his eyes. The sun continued to shine overheard. “Yes, but it is all work you are capable of…isn’t it?” he leered.

Hearoh nodded hesitantly. It was well within his skill to produce the armour’s enhancements, but he felt obliged, he felt kinsmanship, he felt betrayal. How had the man known fellowship of bandits had called?

“It’ll cost you…,” he warned.

Arden had expected money to win the day. Whilst he would contend with the Bandit Brotherhood another day, all that mattered now was winning the dwarf over, and setting his sights back on the bigger prize.

He was going to hunt The Knights of Scara Brae.

“I’ll pay the price,” he said sternly.


The armour in question is the armour in his profile, here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25481-The-Hound-(Arden-Level-Five)). I would like to offer the mithril plate purchased here, (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23336-Why-Do-I-ALWAYS-Have-To-Go-Get-The-Shopping) including enchantments and the augmentations that came with it, as depicted here. I would like to 'sell' it, and then pay the difference. The new armour should be at least steel (I would like to hear options, and possess an enchantment. In essence, I'd like a shadow hound to be bound to the pauldron. It should come to life upon command, and with a shunt, jettison the shadow hound into the world, and call it back as required (I will run the details via ROG during the next update). The hound should be combat ready.

[Arden]

In the light of Logan's departure, I'd like to re-evaluate the above requested item as a simple gold transaction.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The Dwarf looked to the pauldron, and with a nice nod of satisfaction he agreed to a course.

"Making a shadow...well anything, is hard, but keeping it like a summoned comrade is a pretty penny the likes of which will need constant vigilant hammering, rune etching, spell warding, spell thieving, magical wind embracing...you have no clue what any of that means, so to be blunt, it's going to be hard." The dwarf looked over the item, and then nodded his head again.

"If you just want it to be a purchase, we're looking at...1300GP."

[Arden]

Assuming I have to run it through ROG for the combat potential of the hound, I'll take it.

I'd also like to purchase the cloak in his picture, enchanted to extend to full length, grow a hood, and otherwise be controllable within it's confines with a mental command. It will naturally be Red Hand Crimson.

[Arden]

Could the relevant member of staff help process this, and one or two smaller items in order to complete profile update pre The Cell?

Cheers.

[Max Dirks]

"The cloak, enchanted as described, would be 500 GP.

Do we have a deal?"

[Mordelain]

A final request: two single-edged shortswords, as per pic, and a holster for his current weapon for his back. The shortswords have two enchantments each - they return to wielder at a thought, and bark when they strike metal.

[Max Dirks]

What material are the swords made from?

[Mordelain]

Steel. Touche.

[Max Dirks]

It would be 200 GP for the swords and 1500 GP for the enchantments. That would bring your total to 3500 GP for the entire set.

The base enchantments would work for a radius of 20 feet. Anything beyond would require a stronger enchantment. The same affect could be achieved VIA level update in the RoG, but would require a higher leveled ability slot.

Please let me know what you'd like to do.

[Mordelain]

I'll take the swords, sans enchantments. As well as the cloak, armour, and pauldron.

[Max Dirks]

From which account?

[Mordelain]

From The Hound please. Apologies, keep forgetting to switch.

[Max Dirks]

2000 GP deducted. Transaction complete!