Alkor
02-04-15, 07:51 PM
Sands blasted across the tent at high speed, the footsteps outside drowned by the storm. Flecks of grainy irritant scurried inside when the flap tore open, then splashed on the floor like water when it quickly shut again. "Bury me," the shopkeeper cursed as his ill-timed customer slowly peeled away the cloth that protected his face. "What possessed you to come this far out during a sandstorm?"
Cerulean eyes peered out from beneath the tightly wound garb and the traveler mouthed a reply, but it was muffled by layers. Several unraveled strands of cloth later, Alkor tried again. "A sword," he rasped, voice dried out by thirst. "The town nearby turned me away. One man was kind enough to point me here."
"Not much love for fair skin in Fallien," the merchant nodded in empathy, "but coin is a universal language. No competent salesman turns away good gold. What sort of blade do you seek?"
The assumption that he was foreign bit the swordsman, but he never fought it. In Fallien, men born with his complexion were often ostracized. Women in his position garnered blessings and love, "kissed by moonlight," or "skin like fresh snow." Alkor was just a white-man, like every outlander who visited Irrakam. "Katana," he grunted, "the sort they forge in Akashima."
"Yes, yes, I know the type," the merchant replied hurriedly, and he began to rummage through his goods. "It may be a moment..." the older man called back as he dove into a mountain of unsold goods and trinkets.
Alkor unfastened the tulwar from his waist and placed it deftly on the counter. "When you find one, I'd like to know how much I could get for a trade. I know this blade lacks the quality of such a weapon, but its a good sword. I can pay the difference..."
(I'd like to price a Titanium Katana, sans the cost of the iron Tulwar if applicable?)
Cerulean eyes peered out from beneath the tightly wound garb and the traveler mouthed a reply, but it was muffled by layers. Several unraveled strands of cloth later, Alkor tried again. "A sword," he rasped, voice dried out by thirst. "The town nearby turned me away. One man was kind enough to point me here."
"Not much love for fair skin in Fallien," the merchant nodded in empathy, "but coin is a universal language. No competent salesman turns away good gold. What sort of blade do you seek?"
The assumption that he was foreign bit the swordsman, but he never fought it. In Fallien, men born with his complexion were often ostracized. Women in his position garnered blessings and love, "kissed by moonlight," or "skin like fresh snow." Alkor was just a white-man, like every outlander who visited Irrakam. "Katana," he grunted, "the sort they forge in Akashima."
"Yes, yes, I know the type," the merchant replied hurriedly, and he began to rummage through his goods. "It may be a moment..." the older man called back as he dove into a mountain of unsold goods and trinkets.
Alkor unfastened the tulwar from his waist and placed it deftly on the counter. "When you find one, I'd like to know how much I could get for a trade. I know this blade lacks the quality of such a weapon, but its a good sword. I can pay the difference..."
(I'd like to price a Titanium Katana, sans the cost of the iron Tulwar if applicable?)