In search of a legend.

[Tobias Stalt]

Bright azure skies stretched from horizon to horizon as a gentle breeze caressed the Bazaar. The catcalls of fishmongers and craftsmen echoed throughout the Promenade. Wealthy merchants of elven, human, and even dwarven descent bartered boisterously in the pregnant streets of Radasanth. Myrrh, Frankincense, and hints of Lavender pricked at his senses as Tobias strode quietly through the crowd, intent on something... grand.

"My friend," came a rough, albeit friendly voice, "may I interest you in some balanced knives? You won't find better anywhere outside the forges of Raiaera, I guarantee it!" Tobias turned to see a grizzled, fat oaf of a man with what appeared to be a throwing knife. The quality was decent, however it was clearly iron.

"This metal," Tobias began, "is clearly nothing a reputable Raiaeran smith would sign their name to." He watched the greasy bastard shift uncomfortably in his seat before he continued, "This isn't even Castle Forged steel. This is iron. What are you doing selling weaponry?"

"I see you have an eye for quality!" the man managed not to stammer, "in that case, I have just the thing. A sword, forged of purest Mithril. Feast your eyes on this, eh?" Tobias blinked slowly at the assertion, but when his eyes opened, the loudmouthed arms dealer had produced a proper sword. The sheen evinced laborious oiling and care, but Tobias knew better than to believe the claim.

"This ripple pattern," the hooded youth explained, "is a phenomenon that occurs in the metallurgical process when refining this particular metal. What you're showing me is a Damascus sword, and while it is beautifully crafted, it falls woefully short of Mithril."

"Listen," the fat man wheezed as he leaned close to Tobias, "you are jeopardizing my reputation, boy. You wouldn't know Mithril if someone stabbed you in the face with it, I wager, so do us both a favor and stop appraising my wares like some sort of weapons aficionado."

Tobias reached back slowly and the hiss of metal warned the merchant that he was in danger. "Ah," he stammered, "I wouldn't! The guard will surely see-"

Held tip to face with the heavy breathing buffoon, the silvery white long knife shimmered faintly in the midday sun. "Would you?" he asked the merchant calmly.

"Would I what?" came the skittish response.

"Know Mithril if someone stabbed you in the face with it?"

Tobias could smell the shit as it filled the unfortunate man's breeches. "Get changed, damn you," Tobias commanded disdainfully, "and stop trying to fleece your customers. Be glad they even give you business, you sorry sack of shit."

As the long knife slid back into place, Tobias turned from the vendor and waded back into the crowd. Mithril made him think back to tales his father told him as a boy, of great things and mystical items. Tobias recalled tales of magical metals and fabrics that were so rare, to own one was a badge of honor.

Today, he would seek glory off of the battlefield. Today, he hunted a legend.


I'd appreciate if someone would write this out with me, partially for the story and partially for the item. I'm seeking something one wouldn't find in the bazaar under normal circumstances, so I think you guys can fix me up real nice as far as story and such go.

As far as what the item will be, I'd like a Longsword

[Cards of Fate]

Vincent Cain was a man of simple pleasures, or so he liked to believe. He cooed slightly as he expertly navigated the familiar crowded streets of Radasanth. The air was filled with the scent of valuable spices and herbs, but underneath it all something called to the scholar. Something familiar.

The warm scent of bread.

Like a bloodhound the scholar followed his nose to a small stand out of the main road where a mousy redheaded woman sat in a small window, a rack of fresh honey glazed rolls sat cooling. Calmly he approached the window and leaned against the wall cooly, both hands in his pockets as he flipped his messy mane of golden locks out of his face to reveal sapphire eyes.

“Excuse me miss,” he began simply “How much are your buns?”

The woman looked up and sized the young man up. Skinny but not scrawny, the youth stood almost head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. His purple tunic was well crafted and spoke of wealth, but the blade at his hip and metallic gauntlet at his arm told her he was an adventurer of sorts.

“Well.” She mused aloud, “My buns are not for sale, but these rolls here sure are. Two gold a piece.”

Both the scholar and the woman paused for a moment to chuckle at her joke and the Vincent produced four coins from his pocket.

“I’ll take two!” he exclaimed placing the coins in her open palm.

The woman deftly pulled a set of tongs from out of sight and quickly dished out two warm rolls into the scholars greedy outstretched hands.

“Thank you for your business, stranger.” The woman replied grinning.

The scholar turned away and quickly stuffed one of the fist sized rolls hungrily into his gullet. He groaned in pleasure as the sweet taste of honey, butter, and sweet wheat washed over his mouth. He quickly chewed the mouthful and swallowed letting out a satisfied sigh. A sudden movement caught his eye, the soft shimmer of a familiar blade.

Tobias Stalt, the legendary mercenary who had trained the young man, was holding a rather sleazy looking merchant at knife point. The scholar hesitated slightly before he began to close the distance between the two, but the mercenary had sheathed his blade and stormed off. Glancing from the scared merchant to his mentor, Vincent make a snap decision. He picked up into a light jog.

“Hey TOBIAS!” he shouted as he attempted to close the distance once more. “Wait up!”