1st Day of Winter, 518 AV
The stink of sweat and steel hung about the place like a thick smog, clinging foully to skin and hair as the bellowing heat from the forges belched forth an unbearable heat throughout. It was a familiar aroma -or miasma really- of industry and mortal toil that one grew accustomed to at the Defiled Blade, perhaps the most well known smithy in all Ravok. Being the most well known, another familiar sight were customers within, usually amounting to a small crowd at even the worst of times thanks to the store's popularity. Today however, the front of the shop was devoid of curious buyers and haggling slaves, replaced instead by an uncomfortable emptiness punctuated every so often by a strangled scream coming from the back room. The kind just loud enough that it could heard even over the din of hammers and the sweltering howl of forges, but just barely.
If the stout Isurian behind the counter ever noticed the torturous cries coming from his store, he never looked up from his unusually enthralling record books to show it. In fact, the last time his gaze wandered from his reading material, it had been when Einar had stepped through the front door, to which the old shopkeep had dedicated a generous few ticks to the man’s scrutiny before seemingly recognizing him, then promptly going back to lethargic brooding over his books.
A few chimes later and a large, gruff and sour looking gentleman abruptly burst from the back room, pushing past the dainty door with a huff as he stormed his way to the exit. The screaming had mysteriously stopped just before, and Guldo Barsavi halted only to tear off a pair of bloodied gloves and toss them into the fire before he noticed Einar. The old cutpurse scowled at the mercenary and threw up his hands in disdain. “He’s been like this for days! Days! You deal with him! I can't take it anymore.”
And with that, the crime lord was gone, barreling through the front door and out into the busy streets of Ravok with a string curses and growls that had most people giving the man a wide and weary berth.
Not long after, Elias came waltzing through the backdoor Guldo had just burst through, a delighted and whimsical grin upon his pale face as his eyes beheld the ghastly slayer. “Ah, well, if it isn’t Einar of Sunberth!” The soldier guffawed, his jovial grin widening. With a swift step he was past the counter, spinning past the weapon displays and rounding on the surly brigand, arms thrown out wide as if to embrace the man in a hug. Thankfully, the mage noticed his blood stained hands and smith’s apron and stopped himself short of his unnervingly joyous reunion.
“Ah, well, in any case its good to see you again.” Elias cooed, hastily pulling of his bizarre and macabre apparel before lackadaisically tossing them aside. “I’d glad you decided to answer my invitation, and so punctually as well.” He went on, his tone and demeanor oddly… cheerful, to put it mildly.
The Stryfer stopped suddenly, hands falling to his sides and the tension dripping from his figure like melting wax as some thought seemed to come over him. Even his eyes took on a waxy and dreamy sheen as he leisurely flung his arm around a nearby mannequin garbed in metal armor and proceeded to lean against it as one would a good friend. “Have you ever been in love, Einar?” The soldier murmured.
In the back somewhere, an exasperated “Oh lord, not again.” Could be heard from the old Isurian as he sighed out loud and turned the page.
“I mean really in love. As if there is a…. a thing inside you that just… and its like…. Ugh, I can’t explain it quite right as the poets do, but I know it all the same. Have you ever felt like that?” He finished, turning his wistful gaze back to the hired killer after his bout of rambling. As the poor mercenary would quickly discover, the odd looks he was likely shooting the pale man at this point weren’t having the intended affect. Pushing himself off his temporary arm rest, Elias soon repositioned his arm around the sellsword’s shoulder and began guiding him towards the Isurian smith behind the counter.
“Ever since Shiress and I have been reunited, I’ve felt like a new man. My woes and worries just melt away when I look at her and I no longer have to worry that if I blink she might not be standing there when my eyes open again. You can’t imagine what a gift that is after so long… a gift you helped give me.”
The two approached the oil and grease stained wooden lecturn and the bored man attending it. He looked up lazily from whatever it was that preoccupied him so in those ledgers and gave the two humans an apathetic once over.
“You finished back there?” The smith grumbled, cheek resting in his blue tinted hand upon the counter.
“I am indeed, sir. He was the last.” Elias retorted jubilantly.
The smith rolled his eyes. “Any longer and I’d have started charging you rent.”
The Stryfer chuckled and gently nudged the sellsword forward. “Master Belugnir, in case you have yet to meet, may I introduce Arek, brother of Ares and master blacksmith. He’ll be assisting you with your selection today.”
The Isurian nodded, but the expression on Einar’s marred countenance compelled his ebonclad compatriot to elaborate. “I see the world wholly different, Einar. What once concerned and confounded me is now merely a distraction without priority. Its freeing I tell you. For example, I know for certain there should be a whole swelling mess of magic tied up in that glyph carved into your chest, but the fact that I can’t sense it any longer and that I’m convinced it has something to do with all your new and truly… striking scars, well, it just doesn’t bothers me not even a little. Not even a little, I say!” He clapped the wiry warrior on the shoulder. “What are magical blood runes between friends like us, eh?”
He smiled, gesturing to Arek once more. “I say we put all that nasty business about you kidnapping my woman and me torturing you behind us and embrace a new dawn. I propose a truce. Nay, an armistice. All debts and doubts between us erased. We shall be as friends from now on, and as a friend who has done so much for me I think you are more than entitled to a gift of your own. One that I am ashamed to say cannot hope to match what you have helped me reclaim, but one that I think you’ll enjoy none the less. You see, as an officer in our lord's righteous army, I and my men are entitled to a sizable 'discount' on all our arms and armor purchased in our never ending service to Rhysol. A discount I now bequeath to you on this day. I know that if anyone can appreciate a good blade, it’s a man who relies on it for his trade. Know that all you see here is the finest in Ravok, including the little gift Arek and I have arranged for you.”
With a deep breath, the Stryfer turned from the others and took a faithful step towards the exit. “I leave now for the northern territories to go collect Rook and bring him home to his dear bondmate. Though I am uncertain as to how long this new mood will fair against the long and taxing journey through the wilds, should I return to my humdrum and gloomy self upon return, know that my gratitude to you will not have faded even if my smile has. We are bound together now, you and I. Like two ships caught up in the same storm.”
Elias beamed.
“There’s no escaping it now…. Well, I bid you good day. Fair thee well, Slayer. May we meet again on gentler tides.”
And like that, the overly chipper swordsman was gone, leaving Einar with perhaps more questions than answers, and likely a budding headache on top of it all. It wasn’t the only thing Elias left him with however, as soon after, Arek was wheeling out another mannequin, but this one was clad in a fine suit of plate that looked suspiciously similar to the sellsword’s frame.
If the stout Isurian behind the counter ever noticed the torturous cries coming from his store, he never looked up from his unusually enthralling record books to show it. In fact, the last time his gaze wandered from his reading material, it had been when Einar had stepped through the front door, to which the old shopkeep had dedicated a generous few ticks to the man’s scrutiny before seemingly recognizing him, then promptly going back to lethargic brooding over his books.
A few chimes later and a large, gruff and sour looking gentleman abruptly burst from the back room, pushing past the dainty door with a huff as he stormed his way to the exit. The screaming had mysteriously stopped just before, and Guldo Barsavi halted only to tear off a pair of bloodied gloves and toss them into the fire before he noticed Einar. The old cutpurse scowled at the mercenary and threw up his hands in disdain. “He’s been like this for days! Days! You deal with him! I can't take it anymore.”
And with that, the crime lord was gone, barreling through the front door and out into the busy streets of Ravok with a string curses and growls that had most people giving the man a wide and weary berth.
Not long after, Elias came waltzing through the backdoor Guldo had just burst through, a delighted and whimsical grin upon his pale face as his eyes beheld the ghastly slayer. “Ah, well, if it isn’t Einar of Sunberth!” The soldier guffawed, his jovial grin widening. With a swift step he was past the counter, spinning past the weapon displays and rounding on the surly brigand, arms thrown out wide as if to embrace the man in a hug. Thankfully, the mage noticed his blood stained hands and smith’s apron and stopped himself short of his unnervingly joyous reunion.
“Ah, well, in any case its good to see you again.” Elias cooed, hastily pulling of his bizarre and macabre apparel before lackadaisically tossing them aside. “I’d glad you decided to answer my invitation, and so punctually as well.” He went on, his tone and demeanor oddly… cheerful, to put it mildly.
The Stryfer stopped suddenly, hands falling to his sides and the tension dripping from his figure like melting wax as some thought seemed to come over him. Even his eyes took on a waxy and dreamy sheen as he leisurely flung his arm around a nearby mannequin garbed in metal armor and proceeded to lean against it as one would a good friend. “Have you ever been in love, Einar?” The soldier murmured.
In the back somewhere, an exasperated “Oh lord, not again.” Could be heard from the old Isurian as he sighed out loud and turned the page.
“I mean really in love. As if there is a…. a thing inside you that just… and its like…. Ugh, I can’t explain it quite right as the poets do, but I know it all the same. Have you ever felt like that?” He finished, turning his wistful gaze back to the hired killer after his bout of rambling. As the poor mercenary would quickly discover, the odd looks he was likely shooting the pale man at this point weren’t having the intended affect. Pushing himself off his temporary arm rest, Elias soon repositioned his arm around the sellsword’s shoulder and began guiding him towards the Isurian smith behind the counter.
“Ever since Shiress and I have been reunited, I’ve felt like a new man. My woes and worries just melt away when I look at her and I no longer have to worry that if I blink she might not be standing there when my eyes open again. You can’t imagine what a gift that is after so long… a gift you helped give me.”
The two approached the oil and grease stained wooden lecturn and the bored man attending it. He looked up lazily from whatever it was that preoccupied him so in those ledgers and gave the two humans an apathetic once over.
“You finished back there?” The smith grumbled, cheek resting in his blue tinted hand upon the counter.
“I am indeed, sir. He was the last.” Elias retorted jubilantly.
The smith rolled his eyes. “Any longer and I’d have started charging you rent.”
The Stryfer chuckled and gently nudged the sellsword forward. “Master Belugnir, in case you have yet to meet, may I introduce Arek, brother of Ares and master blacksmith. He’ll be assisting you with your selection today.”
The Isurian nodded, but the expression on Einar’s marred countenance compelled his ebonclad compatriot to elaborate. “I see the world wholly different, Einar. What once concerned and confounded me is now merely a distraction without priority. Its freeing I tell you. For example, I know for certain there should be a whole swelling mess of magic tied up in that glyph carved into your chest, but the fact that I can’t sense it any longer and that I’m convinced it has something to do with all your new and truly… striking scars, well, it just doesn’t bothers me not even a little. Not even a little, I say!” He clapped the wiry warrior on the shoulder. “What are magical blood runes between friends like us, eh?”
He smiled, gesturing to Arek once more. “I say we put all that nasty business about you kidnapping my woman and me torturing you behind us and embrace a new dawn. I propose a truce. Nay, an armistice. All debts and doubts between us erased. We shall be as friends from now on, and as a friend who has done so much for me I think you are more than entitled to a gift of your own. One that I am ashamed to say cannot hope to match what you have helped me reclaim, but one that I think you’ll enjoy none the less. You see, as an officer in our lord's righteous army, I and my men are entitled to a sizable 'discount' on all our arms and armor purchased in our never ending service to Rhysol. A discount I now bequeath to you on this day. I know that if anyone can appreciate a good blade, it’s a man who relies on it for his trade. Know that all you see here is the finest in Ravok, including the little gift Arek and I have arranged for you.”
With a deep breath, the Stryfer turned from the others and took a faithful step towards the exit. “I leave now for the northern territories to go collect Rook and bring him home to his dear bondmate. Though I am uncertain as to how long this new mood will fair against the long and taxing journey through the wilds, should I return to my humdrum and gloomy self upon return, know that my gratitude to you will not have faded even if my smile has. We are bound together now, you and I. Like two ships caught up in the same storm.”
Elias beamed.
“There’s no escaping it now…. Well, I bid you good day. Fair thee well, Slayer. May we meet again on gentler tides.”
And like that, the overly chipper swordsman was gone, leaving Einar with perhaps more questions than answers, and likely a budding headache on top of it all. It wasn’t the only thing Elias left him with however, as soon after, Arek was wheeling out another mannequin, but this one was clad in a fine suit of plate that looked suspiciously similar to the sellsword’s frame.
