Better Weapon, Better Fighter (Daedalus)

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

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Better Weapon, Better Fighter (Daedalus)

Postby Bronwen on June 30th, 2019, 11:50 pm

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Summer
15th Day 519



Bronwen Druva sat on the broken, splintered wooden backstep of Drega's, her quarterstaff resting across her knees, a frown creasing her brow, as fingertips ran along the long crack trailing from the center of the staff nearly to one end. It wasn't a very wide crack, but she feared it ran deep into the wooden shaft, and if that was, indeed, true, it rendered her weaponless. One hard blow and her staff would break.

Bron sighed deeply, then winced as the intake of breath sent a jolt of pain through cracked ribs, then, flinched once more, pressing fingers to the new bruise at her temple. She had held her own last night when two would be robbers jumped her. That is, up until one uninjured thug landed a solid blow to her side quickly followed by a leather boot to her head. She had lost several ticks after that, but when she regained her senses the robbers were gone, no doubt furious after searching her and finding the Syliran lacking good loot, and her quarterstaff lay beside her, broken, trodden on, most likely. Petchers.

Bronwen sighed again, more carefully this time, and shook her head; there was nothing for it, she would have to get it repaired by someone who actually knew what they were doing and allow herself to be robbed again with the amount of coin she was sure it would cost her. Coming slowly to her feet, Bron turned toward the only place that she knew about and headed off in that direction.

It didn't take Bron long to arrive at her destination, despite how slow she moved presently. It was early morning yet, and there were few locals out to clog the muddied streets. Bron eyed the wooden sign for a chime, then pushed open the door and stepped inside. As the door swung closed behind her, Bron paused, her grey eyes taking in the assorted metal weapons lining the wall appreciatively before she spotted a counter in the back and the young woman who sat behind it.

Bron approached the female with a friendly smile "Hello, I wanted to see if I could get this," she lifted her quarterstaff before her, "looked at and possibly see about getting it repaired." The young lady gave the Syliran a smile that said 'you do know this is a metalsmith and that's wood, right?' But she stood all the same and disappeared through a doorway that Bron could only guess led to the smith. Bron stayed put, keen on remaining immobile and consequently ache-free.

A few chimes passed by before a man ducked through the door. Bronwen immediately brushed a regretful hand through her hair, wishing she had taken the time to make herself a bit more presentable, uncomfortably aware of the loose tunic and the men's too tight riding pants that she had donned earlier. After an awkward pause and a gaze, albeit an admiring one, that perhaps lasted a few ticks too long, Bron stepped toward the dark-skinned smith, pleased by the fact that the man stood of a height with her. That rarely happened. "I was hoping to get this repaired" she managed, then chewing her bottom lip peered sidelong at a blade hanging on the wall nearby, and added "and I wanted to see about having a retracting blade put on the end." Bron presented her quarterstaff, cleared her throat, smiling bashfully.



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Better Weapon, Better Fighter

Postby Daedalus Dagwood on September 1st, 2019, 4:29 am

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xx Day of Season, 517 A.V.

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