[Flashback]A New Weapon and a New Price (Mazirion, Stranger)

[Carsten]

Timestamp: 19th of Summer, 510 AV

Carsten walked among the bazaar, looking at all the items, but only with half a mind. A wind swept across the street, and it felt refreshing. It felt good to relax in this city, this magnificent and grandiose city. He had arrived two days earlier, wounded and exhausted. Moving across the Sea of Grass was indeed as dangerous as the Drykas had informed him. His horse had died two thirds of the way to Riverfall, and the remaining journey had been hellish. Two days away from the city, a band of Glassbeaks had caught up with him, and his cutlass had broken. If not for the timely rescue of the Akalak patrol, he might have found himself killed.

The time in Riverfall for now had been a time of resting and meditation, indeed he had spent almost the entire yesterday while praying and meditating. Today, he decided, he would check out the bazaar. He did not look very imposing as he walked through the city, his cloak was torn and dirty, and so were his boots. He was small compared to the Akalaks around him, and there was little distinct about his body or face, but despite this many studied him. He was new, not many had seen him since his arrival and that made him a curiosity. He continued on through the Bazaar, the merchants were yelling prices to him and offered him items, but he merely ignored them. The amount of food in the city was astonishing, it seemed excessive when he thought back to Zeltiva and the food shortages. He shook his head, and continued on.

Then he spotted a store that looked interesting. An Isur was standing in the tent. A weaponsmith? After the loss of his cutlass he only had a dagger and a rapier, and both were very situational weapons. He needed a new cutlass, and this Isur might be the one to help him. Slowly he walked towards the tent, and stopped in front of the Isur. “Good day to you,” he said politely. “It is a fine day, is it not?” he asked in Common, his accent clearly marked him as a Zeltivan, for those who knew the difference. As he started to study the merchandise, he asked: “Are you only a merchant, or do you smith these weapons yourself?"

[Mazirion]

Mazirion Looked at the human as he entered the tent he had rented and set up here. He hadn't had a very easy time of getting to Riverfall, having had half the guard of the caravan he had paid good money to tag along with killed by the various random creatures of the Grass Sea. He himself was wounded mildly by some idiot bird that had thought to try to pierce his left arm with it's claws. The thing was lying somewhere in its infernal habitat now, probably struggling to end what was left of its life. It hadn't been a very big animal. When the man in front of him asked about the weapons, he almost snapped "I course, I'm an Isur who can't smith swords. These were all made by the barbarian horse-lords you see around you," but stopped himself just in time, and settled with a subtle change in expression. "All these swords are made by me, and all of them are for sale. If you see any you like, they're all worth two or three Mizas each way. If you'd like I can custom make one, or repair an existing one. Those are the services I offer. Nothing more." He couldn't count on all his extremities the amount of times some youngling human walked up to his stall and demanded the Anvil of Souls fresh-forged for them simply because of his Gnosis. Humans were intrinsically arrogant things.

[Carsten]

Carsten looked up again, and studied the Isur. He looked impatient, or maybe even irritated. Was it something he had said? No, maybe he simply was like this. He took a closer look at him, and studied him behind cold, brown eyes. Then he saw the mark; Izentor. The Gnosis of Izurdin, the God of Smiths. He remembered little else of him from his religious education; he would have to remedy that. Perhaps he would have to visit Sultros, if he could ever find it. He returned his looks to the weapons again, and studied them. If they are worth only two or three mizas, the quality must be worse than they look, he thought and looked up again.

“I want you to make me a cutlass,” Carsten said. “I want it to be of good quality. How long would this take, and what would it cost?” He needed another weapon, and if he was lucky it would be of high quality. The dagger and rapier were good weapons, but they were too situational. Having a cutlass as an all-round weapon was in fact necessary for his survival. A cutlass was the perfect weapon for Carsten as well, he often thought to himself. Mixing the slashing capabilities of the longsword with the stabbing capabilities of his rapier, but something lacked. He preferred the rapier because of the elegance, and its weight. It was simply easier to fight with. He looked into Mazirion’s face again, awaiting his reply. This Isur puzzled Carsten, but he was not certain why.

[Mazirion]

Mazirion cursed his bad luck in attempting to make his prices seem low, only then realizing that he had in fact made his wares seem of low quality. Turning to the somewhat impudent human after considering his options, he said "I can make a cutlass to your exact specifications out of the best iron to be found in this city, for a price to be agreed on. Fair?" It wasn't that he overcharged people because he was biased - he just knew they'd try to argue him down to a mere copper piece, and he wasn't prepared to accept such payment for the years of knowledge in weaponsmithing he used in every forging. Such effort was worth gold, and gold was slow-flowing from the pockets of the elder races.

Common speech Isurian speech

[Carsten]

The Isur looked annoyed. Does he always act like this, or am I causing his reaction? He thought. “That seems fair, but I would prefer it if you could craft it from steel. If not, fine iron should do. I also wonder if you will imbue the weapon with your Mark of Izurdin?” he asked. He had never wielded a weapon that was Marked, but he had heard stories of the quality they were. In fact, most of the legendary weapons he had read about were Marked by Izentor. While he expected no such weapon, Carsten hoped it would increase the quality of the blade, maybe it would be sharper or more durable. Once again, his lack of knowledge of Izurdin and the Isur put him at a disadvantage, and he did not like it. Yes, soon he would have to learn more.

“What is your price, then?” Carsten asked after getting a reply to his previous question.

OOCApologies for the bad post, but I really didn’t know what more to write.

[Mazirion]

Mazirion's expression softened as he realized he was probably scaring the man who would probably pay for his ticket out of this city. Considering the circumstances, he could probably mark it; there was no doubt of that. The question was, why should he mark a weapon just for this man, this human? "I can mark it. If I do, it will almost never go dull and it will certainly never break, through any fault of mine at least," he considered the best way to put the fault in the situation. "However, there are repercussions for me. The most immediate is that I will not be able to work or do anything strenuous for a full day after the marking, which means I will not be able to extract payment from you if you're not... legitimate in your intentions, and I won't be able to make any money on the day after. On a slightly more long-term note, your sword will be infused with a part of my immortal soul. Steel will be easy to obtain, but I will never get another soul as long as I live and most likely beyond that. So if you would have me do this, I ask that you pay, in bulk and right now. If you don't want it marked, you can pay whenever you like so long as I can eat tomorrow." He reached across the unfired forge and extended his hand. "So, for an Isur-forged blade that only human stupidity can break, along with a fragment of my soul, does forty golden mizas sound reasonable?" Mazirion gazed expectantly at Carsten.

Common speech Isurian speech

[Carsten]

40 gold mizas? Carsten thought, and he looked almost surprised. He understood that the Isur would not be able to forge anything for another day, but it could not cost him that much? There were many smiths in this town, but perhaps Isur smithing was more wanted than Akalak, or Drykas, smithing? How much did a regular cutlass cost? He did not remember, numbers had never been Carsten’s strong side, it was why he had taken up fencing and not a theoretical subject like most of the Cultists. ”I will pay you 30 gold mizas now, and you will get the rest later. There is something I need to do in the meantime.” he said, and put the money on the desk in front of Mazirion.

After reaching an agreement with Mazirion, Carsten set off towards another part of the markets. He had passed an Akalak smith when he walked through the bazaar, and he was walking towards this now. The amount just did not sit right with Carsten, and he felt annoyed at himself for not learning the numbers better. Then he calmed himself, annoyance was useless. He needed to think clearly, and then he needed to focus on learning mathematics better. He entered the empty tent, and walked up to the Akalak smith, and explained the situation. He hoped this Akalak was honest enough to tell him the truth, to tell him how much the cutlass was actually worth.

[Stranger]

Haiduk was, arguably, a master at his work. A reserved man in most scenarios, he labored hard at the craft of his hands, creating a line of valuable and well-made weapons that went out to benefit the city of Riverfall and, sometimes, strangers beyond. He enjoyed what he did; everyone had to make a contribution to the perpetuation of their struggling civilization. Everyone had to work. It was all the better that he was gifted, and that he found the repetition of his work oddly soothing, and very fulfilling. There could be far worse things to do. So it was that the Akalak was hard at work when he was interrupted by the approach of the human. Perceiving him first and foremost as a potential customer, Haiduk finished the delicate work he was busy with before he stepped away from cooling metal to hear out the story. A second opinion, then, his. Called to be an intermediary or, rather, to save the human a lot of lost gold. "Such a weapon is worth far less," he replied simply. He was not an eloquent man with a silver tongue, he had few words for such scenarios, for such deception. "Perhaps as low as ten, were it not for the blessing of his gift. With it? Twenty two mizas at most." When the human simply fixed him with a bewildered stare, the Akalak summoned all the patience he could muster and dug out a small parchment. He scratched numbers out upon it. "The cost of material, you see..." he began, etching numbers into his list as he spoke, breaking down the entire involved process of finding the value of the work. He illustrated, twice, how he had clearly been mishandled. He spoke slowly, but without condescension, until the human seemed to understand. Haiduk allowed him to keep the piece of paper, smudged with the dirt of his hands. "Not a good deal for you," he concluded somberly, turning back in the direction of his work without dismissing the company. Carsten would leave when he was ready, or formulate questions to pepper the busy Akalak with. Either way, a city like Riverfall went on, and so too did the work required to equip it.

[Carsten]

He had known something was off, but that the Isur had tried to swindle him for almost 20 gold mizas? He should have known it! Here he was, being taught mathematics by an Akalak. Mathematics! The subject that would not exist without Gnora, his chosen god, it shamed him. Luckily, Carsten possessed no pride; it was one of the things the Cultists had taught him was a flaw in humans. Wounded pride could make a man do many things, most of them were stupid. So it was not pride that made Carsten promise himself to learn mathematics better, it was because he felt like he needed to, because it was useful and he knew he could do it.

”Thank you.” he said to the smith, and returned to Mazirion’s tent.
”You tried to trick me.” he said. He was not angry, and so it was said in his normal, calm, matter-of-factly tone. ”I want you to return ten gold mizas to me, I am not paying you more than 20 gold mizas for the cutlass.” He laid the note on the desk, as proof that he was right and that Mazirion tried to swindle him.

When they were done discussing the price, Carsten gave him the measurements for the cutlass. ”It will be 79 cm long, the blade will be 63 cm. The hilt will be surrounded by a basket hand-guard, and the handle will be made of wood, but surrounded by leather.” he instructed.

[Mazirion]

Mazirion stared at the man. Swindled? Swindled? "I believe you have it wrong. I'm giving you a sword that will never need to be replaced, and in return all I ask is for enough money for the value of the sword, and expenses to cover my day of rest afterwards. I don't think you realize that I cannot work after I mark a cutlass, and so I must charge for it. You understand, of course. I will have the sword tomorrow, good day." he dismissed the human. Mazirion's swords were the product of not only his hand and his mind, but his heart and his soul. He would not short-sell them, and if he must then he would pay with his life to keep it that way. Quietly, he pulled his hammer out of its holster. His muscles tensed as he awaited the human's angry response - even the ones not gifted in arithmetic seemed to want to dispute his prices. The first time this had happened had been in Sultros itself. Some youth had attempted to buy a sword, and when he didn't like the price, instead of going elsewhere he had attacked Mazirion. He always prepared for such an eventuality.

Common speech Isurian speech