Barding for Bardlings
Log Info
- Title: Barding for Bardlings
- Summary: A pair of cavaliers contemplate armor very thoroughly at the dismay of a poor salesdwarf.
Lower Alexandria Market District
The market, as ever, was busy with people. Despite the chill. Despite the incoming winter. _Especially_ because of the harvest festival filling the city with celebration.
It was also an excellent time to try and find excellent deals from traveling merchants. "... this is not silver or gold." A short cloaked figure blankly states, holding up a piece of metal. "'course it is ye laddy, jus' look at that sheen!" A smaller dwarf states, slapping the piece of metal. "'Ain't a better make." The taller figure - though still short - looks blankly down.
"But this one just bit on it. No dent." Aelwyn states, leaning more against the flaming glaive of his. "Now one will say this breastplate was for display purposes only?"
Carver's idea of a market ran very contrary to an Alexandria's. When they happened in Dran, it was a great host of horselords and mercenaries, with colorful tents and plentiful fights washed with wine and ale and gold. Here, the cries mingle but fights were rare beneath watchful watchmen's eyes. She learned they also do not enjoy it when you but into their conversations here, having received a stern talking to once or twice about 'impatience'.
Still, she recognizes not Aelwyn first but instead that what he leans upon. Lit flames are rare enough here. A lit burning glaive is another thing all together. She leans in as she steps up to the merchant's stall as well, peering at what Aelwyn is bartering over. "Whassit?"
The piece of metal in question looked like it was very ornately carved, exceptional looking breastplate. It nearly sparkled at how impeccably brilliant it was; it even had a tiny silken ribbon for that luxurious yet pointless feel. "And yer bloody well lucky I ain't the right mind to crack a skull for it, sire, knight er not!" The dwarf retorts at Aelwyn's comment, who still looks more befuddled than threatened. "... but this is not gold nor silver." He restates."
Then Carver appears, and Aelwyn turns to look. It takes a moment for him, but then his grin widen. "Huntress." He bows his head. "Also in search for fresh equipment?" He asks, and just happens to play at the ornate mark of the order pinned carefully at the worn leather of his current breastplate. "My armor been torched, cut, patched, an' pissed on or chewed up." Carver admits. "I done 'bout as much as one could expect from somethin' me sisters made for me long befor' I even sniffed this city." She gives the dwarf a smile, the great gap of a missing tooth flashed. "Oi, I admit, it's righ' pretty Mr. Dwarf. This a piece you had made just for yourself? Did you bite it to make sure?"
It's a well-understood practice, honestly. She looks to Aelwyn to make SURE he knew to bite it. She pulls at her own collar, the heavy furs sniffed at with a frown. "I don't think I coul' afford it though. Looks... pricey. An' what's the ribbon for?"
Aelwyn twists his lips, eyeing Carver up and down. "Made by her sisters? Tch, now that is a sign of endorsement if this one has heard one." He flashes his teeth. "Ah, this one was always told that armour is as much as worth as the blade that struck through it." He tilts his head. "... or the other way around?" He wonders with a low rumbling murmur.
The dwarf meanwhile. "'ey! This on- I'm still standing here! And that ore is quality, real dwarven make!" He bellows furiously. "And a lad don' bite onto art! Ye nuts?" He shakes his head furiously, almost as if wishing the gods above to come and explain reason. "Yer just eyeing and crying, or ye buying?"
Aelwyn's lips curl away. "Ah, ribbon is seal of quality." He waves the breastplate at Carver, then drops it at her hands. "Or so this one was told." He tilts his head. "No presumption, but perhaps she could afford this if it is only what this one thinks it is." He flashes his teeth. "To hang on the wall, perhaps."
GAME: Carver rolls appraise: (10)+2: 12
"I mostly jus' try to not ever risk it." Carver admits, "Thankfully mos' of my jobs I get to hide behind people who like to get real close with the nasty. I'm fine with not doin' that ever." She almost crosses her arms but pauses when Aelwyn instead thrusts the breastplate into it. She's first a little startled then holds it up to her nose to inspect it, peering over it at the flummoxed dwarf.
"How much you chargin' for this anyway? I missed that part between all the blusterin' through your mustache."
The said moustache makes rolls as it swings about in indignation. "A wee fae' price of hundred of them platinum." The dwarf says and juts out his chest. "An' _that_ lad is outright murder of a price." He taps his rotund belly. "Craftsmanship? Impeccable. Material? Irreplaceable. History? Yours to make, lad."
The breastplate was well made, no question about it. It might even be made out of silver and gold, with a fancier metal underneath.
"Ah, to be at the front is to be at the thrill of life," Aelwyn flashes his teeth at Carver. "One can stand few stabs for such pleasures." Though he then leans over and quietly whispers. "But that is not gold." He points at the trimmings. "Saw the same everywhere in Veyshan."
"That is a good deal, even if it holds no enchantment." Carver says to Aelwyn, "A shiny dinnerplate though, I'll stick with my stinky furs." She very gingerly sets the breastplate back down on the table between them and the increasingly impatient merchant. "You know, Mr. Knight, if you jus' put out some feelers amongst the adventurers, they'd probably point you to someone who coul' make you a nice bit of paddin'. Heck, maybe you can ever do like they say in all those romantic books abou' the big ole' knight all shiny. Even shinier. Respectfully." She adds for the merchant's sake. She does reach into her pocket. "Do... you happen to do any armor for horses, Mista Dwarf?" Carver says, “I am in the market for some bardin'.”
Aelwyn turns his head towards Carver, then looks down at himself. "But this one had his scales polished just this morning." And they were so polished, all ruddy and lustrous. Once again, looking more confused. "And would she not be better suited to find a bard in Theatre district, or perhaps even the TarRaCe?"
The merchant will have none of it though, instantly hopping off his soap box and yanking his vest forward. "Ah, yes, yes, barding. Naturally this one is not _the_ expert, but certainly this one's brother is. A fine lad, carved a leg piece for a wyvern of all things!" He then looks at Carver. "How big of a horse?"
"An' you look very handsome!" Carver assures Aelwyn with a laugh. "I'm jus' saying. If you wanted to be even shinier, that'd be what I think would be the best thing to do, hard to find really enchanted gear amongst the market place. We been on a few jobs together now so I know, well maybe jus' a little bit, of the quality of 'trouble' you get at. It was mimics for me. That made me realize that I needed maybe a few more things... it was righ' after I lost Lambchop." She looks a little distraught for a moment, but shakes out of it at the dwarf's prompt.
"Huh, oh yeah sorry. Well, her name is Deathless an' she's a proper Aduuli Redcoat. She's about 14 an' a half hands, roughly one thousand pounds. Not the stockiest buil' like a Dranish Hardhoof, but she's fast an' smart."
Aelwyn leans back, twisting his lips. "Only very? Tch, this one must have used the wrong wrong this morning." His teeth are exposed then. "It may be - but this one wished to see beyond the walls of this city. They can... this market is not like the ones this one is used to." He clicks his teeth. "And the fashion here can be stifling."
At the mention of the fine and brave Lambchop though, the ruddy sith-makar steps forward and puts his hand on her shoulder. "A fine steed. It was a true tragedy." He says with a low voice. "And those cursed woods shall pay."
The dwarf was completely ignoring the discussion now though, making plentiful of notes with his big hands onto a tiny notepad. "'n would lass say it be a more prancing gallop or honest riot?" He asks. Meanwhile, Aelwyn picks up his glaive and makes a bow. "This one wishes Huntress best with her bardling." He grins and then turns towards the crowd. His glaive continues to burn above the heads of most folk.