“Scrap”
Raffles felt a little deflated.
He had been on a small flight of fancy that this might be a long lost relic or blade of legend…
“It’s useless?” He asked more in hope than expectation.
It had been a long day, and he was tired, but sensing the hobbits’ disappointment, the weapon-smiths mood softened… just a little… “Well not totally, it will clean up and hold an edge… but its pretty low grade metal, and the craftsmanship is a little ‘rustic’ shall we say…“
He tailed off slightly… he certainly didn’t want to buy it as the hobbit had initially offered, but neither did he want to lose a potentially easy, albeit small, fee for the cleaning and sharpening, by criticising it too much… “1 silver to clean and sharpen… it will earn its keep I’m sure if your heading out into the wilds. A bit of rough butchery, prising open… things… “
he didn’t elaborate on what could potentially be prised, or where… but it piqued Raffles curiosity
‘…and the glint of a well kept blade will certainly help ward of the more opportunistic brigands’
It was hot in here, with the furnace, and the apprentices nearby hammering red hot strips of metal, starting to form the first shapings of various blades.
Raffles took of his hat placing it to one side, and mopped his brow, weighing up the offer… it seemed fair, but he wasn’t sure… he had no experience of using daggers or swords, or the like….
A small axe for chopping wood, a club for hitting anything that got too close, plus a frying pan for emergency cooking situations… which was also a useful back up for hitting anything that got too close… these had seen him through his fledgling adventurer career so far, but, he was learning all the time… especially that you needed to be prepared for all sorts of twists and turns. Events sometimes overtook even the best laid plans… and simple tasks sometimes turned into events.
He would much rather sneak away from fights, and certainly had no intention of seeking them out… but then they might seek him out… so having a sharp, bright dagger to fall back on could be useful. He’d definitely need to practice with it though.
“Agreed” he said pulling out his purse.
“It will be ready for you tomorrow morning…”
“Good day stout weapon-smith!”
A tall, flamboyantly dressed man strode in and stood loudly at the counter (there was no other word for it… even the way he stood was loud to Raffles mind).
Raffles glanced at the weapon-smith to gauge his response to ‘Stout’… apart from rolling his eyes slightly he seemed to take it in his stride.
“Afternoon Bridstock, I’ll just get it brought out.”
“Excellent my good fellow!”
Raffles catching himself staring, decided to start towards the door and the bustling streets of Bree, his mind already flitting between afternoon tea, and visions of his daring knife-play seeing off a brigand or two… plus the prising of things open to reveal who knew what.
“Your hat?” the weaponsmith called after him
Rather sheepishly, he scooted back to the counter to pick up his hat and with a final glance, headed once more for the door.
