Rise of the Blade - Charles Moffat [54]
Four doors down, with bad spelling so typical of charlatan healers, hung a sign reading "Ijadas Poltisses". The door below it fell off its hinges and Chev stormed inside with sword in hand. Charlatan or not, her meager healing skills would have to do.
"Accursed guards," grumbled the barrel chested dwarf as he closed up his shop early and locked the oak door behind him. "Messed up a good work day with all their running around and lookin' fer some stupid warrior who's probably not even-"
A sword point nicked the dwarf's backside and he straightened like he had just sat on a thistle. Clearing his voice, despite his fear, the dwarf held up his hands to show he was unarmed. "What do ye want?"
"An excuse not to kill you for insulting my abilities," Chev replied. "I am far from stupid and if you're smart enough, you might actually live to see your anvil again."
"My anvil?" the dwarf started to ask but felt the sharp tip of the sword bite further into his back and warm blood trickling down.
"Yes. I'm looking for some quality weapons and I'm certain you're just the smart dwarf to give them to me."
The weaponsmith nodded urgently and started to reach for his keys to reopen the his shop.
Chev tripped the dwarf and shoved him up against the door like he was a battering ram. The oak held under the dwarf's weight and Chev's strength, but the hinges did not. The door crashed inwards, upsetting a table of scrolls.
The warrior reached down and scanned what was the dwarven equivalent of architectural blueprints, except it was for a weapon. "Interesting," he said and tossed the scroll aside. He knelt down beside the semi-unconscious dwarf. "You know what? I've killed eight Harpers today, fourteen elves and nearly finished off Doctor Pierce. If you don't stand up pretty soon I'll add a dwarf to my list."
The smith swallowed and grimly got to his feet despite the groggy feeling in his stomach. He hadn't felt this awful since the morning after a dwarven mead drinking contest. He hated to admit it, but even dwarves get hangovers.
Chev glanced around the somewhat crude shop, eyeing the merchandise. "I was thinking of something similar to a rapier, but with more power to it."
The dwarf's mouth twitched out of fear when he spoke but he did so nevertheless. "A rapier is a wussy weapon. It takes talent to wield one properly but you're hitting the anvil right on when you say it needs more power."
"Something similar to a short sword perhaps? I want to be able to wield it in my left hand."
The dwarf wrung his hands and tried to smile despite the circumstances. "A saber might be-"
"Doctor Pierce's weapon is a saber. No thank you."
"A cutlass perhaps?"
"Perhaps but its not good enough for stabbing. I need something that is more versatile."
"Versatile," the dwarf almost grumbled in mimicry but chewed on his lip instead. "I'm afraid I can't help you. I-" He stopped and his eyes nearly bugged out as he stared at the sword poised ready at his throat.
"Then you better tell me where I could find weapons that suit my needs."
The dwarf wrung his hands behind his back and stuttered as he tried to think quickly. "Well, uh. I, um, think you could-" He stopped and took a deep breath. "You could find the best weapons there are at the Academy."
"The Academy of Combat?" Chev asked, slowly withdrawing his sword.
"Ah, yes," replied the weaponsmith nervously. "They have perhaps the largest collection of rare and magical weapons along the Sword Coast."
Chev shrugged and punched the dwarf solidly in the chin. He wouldn't kill this dwarf afterall, but he couldn't afford to have the smith running off and telling the city guard of his destination.
Valeska Ko'Ragur was accustomed to things going her way. It was simply one of those things she had been raised with and become used to. If they didn't do what she wanted them to, she used her knack for charming or outwitting someone. This was not the case when Chev pushed her into a booth and sat down across from her. It didn't take a seer to figure out that he wanted something, but