The streets are becoming more crowded, people are starting their day. Even now I can't break out of my tactical mind set, without something else distracting me. I begin to see the layout of the streets as a soldier does. This city has been designed with retreat to the castle in mind, I see plenty of escape routes and just about every street or alley looks like it would eventually meet a main road leading to the bailey. I find myself on one of those main roads. Unless I got turned around this should be near a good weapon smith.
As I near what looks to be a market square, the amount of watchmen in the area becomes noteworthy. I've seen my fair share of watchmen in combat, most of them were not very skilled at actual battle. Those that were tended to be ex-soldiers. It always made sense to me though, most watchmen never fight against an armed and armored opponent on fair terms. It's usually a fight to take in some unarmored hoodlum with maybe a knife or short sword, or a squad of them working in concert to take a larger threat. I'm sure that being in a peaceful town leads to skill atrophy as well. Though they do manage to keep their endurance up, walking around in that armor all of the time.
It doesn't take long for me to find the smithy I was looking for, Anton's Arms. I step in and am greeted by the owner, a dark skinned man, close to my own age, with muscular arms and very little hair. Even a part of one of his eyebrows is missing. His voice is rough, probably from working in the heat so much.
“Welcome! I'm Anton, owner of this fine shop. You look like you know your way around weapons, so feel free to browse. If I don't have a weapon of the make you're looking for in stock, I can make one for you, right quick. I'm taking inventory right now, but feel free to ask me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, I'll look around.”
Several weapons, each of many different types line racks, shelves, and stands. There's an iron door in one corner that look like it leads into a walk in closet of some sort. I can hear the sounds of a workshop coming from a back room, behind the counter. I wouldn't be surprised if the forges being attached to the main store in Dartac's was more of a dwarven custom. In the corner there are shields, but none of them are quite as high quality as those I saw at the armorer's.
I heft a few of the weapons. None of them feel quite right. Not a surprise, considering that I've been using the same weapon for over twenty years. It's odd actually, despite being such a large weapon, even when I first picked it up, this claymore always just felt right to me.
Anton walks over, looking somewhat concerned and confused. “Something wrong?”
“Anton, you damned learantavenine! When I tell you I need gray fox fur for an enchantment, doesn't mean you can give me –” A frustrated looking elf walks into the room, he spots me mid sentence, “Oh, there's a customer, sorry about that.”
“Then you buy the stuff you need next time, Syl, I don't know the finer points of enchantment, and the merchant said that was fox fur!”
The elf looks me over, “Anton, show him the good stuff, I don't think any of these mundane weapons are going to impress him.”
“Hm?” Anton looks more insulted by that accusation than he was by whatever Elven slur that was before. He moves over to the elf.
Trying to be quiet about it, but still to close to keep me from hearing, Syl whispers,“Can't you see? You know that house you bought off of the earnings from the city watch's weapons commission? That sword on his back is worth at least two of those.” The elf moves toward the iron door and pulls a key from a pouch on his belt.
Anton moves to the heavy door, also withdrawing a key from somewhere on his person. He whispers irritatedly, “Not everyone can see magic auras like you can, Syl!”
“It's not glowing, with that much enchantment? That's odd.”
Anton turns to me, his calm demeanor immediately returning. “Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. You would like to see some of our more heavily enchanted wares, yes?”
“I almost thought I had come into the wrong place, show me what you have.”
They both insert their keys and unlock the vaulted door at the same time, a soft glow emanates from the small room. As I walk over, Anton returns to taking inventory. “Syl will fill you in on the abilities of each of these fine works, as well as the prices. Take care of this one, Syl, make sure he leaves happy.”
The vault has a smaller quantity of the same variety of weapons as the rest of the store. Many of them are glowing; however, those towards the back of the room are brightest.
“In general, the further back you go the more heavily enhanced the weapon is. Is there anything in particular you're looking for?”
“One handed, durable. No real preference in terms of enchantment beyond that. Maybe a thrown weapon that returns if you have one, as well.”
Syl shows me several different weapons. They only have one throwing weapon that fits the bill, a mildly enchanted throwing axe. Despite his efforts at convincing me to buy an expensive longbow that produces its own arrows, I buy the axe. Never was much of a shot with a bow, but I'm fairly good at tossing.
I heft some of the more interesting of the weapons. Still, none of them feel right in my hand. The one that feels least wrong, and the one I end up buying is a heavily enchanted flanged mace. It is enchanted to maintain itself, sharpen its own flanges, or close any cracks that may develop. Also it can create a blast of wind if it makes contact just right, knocking the unfortunate foe back and releasing a thunderous boom. On normal swings it just creates a small wind, only strong enough to move smoke or something similarly gaseous around.
When I ask what swinging it just right means, Syl responds with, “I still haven't really pinned that one down, it just seems to happen sometimes.”
“You've tested these in battle?”
“Not in actual combat, but we do test them on a small golem to make sure everything is working as planned, weapons enchantment can be an. . . unusual field of magic. Would you like to give it a run before you buy?”
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