The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Gerdorn grunted at the note. The messenger was there still waiting for a response. On the one hand, he'd had to turn work away lately. That was frustrating. Some of it was due to general busyness but the rest was due to the damned Brown boy leaving. Yes, he'd been a general nuisance butting in and bypassing the apprentice system, paying money to learn from Gerdorn, paying to work. It was madness but it also made the blacksmith a nice little amount of money on the side. He was able to further increase his workload and he was getting paid double for it. Moreover, the boy had those deft hand and could do some of the fine work he never quite managed to master.

Now that Brown had moved off to Darkenhold, Gerdorn was turning away business. Never good. This was a rush project, something that would take his full effort. It looked to be the most complicated work he'd done in years and it was a damned odd request on top of that; obviously some noble had been in there when the boy was around and they thought that could be a benchmark for their own child. It was almost certainly some blasted son of a noble with fool dreams of rushing off to Razasan and going to fight the Thessholes heroically or whatever else the rumor was this week. Normally he'd refuse on principle, but that was an awful lot of money being offered. It was a nice brooch the pretty young messenger had too. Quality work. He respected quality work.

He respected the money more. "Fine. I'll do it, but you tell your lord and lady that they better damn well suggest me to all of their rich friends." If they did, that'd more than make this worth it for years to come. Gerdorn sighed. "Now get out of here. I have work to do." Much, much more than he had expected when he woke up this morning.

Clapping of fine horseshoes on cobbled stone would echo down the side street in the pre-dawn haze. Humidity stifled the sound only somewhat, the air thick with the approaching summer. Off the old brick and stone the sound bounced, every now and again a small whinny, a breath, a slight shadow from a street lamp and then nothing more.

There was no rider and considering the horse it only seemed natural. The redhead who smelled of orange and spice, a dapper pauper, was by no means fit to mount such a stunning specimen. With a silver white mane, carved muscles and a coat that had been lovingly cared for; this was a truly magnificent creature. Surely one the thief had gone through great pains to steal, the deep circles of a sleepless night, or a few, marking the determination and single-mindedness of his journey.

And here he was, gods-only-knew if he had the presence of mind to know where he actually was, delivering the prettiest white horse.