Svagema~Entaris

Svagema sat down and watched the boy, more to gauge his apparent craftsmanship, but also to learn. He wait, hoping the actual Smith would wake up soon before the boy began working on the previously broken sword.

Barry did not seem terribly adept at his work. Numerous times there were loud clunking noises as the sword got jammed in the grindstone's mechanisms.
Looking around, Svagema notices that while the fire is lit in the forge, there does not actually seem to be any metal around it to be forged. What Barry was doing previous to his sudden spell of sleep is not discernable.
. . .
Before Svagema knows it, it is dawn. Barry has just finished with the first sword, which looks quite beaten up, but has a decent enough edge on it. It also seems to have mysteriously gotten thinner. He takes hold of the repaired sword and brings the grindstone up to speed. He presses the sword to it. The sword shatters. Barry screams, turning away to reveal a large gash that runs across his left eye. Blood flows freely. He screams again as his arm is caught in the grindstone while he turns away from it frantically. There's a sickening sound of ripping flesh, and finally, the grindstone slows to a halt against his bone. Barry faints, and is bleeding heavily.

Svagema watched the bloody scene with distaste and and stood slowly, taking a few slow breaths before knocking loudly and shouting. "Your apprentice got sucked into the grindwheel!" He hollered into the house, deftly scooting his longsword back to the chair he had been sitting on as he moved to the boy and removed the mangled limb from the gears and tore the shredded clothes off the injury, revealing the bleeding stump beneath. He hissed slightly at the gore and tied the rags of his shirt tightly around what remained of the limb, halting the bloodflow considerably. "Good god, man! Get OUT Here!!!" He yelled aloud again into the smith's house, hoping to either rouse the man himself or possibly a neighbor.

The first one to enter is a guard. He shoves Svagema out of the way and forces a ginseng drink into Barry's mouth. He takes out a pouch and sprinkles some fine yellow powder on Barry's arm, and the bleeding stops. The guard sighs with relief.
"Whew. never thought I would ever actually have to use that medical training. I heard the scream and came running."
The guard talks nervously, obviously more to calm himself down than any other reason. Avoice comes from the door.
"Auch! That fool! I told him to be careful around that grindstone!"
A large man enters. He looks to be at least 70, but still very fit. He is bald with white stubble. He looks at Svagema.
"Who the hell are you?"

Svagema nodded towards the boy's body. "I'm just a customer, wanted you to check on some repair work I did recently. Kid here saw that my blades were dull and offered to sharpen 'em for me. I didn't think nothin' of it til he suddenly snatched up the dodgy blade I was gonna have you look at...and before I could even blink...he...he...this!" He stammered out ,gesturing to the whole gory scene.

The old man raised an eyebrow.
"Barry offered, did he? You a friend of this lazy intern then? No, else you wouldn't have called him kid. Now tell me again what happened here, and this time, the truth."

Svagema blinked a few times, then responded. "I found him asleep on the floor of the foundry, woke him up and decided I was gonna wait here until you woke up so I could do actual business with the actual smith. About five minutes in, he said he could sharpen my blades. I just kind of shrugged and agreed, but I WARNED him about that blade! I had broken it earlier and tried to repair it myself, but decided it'd be best for a professional to give it the once over. That's the whole reason I was here in the first place. He apparently didn't listen and stuck the dodgy thing to the stone anyway and..." He trailed off, gesturing again to the scene.

"Well, I still find it difficult to believe that Barry would suggest he sharpen the blades. That'd be work, and he doesn't do that unless you got a cattle prod to his arse. But that aside, where does that unfamiliar longsword fit in? You would hardly bring it here just for protection, so there must be something you wanted me to do with it?"

Svagema looked over at the longsword and then back. "Well, I really just brought it with me because it was with my other blades...but I also was going to ask if you could maybe make it into something a bit more finesse-based, you know, like a Rapier or a Side Sword?" He looked down at his muddled blade and then at the shards of his other that lay strewn about the forge. "And I would very much so like to aquire a proper pair of large stilletoes...as my attempt has gone awry..."

The old man picks up the longsword, weighs it, balances it, makes a few motions with it, and comes to a decision.
"This is a silver longsword. I thought only the imperial knights carried these. There should be a fine seal on it above the hand guard, but its all scuffed, probably from a loose scabbard and a long trip on a horse. I can make it into a lighter blade, but if you want one of those fanct hand guards it will be extra. as it stands... I would say 40 gold and I'll throw in a proper scabbard for it. 45 if you want the hand guard to encompass your hand."
He looks at the lumps of metal that were once short swords.
"I'll knock 10 gold off it if you let me keep those 'swords' for raw metal."

Svagema grinned broadly and nodded, "I can't argue with that! Take the blades if you'd like, and yes, I would like a nice handguard, something sturdy, but graceful, if you can." He handed the failed shortsword remake to the man. "Oh, and...would you happen to know a place where a fellow could get a good pair of stilettoes? preferably blackened iron? And on the larger end of sizes?" He asked eagerly, his eyes alight now that he was finally doing business.

"Ah, is that what these are supposed to be? For another 60- no 50 gold, I can forge them back to top form. It'll take a few days, as I have some orders due soon. How's that sound?"

Again, Svagema's grin widened, "Thank you, sir! Take as much time as you will. I personally understand that time renders higher quality, being in my family's business and all..." He chuckled warmly and the had a thought. Blinking a few times, he spoke. "I will be just down the way at one of my family's ranches..." He gave more precise directions to the place. "I don't want to get in the way, you see, so please send someone when you are finished, yes?" He smiled again waited to make sure the man got the directions correct.

"Got it. I'll send Barry along in a few days. He should at least be competent enough to do that."
The old man relieves Svagema of 85 gold, and gives him a receipt.
"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to bed."

Svagema chuckles and bows nobly. "As you will, good sir..." He stands and walks home.

After an uneventful stroll, he gets to the ranch and sets about contrusting an area in the loft of one of their less used barns to train his newfound abilities, complete with scuff marked track around the perimeter, fighting dummy made from a log with many branches he set on a turntable so hitting one would spin the other toward him for attack-counter practice. He also built weighted bracelets and anklets of varying weights, from barely noticable to several too heavy for him to use at this moment. He didn't know what he was training FOR, but he wanted to be ready if more of those assassins showed up. He also fashioned crude stilletos from wood and tied long rocks to them so as to train for weilding their weight.

Upon testing this new equipment, Svagema finds that the bracelets and anklets inhibit him more than he expected. He loses his balance several times, mainly when trying to parry the counters from the dummy. After an hour or so, he manages to fully adjust to them. He is interrupted when one of the workers pokes his head in to see what he hears. He stares at the strange equipment. Light from the dawn sun pours in from behind him.
"Er, Svagema sir, if I might ask, what is this?"

Svagema smiled and leaned slightly on the dummy. "This? I dunno, just figured I should get a hobby, so I picked Martial Arts!" He said, chuckling. "Works out a whole different set of muscles than farmwork, you wanna try?" He suggests jokingly, knowing the day is over, so there was nothing else to be done.

The worker politely declines.
"Oh right. Sir, there is a bloodied patch of grass outside one of the barns... What should we do about it?"

Svagema thought for a moment. "Hmm...Oh yes, just mow that down as close to the ground as possible and throw alittle salt down. Don't know why we never made a trail to that barn anyway..." He said with a chuckle.

The worker nods and leaves. Svagema is feeling tired at this point and decides he needs sleep, as he has had a rather full day, even if it was only 14 hours. He brings along a knife from his kitchen to bed, should anyone try to attack him again. He sleeps in the barn that night, knowing full well that his animals will warn him if anyone enters. Making himself comfortable, he falls asleep amongst a pile of hay.

He wakes up the next day feeling refreshed. Nothing eventful seems to have happened while he slept. However, if his guess was right, it should be in the afternoon, but he heard no sounds of work coming from outside. Looking around for weapons, he finds the kitchen knife, a whip, a hoe(clearly not put in its proper place), and whatever might be in his inventory.

Svagea stretched and scratched his head, then looped the whip about his waist and set the hoe onto his back, the whip acting as a belt to keep it in place. He kept the knife out and walked quietly to the loft's door, which was used to haul bales of hay into it when it was in more active use. He looked out over the ranch to see why he heard none of the work noises.

A low, thick fog covers the ranch. Svagema cannot see more than 5 feet out. Behind him, the animals begin to act restless and frightened. Suddenly, a figure can be barely made out in the fog, closing the distance fast.

Svagema quickly backs away from the opening and lashes the knife to the hoe with some baling twine, then backs a few more steps and charges the opening again, vaulting as hard as he can as the figure comes in range. He brings up his knees to impact his opponent's shoulders and hopefully pin him to the ground and holds the makeshift spear above his head to bring to the figure's throat once he is near.

Svagema's timing is perfect. However, the figure's balance is not. Tripping as he enters the barn, he completely evades Svagema's attack by falling flat on his face. Svagema reacts quickly, but still ends up slamming into the wall. The man climbs to his feet quickly and backs against the opposite wall.
"Who are you?" He asks.
He is a large man, bald, and with a heavy set jaw. On his back is a large axe. He has bronze studded armor on his chest and legs, and iron boots and gauntlets.

Svagema frowns heavily and keeps the tip of the kitchen knife spearhead pointed at the man's throat even from across the barn. "I should be asking you that question...Answer!" He snarls and crouches slightly, tensed and poised to slit this man's throat at he first sign of hostility.