[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Zjarr was not one for the illusion of chance, but he felt that perhaps sometime, not so long ago, that he had charmed Lady Luck into sparing his wretched soul, for the odds seemed to be in his favor. For once, he felt healthy, the vigor returning to his sturdy muscles that rippled with life and strength. After years of isolation, he was returning to the clans again, eager for mere moments of interaction, each encounter empowering him further. The demon walked with a sense of optimism, if only until all came crashing down again. Stability was not a particularly common factor in any part of his life, so he treasured the times in which the stars and moons and planets all felt as though they were aligned, bringing him to some kind of peace he could only know in fleeting moments. This was his luck.

And it was luck, he believed, that brought him to the leopard again. The husky, with his signature cap upon him and his satchel slung over his shoulder, had been venturing back to the Ignibus Forge after his visit in Night Spades, grateful that his paws were not weary thanks to the lack of painstaking distance between the clan and his Forge. For a wandering merchant like him, these opportunities were well invited. The leopard wasn't all too difficult to spot laying upon a ledge, her icy blue features distinct as though they were lighthouses illuminating stormy, blackened seas. Admittedly he had wanted to speak to her more amid his visit, but with the arrival of Sneezy, he had to quickly return to the matter at hand and stick to the script.

"Hey," Zjarr said finally. Hey? Don't leave it at that. 'n' take the stupid fuckin' hat off. Nerve-filled paws reached for the cap upon his skull before tucking it into his satchel among the leftover wares that resided within it. "Ah, you're from Night Spades, right? I was visitin' earlier today, recognized ya." Great, now he didn't seem like a creep. Hopefully. "Could I get your name, ma'am?" You suck dick at this. For once he found himself wishing that Flamey had never abandoned him. Maybe he would know what to do.

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]"Carnyx Ridel." A peculiar name, one whose origin he could not pinpoint immediately. Not that it was necessarily an easy task for him to do so anyway — the meaning of names that weren't Latin, German, or English-sounding often eluded him, but he did enjoy discovering such information. It added layers to each person he met, for better or worse. Maybe it was ironic like his own name. Zjarr Ignibus. Fire Flame. Fire fuckin' Flame. In truth he hated the name for this reason alone, but it had been ages since he had stolen Flamey's identity and surname. With the name being passed onto the next generation already, he was far too late. Still, he found the name to be a curious one, pleasant on the tongue. A pretty one indeed. Maybe it is fitting, after all, he said mentally, forcing himself to ignore the oafish smile tugging at his lips at the thought.

Her next statement returned Zjarr to the land of the living, twitching an ear and stammering his response. "Oh, y-yeah! Ai-ain't too far from where I work, y'know. I was jus' gonna, ah, stash what's left, pro'lly, unless sum' catches your eye still." Something sure caught his eye, and quietly he hoped that his presence didn't burden her. She seemed amused for now, but would the camaraderie last? How long 'til you fuck it all up? With the way you're runnin' your mouth, it'll be quick. If Flamey was with him still, perhaps he would have a bit of the levelheadedness and confidence to speak to Carnyx normally, but without him, Zjarr felt as though he were deserted on another planet, especially in situations like these.

Control. He was in control still, hopefully. He could take it slow, let things unfold naturally. That was his best bet for now. "Y'mind if I join ya here, ma'am?" the husky asked, his voice as soft as it had ever been. A small thing to ask of her, sure, but his curiosity made him wonder just how far this mere inquiry would go.

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]A war horn? That was certainly an interesting name, then. He never quite understood the notion of naming one's spawn a noun. It was as if he were to call his child Halbard or Biodag or Sghian, if they were all keeping to the Scottish theme; he wondered, however, if anyone would name themselves or their children after a weapon in the first place. Perhaps that was simply the first place his mind went to, considering it was his craft, and it was one that consumed the vast majority of his life here on the Island. Well, now that I think 'bout it, those names ain't too ugly either. Maybe that's all that mattered — a pretty name. "Y'don't seem to strike much fear in me," Zjarr mused at her explanation. "Only interest." The husky's eyes sparkled a little at that, a little mischievous flair within his chocolate gaze. What sort of interest did he mean? That, of course, would be up to the audience.

He frowned slightly at her apologies. "Sorry for what? I'm enjoyin' myself listenin' to ya. That ain't, warrantin' no apology." Truthfully, he didn't despise this conversation at all, and not just because he was mesmerized by her voice, each syllable spoken as if in song. Pretty lady in front of him aside, he did like learning new things, storing new facts in his mind that he could only pray would not be lost to the sands of time down the line (or the dizziness of a drunken night in the not-so-far future). There was much he didn't know about the world, and he could spare some time filling in the gaps, regardless of how "redundant" some thought it would be.

He nodded at her compliment for his wares, though it wasn't an uncommon thing to hear at this point. He spent grueling hours in the Forge designing and hand-crafting every weapon he produced, ensuring maximum quality and durability for each blade. It was a signature Ignibus quality that a smith from any other bloodline would have great difficulty in matching (at least, it was what he inferred), and it was rare that people were left dissatisfied. Remarkably, he said nothing more of it, instead taking a moment to step forward and rest by her upon the ledge, lightly brushing against her light-colored pelt for a brief second as he did so.

Some people had their reasons for not wanting to protect themselves with a blade, although most of the time he would disagree with them. Zjarr felt that his wares had greater use than being tools of battle alone, which Carnyx had voiced her distinct disinterest in. I don't want to end up scarred and mar what is left of my good looks. He took this opportunity to better gaze upon her now. She spoke truthfully about her looks, finding little imperfection in what he saw. He knew that it was his turn to speak and couldn't waste it staring lest he be labeled a gawking pest, but he wouldn't have minded just sitting there for a while, taking it in. "Well, we certainly can't have none of that."

He sighed softly, forcing himself to break from his trance. "Truth be told, I ain't a fighter, either. I'll take up arms if I gotta, but I prefer helpin' in my own ways." His own ways were, of course, his smithing, which was not a difficult thing to draw from his words. What he meant, however, was something a little different. He didn't care what side he was on. He was on the side of good deals and even greater fortune.

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