[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]On Vale's request, he had given himself a great challenge in terms of his blacksmithing skills. Instead of weapons or shields or sparring equipment, he was commissioned by the Pitt's avian Ardent to design and create sculptures, metal art pieces for decoration. Admittedly Zjarr was reluctant to take on the deal, only convinced after he had negotiated easy, secure access to the Pitt's market Plaza for himself and the rest of the Arms Company. In the grand scheme of things, he would have been a fool to not have taken the offer. So he did, of course.

It was no easy feat. It was Flamey that was a real artist, not he, and he only had access to the vague skill of graphite drawing that he had picked up when him and Flamey were still one physical entity. He cursed the ghost for it, as he did at any inconvenience, but he would have to push through if he were to get these sculptures to the Pitt by his deadline and fulfill his promise. The most arduous aspect of the process was not gathering materials (he had plenty in Tanglewood's junkyard), nor was it the sculpting itself (years of working in the Forge made metal sculpting a fairly simple task), but rather creating a design in the first place. Countless nights were spent beside a bottle with a dwindling supply of whiskey within it, staring at the pages of his sketchbook with his graphite pencil beside it. His eyes would've begun bleeding faster than strokes would've been put onto the page if it weren't for Lanyu, who had come to him one evening and offered her assistance on the project. Of course, he could not trust a 5-month-old child with metal sculpting or anything of the sort, but he could trust his children with Addie, the female crow that Vale had bestowed upon Zjarr for the purpose of acting as a "muse". For a while he despised the damn thing, wanting to release it from its cage and snap its neck for looking at him so damn much and with such malice. But with a bit of help from his adoptive kin, he was able to curb his sheer hatred for her and make the sketches.

Past the point of design, it was a cakewalk. He had borrowed an abandoned wooden cart from the outskirts of Tanglewood's town and loaded a hefty amount of metals and other binding materials from the junkyard, traveling with them all to the Forge for production. The husky divided each of the four sculptures into separate parts, creating one piece at a time before welding them together to create a metal sculpture. In the span of about a week, after tiring hours in the Forge, he had completed his project.

Now the arms dealer was upon the Pitt's border, traveling from the southern, swampy lands of Tanglewood up to the northern desert that the Pitt called home. The wooden cart that he had borrowed was in tow, this time carrying the four completed sculptures that were covered with a protective black tarp, along with a decently-sized satchel containing his own wares should he decide to set up shop in the Pitt after revealing his projects to Vale. Addie was perched on the cart as well, a small bag of peanuts beside her in case she had gotten hungry along the way. Zjarr pushed onward into the Pitt's Plaza, stopping at the very end of it where the market lay, and awaited the Ardent's presence.

"Got something for us?" a familiar voice called, and the husky turned to face the feline he had done business with here, who was glancing at him curiously.

"Blackjack," he said, offering the other a beaming grin. "How's the product?" Hidden blades were difficult to manufacture, and he was curious if they were working out well for the assassin.

"Reliable. Haven't broken on me, thankfully." Blackjack tilted his head at the cart. "I know what's in your bag of secrets, but what's underneath the tarp?"

"Top-secret, sir. I need Vale here."

The horned jaguar clicked his tongue at him. "Shame. Ve'll be around here, I'm sure. Oh, another thing..." He leaned in towards the husky. "My debt to you. Can we consider it...abolished?"

"Y'tipped me off well. You're good, Jack," Zjarr replied in the same hushed tone that Blackjack had adopted. The feline leaned back and nodded to him before walking off. The junkyard was more than enough to stave off his need for supplies, and he was grateful for the assassin's advice. Good information was often better payment than anything else.

Now all he had to do was wait.

[member=3123]vale[/member]