06-26-2022, 03:05 PM
[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.
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.
[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼
✰ — I'M JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD
zjarr ignibus / tanglewood / hellcat / weapons dealer / plot