Phoenix Forged || Caspar & Lyn
Horsebow Moon sees a spike in visitors: farmers and tradesmen alike coming to offer their prayers for the most industrious time of the year. There’s no shortage of merchants who set up shop in town to take advantage of this surge, but something doesn’t seem quite right about that one vendor advertising everything from blades crafted by Zoltan to mythical swords from faraway lands in hopes of reaping riches from the gullible. [Grants Sword +1]
The boy’s eyes were alight as he wandered randomly throughout the bustling market, drinking in the vast array of everything they had, from foodstuffs to armor and even weapons too! It was all a most riotous scene, with laughter and chatter and people shoving this way and that; but honestly, Caspar thrived in the noise. It revitalized him in a way not even training could match—he would never tire of the city, nor of exploring all that was novel. Just down the cross-street at a nearby corner, there seemed to be a huge crowd of people huddled around a single merchant who was hawking his wares. “Come one; come all!” he boomed. (He had a voice fit to rival his own.) “Feast your eyes on what I who has traveled the seven ranges has to offer! I bring weapons galore from faraway realms, with said to be able to cleave mountains in twain! You won’t get such power anywhere else!”
Cleaving mountains seemed a bit much, but there was no denying all the attention the man was getting. Somebody that popular just had to have something awesome in hand! Eagerly, Caspar pushed his way through the crowd, his short stature helping him wiggle through the smallest gaps; and before long, he was doing exactly as the merchant had ordered. Feasting his eyes, that is. There was a magnificently foreign-looking sword hanging from the center of the back wall, with a golden pommel and golden inscriptions carved along its length. They looked like fire, a burning blaze sprouting from the tail of a magnificent bronzed phoenix, its wings flared to form the cross-guard of the blade. Its single edge looked sharp enough to prove the merchant’s claim… He had to have it.
“Hey, mister! How much for this one here?”
The merchant whipped about instantly (no doubt a learned reflex to the sound of an interested buyer), grinning obsequiously. “You have a good eye, lad! This here is called Luna Katti, forged by a process known as age-kitae in the distant land of Wa. It is incredibly strong, and very pure besides. How does twenty thousand gold sound?”
Twenty thousand? Not even Zoltan’s swords retailed for that much! But… That certainly was a pretty and sharp-looking blade… The boy kept his expression carefully neutral. Rule number one of shopping was to never show interest, after all. “Sir, I’ve seen that kind of engraving before in Brigid; that hilt and cross-guard look familiar as well. I won’t pay more than seven thousand for it.”
The merchant ogled. “You can’t possibly have! The art of age-kitae is unique to the land of Wa! Ten thousand; take it or leave it.”
Caspar raised an eyebrow. “My father is a war hero from the Brigid rebellion. Of course I’ve seen it. Eight thousand.”
In the end, they settled on 8500 gold. Caspar was quite pleased he didn’t have to invoke his father’s name and title in the end, and whistled happily the whole way home, shiny new foreign sword clanking at his side. As soon as he reached the training grounds, he pulled the sword slowly out of its sheath, just as the heroes of old did in storybooks, thrilling in the melodic scrape of steel on steel. He turned the blade about in his hands; the sharp edge caught the sun and glinted gold, as fiery as the phoenix on the cross-guard. It was… beautiful. “Oh man, this going to be so cool!” he cheered (quietly, to himself). He already couldn’t wait! He allowed himself one wild grin before taking his stance, low and broad, just as his combat instructors had taught him. But before he could strike—
