Escape from Darom, page 7
“Right back at ye,” Skovreck yelled after them, “I’m sure ye’ll get yer coin’s worth!”
“Sorry for causing any problems for you Skovreck,” Zeven hurriedly said, feeling bad about the old Smith losing business because of him.
“Don’t worry yer furry face over it,” Skovreck said, thrusting his fist into the air in a “up yer ass” gesture in the direction the other group had gone in. “Those senseless feks weren’t planning on buying anything from the start.”
“If you say so,” Zeven said, running a clawed hand through the fur on the back of his neck. As the old Dwarf went to turn away, he suddenly remembered the last thing he needed. “Oh, and Skovreck, I was hoping you could also help me with getting a replacement weapon too.”
“That shouldn’t be too much of an issue, depending on what ye’re looking for,” Skovreck thoughtfully said, rubbing his chin, “What are ye looking for?
“A Lochaber if you have them,” Zeven said as the old Dwarf harrumphed, “or a polearm that’s of a similar design.”
“The only thing I have that I can have ready by tonight is a Dwarven Bardiche,” Skovreck apologized, “Otherwise, I’ll have to reserve a timeslot on the Clan of Hammertoe’s forge.”
“That’ll work,” Zeven hurriedly said, mentally picturing the Bardiches that he’d practiced with in the past. They were similar to his beloved Lochaber but without the convenient reverse hook.
“Excellent,” Skovreck said, already distracted as he turned away heading for his workshop, “Then, I’ll see ye in a few hours.”
“Is everything alright?” Zeven asked, worried he might have offended the old Dwarf.
“Naw, he’s good,” Belkar assured him, “he just be wanting to get the work done today.” Turning around, the Dwarfling waved for them to follow him out. “So, where to next?”
“Well, besides Bright Claw’s gear, I’m gonna need a replacement kilt, dress shirt, and jacket for tonight’s ceremony,” Zeven said, listing each item off on a clawed finger, “and something like a dressy Gnome shoe if Aeroch Nor has any shops like that.”
“Hahaha that be a good one,” Belkar barked out, slapping his knees as he doubled over braying like a mule in laughter, “A Beast Kin wearing a dress shirt, jacket, and fancy shoes. That got to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
For a long moment, Zeven just watched the Dwarfling not saying a word. Every time Belkar tried to say something more, he’d just look up at Zeven’s serious face and lose it all over again. Was it really that hard for the Dwarves to believe that Beast Kin could dress up and look respectable? That thought alone made the hackles rise on the back of Zeven’s neck.
At first, Doufalynn and Lokuth joined in laughing it up with Belkar. That was, until they caught the serious look Mutoline was giving them. Though, the growing rage building in Zeven’s stiff posture seemed to get the point across as they worriedly began to look back and forth between one another. Even Bright Claw silently came up to join in staring at the Dwarfling who was nearly rolling on the ground by now. Clearing her throat, Mutoline decided to take matters into her own hands.
“In that case, Zeven,” Mutoline said, ignoring Belkar as she looked Zeven respectfully in his silver-blue eyes, “I’d say we should go to Merryfinger's Exceptional Threads first so you can pick out a new Great Kilt and the other threads you need, before swinging by Lightbraid's Luxurious Leathers for matching shoes and accessories.”
“Lead the way,” Zeven said, breathing out a sigh of relief as Belkar looked up at them incredulously.
“Wait, ye being serious,” the Dwarfling managed to gasp out in amazement.
“Stop being an ass,” Lokuth hissed, before hurrying after Mutoline and Zeven.
“Come on, Belkar,” Doufalynn unhappily chided, “get with it already.”
“Oh, come on, ye can’t be serious,” Belkar said, pushing himself up to his feet in annoyance as he followed after, “How was I supposed to be knowing he was being serious?”
To Zeven’s surprise, Merryfinger’s Exceptional Threads was only a few shops further down. Though, it made sense in a way. At least, it did if this side of the Trade District was more for the higher-end Craft Masters while the entrance was for the lower-end crafters.
“The three of you can wait out here,” Mutoline said without looking over her shoulder, “while Zeven picks out what he needs.”
“But I only laughed for a second,” Lokuth protested.
“You know we didn’t mean anything by it,” Doufalynn whined next to him.
“What,” Belkar complained, “Ye got to be kidding me. I’d pay some serious coin to see Girroc’s face when ye begin explaining what it is ye be looking for.”
“Not helping your case any, Belkar,” Mutoline said, meaningfully pointing to a nearby bench sitting off to the side of the entrance.
“Ah, man,” Zeven heard Lokuth say as they walked through the hexagonal archway.
The tailor shop was a lot more impressive than Zeven had been expecting. While he wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting from a medieval fantasy clothing shop, this wasn’t it. Probably because it was the vaguely humanoid mannequins that were spaced out everywhere modeling different clothing styles. Mostly that was for various dressy skirts, jackets, and shirts, but there was an impressive modern-day rack where numerous uniquely patterned kilts hung. Zeven had just made his visual circuit of the wears, when a distinguished-looking old Dwarf came bustling out from the rear of the shop.
“Mutoline, is that truly you,” the old Dwarf primly asked, coming up to take her two hands in his own, “It’s been way to long!” He gently spun her around so he could look at her from all sides. “You’ve grown so much.”
“Thank you, Girroc,” Mutoline politely replied.
“By the way, I wanted to offer my condolences for your grandfather,” Girroc’s voice lowered in sympathy, “I just heard about what happened in Kragrock earlier this morning.” The old Dwarf’s hands clenched the neck of his elegant robes. “It’s such a tragedy. Borear Hammertoe was a true Dwarf’s Dwarf.”
“He was an honorable Chieftain,” Mutoline agreed, forcibly blinking back the tears that had suddenly come to her eyes, “and I will miss him greatly.”
“That he was, my dear. That he was,” Girroc agreed as they shared a hug.
Zeven could only watch the effeminate old Dwarf’s interaction with Mutoline in amazement. It was so out of character in comparison to every other male Dwarf that he’d met so far in Aeroch Nor that he didn’t quite know what to think. Girroc’s snow-white beard was immaculately trimmed with a wide silver clasp holding each end of his long mustache. Another much larger silver clasp gathered up the ends of his braided beard. These delicately crafted clasps perfectly matched the silver-thread that had been purposely woven into the ornate patterns of his elegant robes. Between that and his flamboyantly crafted leather shoes with their curled toes, he looked like a perfect dandy.
“Girroc,” Mutoline said, sounding like a proper lady as she released the old Dwarf and stepped back to sweep an arm at Zeven. “I’d like to introduce you to my good friend, Zeven Al'Zaric.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Zeven formally said, giving the Dwarf a formal bow. He didn’t know exactly why he didn’t simply shake the Dwarf’s hand, but it felt right, so he’d gone with his gut feeling without question.
“Oh, please excuse my rudeness,” Girroc apologetically exclaimed as a look of horror crossed his face, “My manners are usually much better than that.” Returning Zeven’s bow with one of his own that he twirled his hand around in an elaborate gesture, he announced, “I am the great Girroc Silvertouch, the Owner and Master Crafter of Merryfinger’s Exceptional Threads and,” he dramatically paused, “I assure you the pleasure is all mine.” Standing up straight, he gave Mutoline a saucy wink. “How might I be of service to you today.”
“We’ve run into a serious problem,” Mutoline secretively confided as she hooked an arm around Girroc’s elbow. Zeven swore he could see the old Dwarf’s chest puffing out proudly as she continued in the same tone, “Cragguard sent messengers out earlier this morning to call in favors for the House of Hammertoe, but the one thing he hadn’t planned on was Zeven losing all of his clothing during the battle against Warptooth the Thunderstrike.”
“That’s truly awful,” Girroc agreed, critically eyeing Zeven’s furry chest and ratty kilt.
“I assured him,” Mutoline’s voice dropped conspiratorially, “that if anyone could possibly help, it would be your esteemed self.”
“While that’s unquestionably true,” Girroc dubiously said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I really only focus on more high-end formal clothing.” He meaningfully cleared his throat. “Your friend might best be served at a shop more like Cavern Trekker’s Emporium or Mountain Breakers.”
“That won’t do at all,” Mutoline exclaimed in an aghast tone, “The Clan of Hammertoe is holding the burial ceremony tonight for Borear Hammertoe and the other clanmates lost in Kragrock. Zeven as the Hero of Kragrock will be expected to speak at the funeral and he must look proper for the event.” The Dwarf girl wiped the corners of her eyes in distress. “After that, he’ll be being presented to the clan as its first Honorary Member in a hundred years. He must be appropriately attired!”
“That is quite the conundrum and I will do all in my limited power to assist,” Girroc agreed, turning hesitantly to Zeven as he looked him up and down, “but what does a Badger Kin require for formal attire?”
“Thank you so much for agreeing to help,” Zeven exuberantly gushed, doing his best Elton John onstage impersonation as he smothered the grin that tried to split his thick black lips.
Ignoring how ridiculous he might look, Zeven bent his wrist, pressing the curved arch of his fingers against his chest. Affected a foppish posture, he strutted over to a mannequin displaying an elegant blood-red Victorian Frock Coat. It was highly stylized with gold highlights and looked like something out of a Goth Steampunk convention.
“While I absolutely love this wonderful burgundy velvet,” Zeven said, dragging out the “lo” sound in love, “I fear it would clash with my silver fur’s highlights.” Whirling around, he dramatically posed next to the manikin waving his hand up and down his front for comparison, “Might you have a black velvet dress coat in this same style, but with silver highlights like that in your own wonderful robe?”
For a split-moment, Zeven thought that he might have overplayed his hand. Partly, that was because Mutoline’s eyes had nearly bulged out of her head at his performance. It was pretty over-the-top, Zeven privately admitted, but he’d simply been imitating Mutoline’s own performance. From the nonverbal cues that she’d given him, it hadn’t even crossed Cragguard’s mind that Zeven might need dress clothes for the ceremony tonight. It was that soft presumptuous bigotry of lower expectations that he’d been experiencing towards Beast Kins everywhere he’d traveled outside the Kingdom of Ocilimma that drove him to prove them wrong now as Girroc’s eyes lit up.
“Wait right there,” Girroc enthusiastically said as he hurriedly ran for the backroom of his shop, “I have just the thing!”
Mutoline meaningfully arched an eyebrow at Zeven as the sounds of clattering boxes bouncing across the floor came to their ears. Instead of answering verbally, he just gave her a nonchalant shrug since neither of them dared to say what they were thinking out loud. Nonetheless, he knew perfectly well what she was trying to say. Mutoline had never imagined a brutal-looking Badger Kin like him could act the dandy when needed. Zeven had to admit it was pretty hilarious, especially when he heard Girroc’s sharp exclamation.
“Found it!” Within a few moments the tailor was back holding the requested formal Frock Coat. Hurrying over to them, he critically held it up to Zeven’s chest. “Hmm, I think this should be able to be let out enough to do the job.” Hanging the dress coat over the nearest mannequin, he took out a measuring leather strip and gestured to Zeven. “Please undo your Kilt Pin and hold your arms out.”
“Like this,” Zeven asked, letting the part of his clip over his shoulder drop away and assuming the position.
“Perfect,” Girroc distractedly muttered as he began taking measurements, “Yes … yes, this will work perfectly.” Pulling out a slim silver dagger, he made a few quick altercations to the Frock Coat, before handing it to Zeven. “Okay, put this on and let me check the fit.”
Shrugging into the black velvet coat, Zeven was surprised to see that it was now too large for him. Pulling the coat closed, he began doing up the double line of buttons and the hook at the base of his neck. Letting his arms hang at his side, the tailor pulled out a plush round cushion with small metal pins sticking into it.
“Okay,” Girroc stated, “that should do it.”
“Excellent,” Zeven said, checking his reflection in the mirror, “it looks good.” The black velvet perfectly complemented his silver fur. Curiously, he cast an Identify on the jacket. Immediately, the system window popped open before his eyes:
BlackGuard Velvet Frock Coat
Item Quality: Exceptional
Item Type: Crafted (Social)
Slot: Chest
Defense: 100
Armor Type: Very Light
Durability: 250/250
Weight: 2 kg
+35 Spirit
+35 Charisma
-The quality of this item gives the wearer a "Well Dressed" buff for eight hours.
Cocking his head to the side, he flashed the Dwarf a grin, “Now, all that I need is a Great Kilt and a patent leather cross-chest belt.”
“The Great Kilt shouldn’t be a problem,” Girroc said, directing Zeven’s eyes to a rack of Kilts further back that he hadn’t seen, “but the patent leather cross-chest belt you’ll have to get from a Cobbler.”
“Not a problem,” Zeven said, after getting a nod from Mutoline.
Walking over to the new rack, Zeven quickly flipped through the available Tartans until he found a pattern that matched his own House of Bruic Diongmhalta. Unlike the majority of the Dwarven Tartans he’d seen up to now, his Clan’s Tartan was a complex pattern of muted colors that ran the gambit of rust, black, green, and yellow. Perfect for blending in with the natural foliage within the Kingdom of Ocilimma. At least, it was when the ground wasn’t covered in frozen snow.
“Do you mind if I use your privacy screen to change,” Zeven politely asked, getting a nod from the tailor.
Ducking behind the folding screen in the corner of the shop, Zeven quickly changed out of his borrowed Kilt and equipment belts, shoving the frayed Kilt into his Rucksack of Holding. Next, he began the laborious process of finding the middle of the fabric, before beginning the pleating process with the Great Kilt held in his hands. It would’ve been easier to have simply laid it out on the ground to do this part but the shop didn’t exactly have the space.
That’s probably because the Dwarven city Kilts had pre-sewn pleats that made them much easier to don while standing. Getting the heavy wool wrapped around his waist at the correct length, Zeven looped part of the excess fabric diagonally across his shoulder, before adjusting the excess to rest on his back. Making sure everything was laid correctly, he quickly strapped on his belts and Rucksack of Holding, before stepping out to check himself in the shop’s mirror. With a thought, he cast another Identify.
Camouflage Mountain Great Kilt (Traditional)
Item Quality: Superior
Item Type: Crafted
Slot: Accessory (Unique Overslot - Can be used over regular leg and chest armor)
Defense: 150
Armor Type: Light
Durability: 200/200
Weight: 6 kg
-Plus 25% increase to Stealth in wooded areas.
-Plus 35% increase to Stealth in mountainous areas.
-Plus 15% increase to Stealth in darkness.
-Plus 50% resistance to effects from inclement weather.
Damn, Zeven thought, that’s a sweet upgrade compared to his last Great Kilt.
“You look appropriately fierce,” Girroc approvingly said with Mutoline nodding in agreement next to him as Zeven looked himself over in the mirror.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Zeven said, frowning at his reflection as he let out a deep sigh, “You wouldn’t have any brown or green leather peasant shirts available in my size, would you?”
“While I don’t have any made up that would fit you, they’re easy enough to craft,” Girroc said with a shrug as he gave Mutoline a curious glance at the request, “How many would you like?”
“Five, if possible,” Zeven said, happy to get some replacement threads, “You sure you don’t have anything laying around that would fit me now?”
“This isn’t Goldenmane’s Leather,” Girroc huffed at his words, “but I can have them ready with the Frock Coat in two hours or so.”
“That’ll be fine, Girroc,” Zeven explained to the tailor who’s face still looked peeved at his request for untailed clothing, “I just don’t like walking around Aeroch Nor basically topless.”
“Bu-but you’re covered in fur,” the Dwarf stuttered in surprise as he traded a confused glance with Mutoline.
“I said it’s fine,” Zeven patiently said, not feeling comfortable enough to explain his odd situation. Clearing his throat, he gave the Dwarf a respectful bow, “I’ll be taking the Great Kilt now.”
“Excellent … excellent,” Girroc happily said, “the amount comes to-”
“Please put that on the House of Hammertoe’s tab,” Mutoline said, interrupting the tailor.
“Of course, Mutoline,” Girroc happily said, “as always, it’s a pleasure to be at the House of Hammertoe’s service.”
“Thank you for making Zeven’s suit a rush,” Mutoline politely replied, “We’ll come back in two hours.” Nodding for Zeven to follow, she headed for the exit, “Come along, Zeven.”
“You know,” Zeven uncomfortably began to say as he fell in beside her, “I didn’t expect for the House of Hammertoe to pay for my-”
