Whoops, sorry it took me too long to get this up officially, but it should all be good now that I'm ready to pay attention. In case anybody needed a (strictly optional) backstory, I suppose that you're all blacksmiths in Skalreach, the City of a Thousand Guilds. Competition for craftsmen is stiff, and you've all been fighting for the title of "best blacksmith" for years. However, Skalreach isn't the only city out there- In fact, the King of this land is willing to hand over lordship and the requisite lands to the best blacksmith there is... If only somebody could hurry up and decide who. You've decided to hold a competition between yourselves to see who the greatest Blacksmith is, and the winner will become the lord or lady of a prosperous trade city on the silver coast... But the king's pretty old, so his offer might not stand forever, if you know what I mean. So you each have only a little over 24 hours to invent and sell items to each of the customers that arrive. Good luck. @mizal can start us off with the customer-related post. And the tags to let the rest of you guys know where the thread is @BerkaZerka @WizzyCat @hetero_malk @Gryphon
"Yyap, I'll confirm that!" said a strangely-accented voice, "Back home, we use things like that to tell whether or not our cheese curds are counterfeits from Illinois. Cursed be their name!"
A tall humanoid figure pushes out through the crowd. Plates of gleaming steel cover their entire body, leaving no vulnerability, from sabatons, to codpiece, to plumed helm. The only part of their body not covered by armor is a slit on the face, which allows them to see while keeping their eyes shrouded in shadow.
"Uh... hi," he says, with a voice that echoes across the room. "So, I, uh, I brought the thing."
A couple of the spectators look away from the man, as their minds try to place the faltering, rather high-pitched voice within the massive armored suit, and fail.
The smith doesn't notice this, and takes out a fine silk cloth. Laying it on the floor, he allows the sultan's servants to unwrap the weapon contained within.
A |Crank-operated| |Coral| |Hack Saw| |Of Thirst Quenching| is revealed. The handle of the hack saw has a large crank protruding, an assembly similar to a fishing rod's, and the other end contains a faucet. The entire thing, including the blade, is made of a beautiful cyan coral.
When he sees his craftsmanship, the blacksmith gains some confidence and begins speaking firmly, "The way I see it, royalty must have two qualities: strength, and the ability to hold down their liqour! With this device, you can test this man's capabilities in both. The crank powers the enchanted faucet, which gives out a fine honeyed mead. A real prince should be able to drink continuously for a few minutes. Next, he should be able to kill a tiger, or lion, or whatever beasts populate this desert region, using just this. If he fails, then he's dead and you have nothing to worry about. He succeeds, and his lineage is certainly of noble blood!
That's what I get for hurrying and writing before work.
SCOREBOARD: Wizzy: 1 Everyone: 0
Alright, everyone's had their fun, I think we can wrap this up now!
Does the pirate have a parrot?
The tall, heavily armored blacksmith emerges from his smithy, with what looks like a freshly extracted femur in his hand. Upon closer inspection, it's actually a cane, but not just any cane, as it's a |Bloody| |Ivory| |Shillelagh| |Of Doom| !
The blacksmith swings it around menacingly a few times, and then begins, "It is hard work being a pirate, but you know how you can get extra profits without any extra work? No? Well, it's this thing!"
"You didn't wait for an an—" an onlooker remarks, and is cut off.
"So, what does it do, you might ask?"
Another onlooker begins, "What does i—"
"Glad you asked!" The smith continues to cut people off. "You do fighting, boozing, burning, and scurvying, but you're missing the critical aspect of intimidation! With this item, you add that critical aspect of piracy to your arsenal. Let's say you come across a trade ship. You pull this thing out, and they'll piss themselves at the sight of a bloodied blone! No one is willing to risk dismemberment and death for some cargo. You get the cargo, and now rival pirates are on your tail. They arrive and they board the ship and try to steal from you. That's where you activate the DOOM POWERS. It's important to note that it's doom to only one person, once per day, but it's via disintegration. So you disintegrate an enemy pirate, and no one else wants to fight you, so you ward off the pirates, and maybe gain crew members. Also, flying orphans can't dodge this. Perfect. At that point, you can live your life happily plundering all the seas, and the oceans. This is where you get old, and this item makes the perfect cane so you can finish out your days with an eyepatch, frizzled hair, and a cane, like all great pirates do. Oh, and you can beat the snot out of anyone. I mean, look at the clubbing potential. From baby seals to flying orphans, this has got you covered."
He inhales for the first time since the beginning of his monologue, and twirls the shillelagh.
This was the Kobold Crossover I never knew we needed
Thump! Thump! Thump! The door to the room shakes with the knocking, prompting some guards nearby to open it. After some squabbling about invitations, a short bespectacled man walks in, donning a pointed green cap and a mechanical arm.
"Hello friends, I apologize for my lateness. I had a failing worble-wheel in desperate need of oils. I'm sure you understand."
Everyone stares. A few blink.
"But!" he suddenly shouts, "I have finished my latest contraption. Behold!"
He drops a heavy wooden box on the floor with a heave, and pushes a button. Clicking sounds emanate from somewhere within as it vibrates. A spring in the bottom suddenly releases, flinging the box into the air, right next to one of the pirates. Lever arms shoot out of holes, clinching both sides of his drink, retracting it swiftly out of his grasp.
"What in the 'ell!" He shouts angrily. The box produces a small gout of steam and leaps back as the short man laughs mirthly.
"My friends, he says with a grin, this is a GNOMISH | SELF-REPAIRING | RUM FINDER | WITH MANY BUTTONS!" He presses a few of them, making the box return its captured drink. (At this point, the pirate mutters obscenities unfit for the children.)
"What more could a pirate need than an automatic rum finder! Leave it in port, or let it board a ship, and it will fetch and fill itself full with all the rum you need! It even has an attack mode where it launches itself at people! Observe!" One of the guards squints at him menacingly.
"...Or don't! But it does that too!" He gives a grandiose wave. "I spent a lot of time to make sure it was easy to use even for non-gnomes, so all the instructions fit on one page of papyrus!" He holds up a small sheet with surprisingly legible handwriting, clearly hired for the occasion.
"Oh, my name's Cabagarth. Dearly sorry, I almost forgot," he adds.
SCOREBOARD: Wizzy: 2 Everyone: 0 I'm beginning to notice balancing issues in my game
Cabagarth begins to get a little twitchy and paranoid. First the kobolds catch on, then of course a paladin shows up. Obviously the intel was wrong, and the obscure, highly top-secret mission compromised.
"Oh dear, I just remembered I left the steam pot on," he excuses himself.
The heavily armored blacksmith blanches at the sight of the weapons on display. He mutters something under his breath and goes into a back room. He toils for hours, attempting to create something that's at least passable.
"A-ha! Aha? Aha." are the only words he utters, and those only near the end of his struggle.
He emerges, upper body covered with soot, seemingly sweating through his armor.
He coughs violently, "I've done it! The best tool for a paladin to hand out justice left, right, and center with. The |Wavy-bladed| |Copper| |Knuckleduster| |Forged in the Ugandan Shaolin Temple| , in the flesh—or would it be in the metal? In the metal. Not the flesh. Definitely in the metal. Right, moving on."
The smith holds out his handiwork. It appears to be a completely normal copper knuckle, but upon closer inspection, it actually has a blade running along the edge.
He coughs again, only this time to clear his throat, "So, we've all heard of paladin brutality. Some criminal gets slapped around by a paladin until he's barely more than a pile of pulp, or in that one case where he was literally reduced to pulp. This weapon will allow you to avoid that, and allow you to dispense just enough of that sweet justice. Too much justice and it's no longer just, right? In addition, it was forged in a temple, and not just any temple, but the Ugandan Shaolin Temple! You know about it? I don't think so. That's because those paladins are so humble that they take no credit for their work, allowing other paladins to use it for the dispensing of justice."
"But, good smithing man, weren't you just forging this item? How am I to believe that it's from this temple if you forged it just now?" the paladin speaks up.
"That's because I wasn't forging it, I was simply cleaning it! After all, I must bring it to a level of nobility and a standard that you will be accustomed to," the blacksmith holds the knuckleduster up to a fire, and it gleams just as offensively as the knight's gear. "Since you are a paladin, you no doubt are well-versed in swords, and may view copper knuckles derisively, but that's why this one has a blade! Oh, and I almost forgot something."
The blacksmith shuffles back into the room where he just was, and emerges again. He sets down a small but absurdly thick pillow, of a royal purple color, with tassels.
His smile is obvious even through the helmet, "Can't have a hero's weapon without a fitting pedestal!"
SCOREBOARD: Wizzy: 2 Berka: 1 Everyone else: 0
As Paladin Venuste rides out of the chamber atop his horse, a teenage girl is revealed to the onlookers.
"Hey guys, so I'm like, about to start my epic adventure," she waves at the group of smiths with both hands. "But, my mom, kind of a be-yotch, suspended my allowance of 5 copper a month. I was saving up for a brand new sword, but all I could afford was this studded leather. At least it's designer: Armenia. At least, that's what it says on the tag. Manufactured in Armenia. "
Before anyone in the audience can say anything, she continues, "I can't believe this thing was, like, so cheap, even at Silkshield's, that mega fancy Dwarfish place. But, I'm going to be doing like, quests, and stuff, with real monsters, and for that I need a weapon, like duh. But, I'm also not willing to compromise. So, ladies and smithingmen, give me something as good as it is cheap!
"What ho! Clear a space!"
Up in the sky was neither a bird nor a plane, but a man with wings. Not the feathery kind or the leathery kind, but the kind that were made of metal and attached to some sort of thruster. The crowds below cleared a space as the man landed, kicking up a frankly dramatic amount of dust around himself. The cloud parts as features of this man come into view: The unkempt brown hair and pale skin of a person who spends most of their time in a workshop. The dress shirt underneath a brown leather jacket, a combination that says "Adventurous, yet civilized". Cargo pants and a bandoleer-satchel combo that allows one an absurd amount of storage space.
The cloud fully dissipated, the man pulls up his green-lensed goggles and gives a smile. It's Zander Quinn, the famous inventor from the east! He's known for utilizing magical items, using them in conjuction with the power of science. Impressive for his relatively young age. What's he doing here?
"Greetings, fellow artisans! My name is Zander Quinn, and I've come to throw my metaphorical hat in the ring!" He says, as he presses a button on the thruster behind him, causing the wings to retract inwards. He continues: "You see, after my success with inventing, tinkering, alchemy, and several other crafts, I've decided to give good-old smithing a try! I've brought along with me several prototype items, and what better place for a market demand survey than this?"
Zander opens his satchel, pulling out a small capsule. He tosses it into the air above him, and it explodes in a puff of smoke. Falling out of the smoke, however, is an all-black morningstar, landing in Zander's outstretched hand. Amidst the crowd's assorted "oooo"s and "aaaah"s, he approaches the youth.
"Now, young lady, if I understand correctly, you're seeking an afforable-yet-high-quality item, are you not? Well, look no further! I present to you the |Revolving||Graphite||Morningstar||Of Consumption|!"
Zander brandishes the weapon, giving a couple of practice swings. Even in his wimpy nerd arms, the weapon still gives a fine woosh. He resumes his pitch:
"The morningstar itself is a fine weapon; Simpler to use than it's cousin, the flail, yet deadlier and spiker than it's sister, the mace. Capable of bashing AND thrusting, it's a great weapon for a newly proclaimed adventurer such as yourself. But, if you have arms such as mine, should you be having some trouble landing heavy blows..."
He squeezed a button on the hilt, causing the head of the morningstar to start spinning rapidly with a loud WHHHIIIIIIIIRRRRR, frightening some of the closer folk. Zander simply grins and he releases the button, the spinning coming to a stop immediately.
"If the sound alone doesn't end the fight, the next blow you land surely will. And, of course, the release of the button stops it, should you drop it or otherwise lose your grip. Safety reasons, you see."
Zander gestures to the graphite head with his free hand.
"Now, you might be wondering, 'Graphite? The stuff pencils are made out of? What kind of material is that for a weapon?'. Firstly, pencils are actually made out of a combination of powdered graphite and clay, but that's besides the point. Graphite is pure, crystalized carbon. Not only does that make it extremely sharp, but it also makes it an investment."
He turns to address the crowd.
"And what else is pure carbon?!"
"Coal?"
"... Ah, no. That's primarily Carbon, but also contains sulfur, nitrogen, et cetera... Anyone else?"
"Oil?"
"What? No, that's... hydrocarbon. It's hydrogen and carbon along with other miscellaneous elements, no, anyone? Come now."
"Oh! I've got it! Fullerenes!"
"That's a- Yes, that is pure carbon, but it's a nanocarbon! How'd you even know that?! I'd like a talk with you afterwards, but no! Guys, it's diamond! Diamond is pure, crystalized carbon as well as graphite!"
There's a collective murmuring of "ooooooh"s and "right"s. Zander gives a sigh and turns back to the teenager.
"Should you accept this weapon, go on a couple of quests, rake in the money, and return to me (or another smith that has an industrial pressure chamber), I can turn this morningstar into pure diamond! And for a modest fee, at that!"
He hefts the weapon in his hands a couple of times, preparing the final section of his presentation.
"You're probably thinking about the 'Of Consumption' part now, hm? Well, I won't lie to you: Graphite, while sharp, is a cheap, brittle material. Being crystal does that. But what if I told you that, should you keep slaying your foes, you will never need to repair this weapon? Why, you ask? Well, because it DRINKS THE BLOOD OF YOUR ENEMIES TO ABSORB INTO ITSELF!"
A collective gasp of surprise spreads throughout the crowd.
"That's right! Every living thing has carbon in it, and I've designed this weapon to consume it! Just splatter a bit of blood on there, let the morningstar DRRRINK up the carbon in the blood, and it's as good as new! I've effectively negated the material quality's drawbacks... for the most part at least. It'll still shatter when used against non-fleshy things, but hey, can't change everything. And, ah, try not to cut yourself with it."
Finally, Zander leans in a little.
"And, of course, as you can see... It comes in black. Very sleek. Quite fashionable."
The teenager, who had been combing her hair and thinking about what color highlights she should get, looks up.
She coughs and blushes at the sight of what's in the penguin's hands, "What's—what's that? That's kind of sus dude, and a little gross, and slimy. Reminds me of the school bathrooms, and I really don't vibe with that. Anyways, how can I even hold on to that, much less, um, use it."
Stony-faced, she examines the morningstar, and seems impressed. After taking it from Zander's hands however, she seems less impressed, and more worried.
"You know, this is pretty sick, but a little heavy in terms of weight, and a little heavy in terms of machinery. I don't like how many buttons there are. How can it possibly be cheap? I totally sound like my dad right now, but I just don't trust it," she says, putting the mace down gingerly.
Taking the bardiche from the outstretched hands of Friedbold, the girl nods in unison with him.
"Now this is what I'm talking about!" she exclaims. Approaching a wooden training dummy, she takes a few practices swings. Each one is graceful and smooth, until the cardboard folds in half.
"Oops!" she squeaks. "Umm, yea, I guess I can repay you for that—it's clearly even cheaper than I wanted—but no way am I using it! Oh, and are you okay with gift cards, because I have, like, a load."
Now the only inventions left are the golem and the fan. The young girl's eyes sparkle at the sight of both of these, her mind struggling to pick the better option. She tests out both of the weapons, swinging the fan this way and that way while ordering the gopnik here and there.
Suddenly, her eyes light up and she squeals with joy, "Oh em jee! Pasha Malk, you might've saved me! My mom keeps asking when I'm going to find a boyfriend, and I can just show her this golem! That'll get her to fuck right off! On top of that, he's just so drippy, I can flex on all my friends. Also, I guess he's good at killing things or whatever," she turns to Cabagarth. "Hey dude, I'm a fan of your fan, but it's just not that cool. Maybe if it was like a hoverboard or a skateboard or some shit, but as it stands, kind of a square item."
Hugging the golem (carefully, to avoid any puncture wounds from the teeth) she says joyfully, "I can tell, we're just going to be besties in all our adventures!"
The golem looks at Pasha Malk with tortured eyes and mutters, "Pisdetz."
Point for Malk.
Scoreboard: Wizzy: 2 Berka: 1 Malk: 1
A small mechanical bird that looks ambiguously like a copyrighted character from somewhere else flies through a window, only to be summarily destroyed by the warrior eunuchs. In its twitching beak is a tiny note that Cabagarth immediately runs over and snatches. "I'll be back. High priority," is all he says.
About an hour later he returns, wielding a SHIT-ENCRUSTED | AVENTURINE | SWITCHBLADE | OF PULCHRITUDE | WHICH WAS FOUND LODGED IN ELVIS'S ASSHOLE! He flips it around a few times in demonstration.
"Now this great artifact came from none other than The King! Not our king, but the musician from the future, who you'd all know about if you read the Future Times newspaper.
It's sharp! It's deadly! And it'll reliably give tetanus! The scent strikes fear in your enemies, and complements your own!" He looks at Ezekial and nods in agreement with himself.
"Now you asked about a friend! This blade is enchanted much like Friedbold's, by a wizard who uh, sells tarot cards and has taken a bit of a fall in life. But he says the money I handed him is totally going towards his future, and NOT the bottle this time!
Just what is that enchantment? The weapon is enchanted to tell you just how handsome you are! It can say a few other things, too. Listen." He holds out the weapon on his palm, closer to Ezekial.
"You look good today. And I've totally heard of you," it says.
"Amazing, right? Oh, and it says it only wants to be called Bae."
After three days of hearing the armored blacksmith shout various things like "stoke the bellows", "cast that concave", and "more coal", the confused crowd is greeted by his stoic form once more. When he takes the stage, he begins withdrawing an item from behind his back, but he looks down and jolts.
"Oh my god!" he exclaims. "I've made a horrible error!" Scuttling back into his forging room, he closes the door. An orchestra of metallic screeches and human shuffling is heard, before he reemerges, seemingly unchanged.
"You see, I forgot to take off my smithing clothes and put on my business clothes!" he laughs awkwardly. Everyone stares, not maliciously, but just confusedly. Just like they did in middle school!
He pulls out a pair of white, iridescent underpants and clears his throat violently. He begins again, "These are not just a pair of tighty whities, for they are |Sarcastic| |Pearl| |Underpants| |Engraved with a picture of a moose|. Fanfare, go!"
A single trumpet toots pathetically. Silence hovers. The armored blacksmith walks over to the player and pulls him aside. "Goddammit," he growls. "I told you, I wanted some more pizzazz to help convince the audience on how, uh, good this, thing, is. That was piss ass, not pizzazz! Get out of here, or I'll clobber you with this!"
He returns to the stage and begins again, "Anyways, this multi-purpose tool is everything that you're looking for in a frie—companion! Let's just say companion. Let's say you're fighting some guys. Well, this thing serves as both a shield," the blacksmith puts it down, pulls out a massive claymore, and smashes the underpants to no effect. "And it's also a weapon, although I'm sure I don't have to show you the blunt trauma that it can cause. Pearl is a tough material, and if you don't believe me, just buy this thing and try it out! Now, I know you're already thinking, 'wow this is an amazing weapon', but that's not all. This moose engraving can talk! And it's got some sass!"
The moose head sighs, "If only sass were enough to make you kill yourself, stupid armored cunt."
The smith laughs heartily, "Boy, he sure is a funny guy! And before I forget, there's one last way you can use the underpants: as a helmet!" He takes the garment and puts it atop his helmet; it looks vaguely like some sort of demented spartan's helmet.
"You look like such a queer," the moose head scoffs.
The blacksmith takes a bow.
"God, is it even possible to be more gay?"
"Oh, and before I forget, the moose head can shut up on command. At least I hope, he doesn't really listen to me, but with you, it'll be different!"
"Get off the stage, it's embarassing. I just want to be used in a homicide already."
Scoreboard:
Wizzy: 2
Berka: 1
Malk: 1
Anthryno: 1
An absolutely buff penguin man comes riding in from afar; he's not hard to spot. He rears up the mare at the foot of the crowd when he arrives, dismounting with the thud of platemail.
"Hail! I am Sir Pengwinius of the kingdom Cystia!"
"We sent riders out to worthy locations everywhere, as we're in high need for weapons to fend off an ancient foe." he leans in. "The retards."
The crowd takes to fearful murmuring. Pengwinius lets it sink in for a few moments as he surveys the blacksmiths. He raises a hand, and they fall silent.
"They batter at the gates. While the walls are strong and our leaders capable, they have a powerful REEE and it becomes harder each week to protect the tradesmen. They just keep growing in number."
"BLACKSMITHS! What I need is a weapon that can stave off many retards at once. A weapon that slaughters one at a time is simply too inefficient."
He hefts a weighty leather bag on the table, filled with fat gold coins.
"This awaits whoever crafts the best weapon. Glory to Cystia."
This penguin man sounds suspiciously familiar, and yet so devilishly handsome
The armored blacksmith ponders the situation for a moment. He'd been prepping for some sort of catastrophic world-ending event for a while, and selling the personal possessions required for this seems immoral. At the same time, money.
He rushes out of the room, much too fast for his carapace of at least 300 pounds of steel. The spectators watch as he makes his way, legs blurring and turning into wheels, down the central street. Within mere minutes, he's back, with a massive siege weapon, constructed of a shimmering, orange gelatin—within the substance are embedded small flakes of yellowish-green.
The smith takes a pose, and announces, "Voila! This, right here, is the one and only, |Stretchy| |Jalapeno-flavored| |Trebuchet| |Of the Sun| !"
A few brows perk up at the mention of "Sun", but most come right back down when they realize that this weapon is made of the same material as those novelty exercise balls that were in fashion for a very, very short amount of time (roughly one lunch break). Several people frown, and several others go to get something spicy from the snack bar, suddenly and inexplicably craving heat.
The smith coughs, "Come on, it's rather, uh, impressive, isn't it? Haha, right?" he coughs again, this time like a pack-a-day smoker.
He turns the fit into an attempt at clearing his throat, and then continues talking, "Anyways, yea. This contraption might not look like much, but it was actually designed by me, explicitly to send hordes of tards, in huge numbers, back to the devilish short bus from whence they came! First, the sun part. This trebuchet has a pretty nasty, both on your wallet and the enemy, enchantment. It shoots straight up, motherfuckin' fireballs. Each mob you face can get an exploding mini-sun to the face! It also doesn't require any reloading nonsense, so you can fire it, like, a lot faster! If that barrage doesn't do the trick, then the trebuchet is capable of withstanding a heavy onslaught. Its incredible stretch is able to resist even the greatest of retard strength, and when they're tired of pulling, any attempt to bite it will result in a searing mouth that they definitely won't enjoy! Due to the lack of ammunition and pulleys, as well as a material much lighter than wood, this thing can be transported by a single man, or woman, allowing you to maneuver this thing around the battlefield, easily juking out the bum-rushing tards. A single horse can pull it at practically the same speed that it runs! Obviously, the weapon falters against enemies with cleaving weapons, but retards at most use a hammer. It also suffers against those with a refined palate, but retards lack that as well! With the safety of your city at risk, you surely won't take anything less than the power of the sun, will you?"
Get Malk to stop puncturing cervixes and do his as well.
Sir Pengwinius observes each weapon brought out.
"This trebuchet seems effective. Perhaps, too much. That power surely comes from somewhere. Fireballs, you say? Hmm...I know a demon deal when I see one. "
He walks over to the Pollax to feel its heft. "This is also a fine weapon," he remarks. "A 60-foot arc of death on every swing. Simple and effective. I'm sure it would win most weaponsmithing competitions, but you have some fierce competition that I think might outweigh this weapon." He returns it carefully and walks to the next smith.
"I'd like to see that." After a moment's consideration, he hands the scourge whip back to a confused Zander. "I like it. The gaseous death would certainly work. It might strip all the grass and vegetation though, even if it doesn't linger for years. More importantly, if you could lose barbs to a dummy, this would quickly get stripped by the bark-like skin of the retards. I'm afraid I won't have the time to replace them while it's in constant use."
Sir Pengwinius exits the room entirely, walking outside to see the wunderwaffe.
"This...this is the most beautiful weapon I've ever seen," he says with a hint of moisture in his eyes. "I've heard of the legends of Angus Young, and it would be an honor to own this. I can't imagine the pleasure it'd bring me to listen to Who Made Who while crumpling a horde of retards into a more valuable shape. But..."
He walks over to the lamp post. "A passive victory is the best way to go, since our kingdom has a spot of laziness. All the self-drowning will feed back into the ecosystem too and result in..." He pauses for a minute. "An increase in capybaras! And pirhannas. That's a win in my book."
He gives a handshake to Sausbold and Friedbold each, handing over the promised coinage.
"I'm sure I will return later for the wunderwaffe, when the budget isn't thinned so badly, and offer you what it's actually worth. I could never gip you of its value in these circumstances. I wouldn't want to make enemies with the man who has the most curved swords."
The kobolds win this round.
Anothyny: 1
Mizal: 1
The armored blacksmith sticks his pointer finger in the air and shouts "A-ha!", before scampering into his smithy with no further explanation.
He emerges with an axe, of slightly peculiar proportions. The blade is very wide, bordering on dinner plate, while the handle is ridiculously short, only about a foot long. The blade is made from a single layer of bone.
"Mr. Blackmoon, I present you with the |Concentrated| |Jawbone| |Dane Axe| |That Dissolves the flesh of those with Evil in their Heart|," he announces proudly. "It was made from the jawbone of a massive shark (organic and non-gmo by the way) which was one tough beast. As a result, this is one tough axe. Unfortunately, its use in combat is not recommended, as most of the mass is concentrated in the obscenely large blade. However! This axe is perfect for utilization in the kitchen: its surface can easily be used to cook and handle food on, and it can obviously be used to chop things up, which it does very well. You can also use the flat side for mashing food up, and the handle can be used as a stirring device that is quite resistant to heat!"
The armored blacksmith returns to his chambers, brings out a table with a few slabs of meat—not fresh at all but still suitable for a demonstration—and a few heads of cabbage. He annihilates the ingredients in the aforementioned ways, and takes a bow.
He springs up mid-bow, "Oh, right, I nearly forgot! You said you have issues with creatures of the night. Well, this axe will dissolve them with so much as a touch! Unfortunately for anyone trying to commit genocide, it only works on evil creatures, but for you, that seems right up your alley. Then, you can use their remains as additional ingredients and spices! Right? I'm not really good at cooking, I'm not quite sure on that part. But hey, it's better than trying to drive a stake through a vampire's heart, and you can devote more time to cooking!"
Now the blacksmith takes a full, proud bow.
Pasha Malk's rodent eyes light up. Finally, a challenge for him, a gourmand of gourmands. "Warrior-eunuchs! Bring me the..
Panther-Headed | Emerald | Butter Knife | of Drunkenness |
A trembling warrior-eunuch, exhausted from the effort of fetching things from Pasha Malk's personal armoury smithy, presents the aforementioned object. It is a massive, shimmering, crystaline knife with a green blade. A living panther's head is attached to the bottom. The blade drips with a seemingly endless supply of bourbon.
"Behold, my friend! The ultimate instrument of spreading. With this mighty chopper, never again be foiled by a block of cold butter. With it's tremendous girth, heft, and length, you never need be foiled again; it is good for bashing and sawing, stabbing, and parrying, thrusting, feinting..."
"Tell zem zee best part," says the panther head. It has an extremely French accent.
"It comes attached with the head of a living panther! My close personal friend Francois , whom I beheaded, transmogrified, and attached to the hilt. Every night he screams for death; until you put him out of his misery, force him to taste your recipes and offer useful feedback!"
"Kill me," says Francois.
"Later. You seem like a hard drinking man, so let me say; this blade is enchanted to produce an endless amount of liquor. Suspend it upside down above your flask, and let the bourbon (a most manly drink) drip down into the collector. Make sure to grimace when you take a swig. Manlily."
Mathonius: 2
"I have received word of a troupe of gorillas who have yet to submit to Allah. You'll have to pardon me," Pasha Malk says, temporarily leaving with his whole retinue of warrior eunuchs.
A few moments later, a muscle-bound, moustachioed freak of a man enters the scene. He needs no introduction. You recognize him as Bulk Brogan, infamous reigning champion of the Cystian Professional Pitfighters league.
"Hey brotherrr, I'm looking for a new weapon to punish jobbers in the ring. It's gotta look dangerous and put on a good show for the people, but it can't be too lethal. I'll reward whichever one of you Bulkamaniacs creates the best weapon with one of my signed leotards, still wet with the great man's sweat."
