[h2][b][color=black]Unusual Fare[/color][/b][/h2]
For a moment, Motley dared to wonder if the abyss in the near distance was in any way passable. The human body did contain a great deal of blood vessels, after all... but at best, that'd leave him clinging to the side of a cliff hundreds of meters down its length, and at worst would drop him into that bottomless pit after they snapped. Assuming he wasn't just being ridiculous in thinking there were hundreds of meters' worth of blood vessels in his body. Not that he needed to get there now, but he decided his next goal would be the train station, once he'd gotten or failed to get the necessary information from the smith.

Speaking of whom, the man was... rather distressing to look at. Not because he was Japanese, mind - for a time after Pearl Harbour, Motley [i]had[/i] been convinced that the Japanese were the worst race on Earth, but it was hard for an educated man such as himself to maintain that view after learning exactly how disproportionate the USA's payback was, even considering the Japanese armed forces' war crimes at the time. No, the frosted tips were what really annoyed him, because for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why some people thought they looked good. Maybe it was just him being old-fashioned, but he felt that if one was going to dye their hair, one should at least dye it a single colour. He'd've had words to say about the hoodie's colour, too, if it weren't so mesmerisingly patterned. And functional, going by the small jet of water it emitted. That gave it a pass, he supposed.

Either way, the smith was clearly skilled. Not that Motley knew much about sword crafting, but this one looked to be rather well-made, though he had the glowing symbols and the smith's expression to go by for that over anything else. He wondered what it would do once it was finished... and considering the current state of the sword, it seemed that wouldn't take too long. So, observing from a short distance away, he kept watch over the smith's work, waiting for less than five minutes total until the smith had drilled the last rune into the weapon's surface, and placed the drill proper down on the table. Only then did Crue clear his throat, to draw the smith's attention without being too sudden.

[color=black]'That's a fine blade you've made, smith,'[/color] he began softly, stepping over to the man once he'd caught his eye. [color=black]'Would that I could purchase it, though I hadn't considered I might need funds for anything in this city. I think my money wouldn't have been any good here regardless.'[/color] US petro-dollars were a fairly common measuring stick for every other currency worldwide, but they certainly weren't a universal currency in and of themselves. Which was a shame, if you thought about it.

[color=black]'That's not, however, why I've come to talk to you,'[/color] he continued, drawing his phylactery out from under his shirt, holding it steady in his hand, and indeed ready to pull it away should the smith or anybody else try any funny business with it. [color=black]'I'm sure you've heard of the tournament that's currently going on within this city, and I'm sure you can guess that I'm one of the participants. I've been reliably informed that killing other participants is but one method of progressing in this tournament. I was wondering if you happened to know of any others, as I'd personally rather avoid murder for the time being.'[/color]

As he talked, he wondered if the man would even understand him, foreign as he was by Motley's measuring stick - whilst those hosting the tournament were certainly capable and educated, there was no suggestion that other inhabitants of the city would be. It'd perhaps be silly, of course, if they weren't able to talk to the participants... but then, the City of Echoes wasn't exactly situated in Crue's native homeland. And nor was it a particularly usual city, he'd admit, so he'd take his chances for this first interaction.

[@Lugubrious]