On any other day, looking for starter gear would have been a simple, if not easy task. But Nyu-Taro, suffused with opportunistic merchants as it was, had become a completely different beast. Stalls popped up in every corner of the streets like weeds, and for eyes untrained as Lugh’s, it was hard to tell what was ‘real’ equipment and what was simply replica souvenirs. Scarlet nodachis, monumental warclubs, obsidian-specked shields, and so many more fanciful weapons and armor lined the streets, accompanied by full-body paintings of people that definitely [i]looked[/i] as if they were high-level Immortals of good repute. In the distance, the raucous clanging of bells and the hooting of worked-up hooligans resounded, above the din of the crowd. Paupers were there as well, of course, rattling their prayer wheels as they sat crosslegged around busy intersections, praying for coin.

After some searching, however, Lugh was able to find a particularly promising street, where the clanging of hammers against hot steel could be heard, as well as the sharp, rhythmic cries of the artisans within. Brick, rather than wood, made up the buildings, and as he peeked in from the clouded windows, he could see the bright, orange flame of the hearth, fuelled by white-hot coals. It may not have had the feel of a calm equipment store that one could find in a JRPG, with rows of ready-made weaponry, but there [i]were[/i] racks of completed arms, and if Lugh paid some extra attention, he could see that more was getting churned out at an accelerated pace; upon the forge, a weapon was forming right in front of his eyes, almost as if by magic.

Well, what was truly magical though, was the smith’s muscles. Red-skinned and two-horned, the ogre-smith swallowed liquor and spat it out in blue flame, coating the weapon she was currently forming with an even greater heat before slamming at it more with an iron club.
[sub][@Cu Chulainn][/sub]