[center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/vXD6Q0t/Update-Text.png[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/GWcg0WP/Silversmith-s.jpg[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center] [u]Weather[/u]: Still raining. You can almost sense it slacking up a bit. [u]Time[/u]: Mid to late afternoon. [u]Ambience[/u]: The interior of Jacques Mallard's shop was quite comfortable in comparison to the outdoors. The heat coming off of the pot forge was considerable, even to the point that one close to it may prefer to open a window, though the boards covering said windows made that an impossibility. The quieter patter of raindrops continued to sound across the roof and on the street outside. One keeping to the windows might hear the beginnings of citizenry venturing back into the open spaces, now that the fight is done and blood rinsed away (for the most part) by the weather. [center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center] Jacques still worked handily on the long blade in front of him, inscribing flowing designs on the tough, flexible metal with his unique tool set. His hands never stopped moving, but his eyes did dart up to Baronfjord briefly when he spoke of the quality of the weapons on his counter. [color=darkgray]"Didn't make them,"[/color] he said quietly, attention on his labors. [color=darkgray]"Just silvered them. Most of that's for me, when I let out of here. Anyway, suit yourself if you choose to decline. Already paid for by your elf friend, there."[/color] To Kosara, he agreed with a hint of tedium, [color=darkgray]"I am a smith by trade, yes. My name is Mallard."[/color] The comment made that she had a better weapon than the one offered was responded to with a quiet shrug, his eyes still keeping to his work, [color=darkgray]"Suit yourself."[/color] If she didn't want it, he wasn't going to force it on her. The busy silversmith did take note of a couple of things with approval - the insistence from Kathryn that they not resort to torture, even if he might have some subjective feelings about it in this instance, and the earlier mention from Marita that they not break his leg like another had clamored about. Likewise he was happy to see that his stout door was barred once more. The feeling of personal security allowed him to focus on his work. With many artistic grooves cut into the metal, as if by a tiny sun on the end of a writing implement, Jacques turned to the spools of fine, braided silver wire and began to unwind it, measuring as he went along. [color=darkgray]"On a weapon of this length, this part must be done carefully. And I will have to rebalance your pommel, probably your guard. Might take a little longer. Others want something done, need to know. Doors lock at dusk. Let me know how else I can help."[/color] A brief pause, even in his work, and Mr. Mallard asked, [color=darkgray]"What are your plans with that one?"[/color] pointing to the tied and blindfolded guard in his shop.