Adamantine Hunt

"We're telling you, we haven't been able to /get/ any adamantine," the caravan leader, a bronzed, leather faced man of middle years and thinning hair says across the table. The figure across from his has neither food nor drink, for all that they're meeting in a tavern. The blank-faced, unbreathing figure across from him's only motion is to occasionally check the armor plating between his luminescent eyes with a digit of his tridactyl hand. There's a slight mar there in otherwise pristine armor. "Why?" Craft asks, lowering his hand to the table, his voice metallic, even this single word ringing with a strange resonance. The Kulthian relic looks blankly into the merchant's eyes. It's not a threatening gesture, but to one used to reading customers like a book, and getting to make a annotations here and there, it's a somewhat unnerving one, especially with the golem's reputation as an artificer.

"Evenin'. I ah, see you're kinda busy. Now a bad time?" Kerbasy asks. He smiles like he always does, warm and just this side of twitching, of breaking out into something else. Despite the robes the Mourner wears, energy comes off of him in waves, and is accented in his movements from the twitch of his fingers, to the habitual tugging of an earlobe. He'd been eating in the inn when he saw the caravan leader sit down, and had come over to talk.

The merchant looks up at Kerbasy, his face plumper straight on, auxillary chin wobbling a bit as he looks up. Something with a face he can actually read! Hurray! "Was just explaining to this," a look at the golem that has not moved even a hair's breadth since he last spoke, "gentleman," awkward grin, "that there's been bandit activity preventing us from obtaining adamantine. We have to prioritize, you know, we can't pursue such a niche market at that kind of risk. Where's the profit?"

"Heh. Well, I s'pose I can understand that. It's not found in very nice a place. ...useful, though. Fact is, I'd been kind of hopin' you'd taken it on. We've a Chord or two who've been lookin' for supplies. But if yer not..." the Mourner leaves it trailing, and then glances towards the golem with a partial smile. "Guess I'll have t'go back with th' news."

"If it's bandits, I can provide security," the golem says, "in exchange for the materials I require. I was nearing the end of a project when the shipments ceased. I do not like leaving things unfinished." He turns to Kerbasy, face as blank as always as it looks up and down the priest. "I will bring others, if required," he says, a quiet lilt, an extra ring to the metallic words, along with him looking at Kerbasy as he speaks, seeming to add a question for the young priest.

"You uh...heh." The Mourner Kerbasy rubs nervously at the back of his neck as he talks. Nervously, or it could be raw nerves. HIs fingers twitch as he brings them back to his side, and it's only a moment longer that he tucks his hands into his sleeves.

Needing something for them to do.

"I wouldn't mind a look at it, m'self. That is, if you're willin' to take it on. I've got some time this week, comin' up, if no one dies." And he grins. See, that's a joke, son. It's a joke!

The golem's eyes dim to narrower glows at that, and he turns his head to the merchant. "Well?" he asks. The merchant considers, and looks between the two. "Well, I don't know, I mean, how sure can I be that you two can actually handle bandits? Your armor's real nice and all, but I've seen plenty of boys in nice armor get killed, and," he looks to the Mourner. Bad omen?

The Mourner rubs at the back of his neck again. His fingers press in a quick circle before he drops his hand. "I suppose so. It's a fair question. I work with our Chords, most days. You're welcome t' speak with them about me anytime. Only other witness I can offer y' is my Lady, Herself." His voice evens out as he mentions Her, taking on a warm confidence. And the young priest stands straighter, his robes fit a little better. He's not the world's cleanest priest. There's dirt under his nails, along the hem of his robe. It's from hard work and effort.

His hands twitch again.

He tucks them back into his sleeves.

"What do you know about these bandits?" Craft asks, looking to the merchant. "I was with the group that killed Red Ace," he states, voice growing slightly more metallic at the name, "and he was no common bandit."

Kerbasy turns and looks towards the merchant as Craft asks the question. Evidently he thinks it's a good question, because the Mourner falls silent, his brows raised.

The merchant pales a bit at the name, and considers. "Well, uh... probably not so bad as that, no," he says, secondary chin wobbling a bit in a nervous sort of tick. "I thought he was already dead?" he asks. "He was, then he shot me, now he's deader," the metallic voice intones. Okay, sure, it wasn't Craft that delivered the killing blow, or even really witnessed it, but the merchant doesn't need to know that.

The Mourner smiles somewhat, but it's sad. "Reckon we could give it a go, then. Though if there are undead...are there undead, then?" he asks, and the sad smile stays in place, but the eyes sharpen as he watches the man.

The merchant's chin wobbles as he looks between the two, rubbing at his balding pate. "Uh... no, no, just the normal sort of bandits, I think. With uh... knives, sword, that sorta thing." He doesn't sound so sure, though, and the metal man across from him is increasingly looking like someone he'd want on his side.

"Heh. Well, shouldn't be much of a problem. I'll be glad t'travel with th' group of you. I just need some time to make preparations an' get a few notes in order for the acolytes. ...you mind?" Kerbasy asks. He looks from one to the other as he does, his smile in place. He practices it in front of mirrors. Totally.

Craft shakes his head, as does the Merchant, chin swaying like a bloated turkey neck, the latter more insistent. "No, no, not at all." With undead bandits running around, having a Mourner around might not be so bad!