"I don't think you'd like the adjectives I'd slap on your ass, Mr. Kavafis." the Ork responded, turning her nose up "But there's one other thing I need outta you anyway. I'll work with the smiths here to make the vessel- I don't know who your guys back in Kalzasi are, but I guarantee you they've never worked with the metal I'm using. You gotta get it hot, hot, plus use a little trick the Hytori came up with before their empire fell."
Naturally a coven of Reavers had competent smiths. Surprisingly few were what could be called masters, but this was because the Sunsingers preferred to produce very simple weapons. It was the order's general doctrine that a witch should build those themselves as they went, reshaping and seasoning them with their own souls. Starting a student with a masterwork was a lot like serving an expensive haute cuisine to a baby- they certainly couldn't appreciate the work, and it might even hurt them.
Strangely enough, the only witch in the room who seemed to be affected at all by Aurin's antics was Imogen herself. Gerdhard was appropriately solicitous of the man who'd saved his life, and Lt. Tilman seemed much more interested in his drink than anything either Imogen or Aurin had to say. Captain Norickson also looked detached, though she'd spoken up enough to prove she was listening.
It was odd- the Sunsingers had a reputation as being hidebound, after all. On the other hand, they were also famously dedicated to their Marshal, the Witch of the West, who was conspicuously absent. Perhaps they really weren't that concerned about whatever was going on here?
"As for payment, I can get you just about anything you want." Imogen tossed this off like a boast, grinning. "Money? Intel? Ten tons of Dawnstones? A diagram of the Godspire?" She looked like she meant to go on, but suddenly broke down coughing. In a flash, her skin became sunken and pale, losing its verdant green pallor, and her breaths came as gasps. She clapped her chest a few times, scrunching up her eyes... and was back to normal.
"No wild boasts from you, please." her master ordered her, concern writ plain upon his face. "But she's exaggerating very little. She can cover any expenses you might run into. After that, as is the way of the Covens, she'll owe you an equal favor." Ansel tapped a finger on the table, thinking. "Corporal Ward is extraordinarily bad at being an officer, I'm afraid, which is why she's never been promoted. But she's really quite good at taking orders, as long as you don't mind a swath of destruction a mile wide."
"Duels with her suck." Tilman volunteered.
"Thanks so much for your character references." Imogen said, her voice still a little raspy from the coughing fit, "But I do have a surprising amount of money, despite my best efforts, alongside the indebtedness of a sovereign nation, one of Raxen's generals from way back when, a smorgasbord of exotic substances nobody's ever heard of, and a mercenary contract with several thousand lemurs."
Naturally a coven of Reavers had competent smiths. Surprisingly few were what could be called masters, but this was because the Sunsingers preferred to produce very simple weapons. It was the order's general doctrine that a witch should build those themselves as they went, reshaping and seasoning them with their own souls. Starting a student with a masterwork was a lot like serving an expensive haute cuisine to a baby- they certainly couldn't appreciate the work, and it might even hurt them.
Strangely enough, the only witch in the room who seemed to be affected at all by Aurin's antics was Imogen herself. Gerdhard was appropriately solicitous of the man who'd saved his life, and Lt. Tilman seemed much more interested in his drink than anything either Imogen or Aurin had to say. Captain Norickson also looked detached, though she'd spoken up enough to prove she was listening.
It was odd- the Sunsingers had a reputation as being hidebound, after all. On the other hand, they were also famously dedicated to their Marshal, the Witch of the West, who was conspicuously absent. Perhaps they really weren't that concerned about whatever was going on here?
"As for payment, I can get you just about anything you want." Imogen tossed this off like a boast, grinning. "Money? Intel? Ten tons of Dawnstones? A diagram of the Godspire?" She looked like she meant to go on, but suddenly broke down coughing. In a flash, her skin became sunken and pale, losing its verdant green pallor, and her breaths came as gasps. She clapped her chest a few times, scrunching up her eyes... and was back to normal.
"No wild boasts from you, please." her master ordered her, concern writ plain upon his face. "But she's exaggerating very little. She can cover any expenses you might run into. After that, as is the way of the Covens, she'll owe you an equal favor." Ansel tapped a finger on the table, thinking. "Corporal Ward is extraordinarily bad at being an officer, I'm afraid, which is why she's never been promoted. But she's really quite good at taking orders, as long as you don't mind a swath of destruction a mile wide."
"Duels with her suck." Tilman volunteered.
"Thanks so much for your character references." Imogen said, her voice still a little raspy from the coughing fit, "But I do have a surprising amount of money, despite my best efforts, alongside the indebtedness of a sovereign nation, one of Raxen's generals from way back when, a smorgasbord of exotic substances nobody's ever heard of, and a mercenary contract with several thousand lemurs."
