[Commerce] Sark's Stall [Open!]

[Sark]

Stock. A rug. A smile.

That was Sark's [Shop] in its entirety.

The tailor-cum-merchant was sat under the spreading boughs of an ancient oak that overlooked one of the many parks of inner Londinium. Judging by the ruined columns uphill and the remnants of a lady dual wielding dolphins, he guessed this had once been Trafalgar Square. He had decided to start his own store selling premade tailored equipment, along with taking the bespoke orders that many adventurers preferred. Where he differed from his fellows was that rather than a shop desired to impress its patrons, Sark had opted for a simpler layout. He had a single rug, and on it was the totality of his wares neatly folded and lined up. Sark sat on the other end of this rug, ready to give an opinion on the clothes or have a chat with a passerby. The gregarious dwarf enjoyed the face to face conversations with the local People of the Land and Adventurers alike, so preferred this personal touch to his stall.

For now the weather was clement, so Sark was taking a quiet moment to enjoy himself. He rarely cried his wares or hassled passerbys, so trade was usually slow with a high strike rate. The best part was that it meant he could laze on a grassy hill and pretend to be doing something important. Those he enjoyed speaking with often found themselves with 'mates rates' less than the prices advertised on the poorly written sign.

Samurai: _________ 14 Tailor:  ___________ 15 Acrobat: _________ 01

Word Count: 249 x1.1 Oct Art Bonus = 273

Pokes:

OOC:

Skill Descriptions:
Chain 1: "Lightspeed" Denkosetta, "Steel-Cutting Blade" Zantetsuken
Chain 2: "Flashwave" Shunsen
Chain 3: "Blade Clone" Tsuguri Bunshin, "Divinity Slash" Seinaru Shinken
Not Chain: Spear Break

[Noctis Corvo]

The patchwork man approached the small stall of the dwarf, eyeing his wares and seeing to give a brief appraisal of his work. He wasn't clothed in much, still donning his beginner's black robes for the heretic subclass; a simple black robe with a rope belt. He was much taller than the stall seller, and seeming to notice this with his rather tired eyes, came to sit criss-cross in front of the stall.

"I see you excel in the art of Tailoring. I have a few requests I would like to make of you."

Going through his interface, he pulls a small notepad and quill from his inventory. Flipping through the pages, he comes to one that is bookmarked and hands it to the craftsman. On it lay a description of a set of clothes and the associated measurements.

"I would be most greatfull if you would be willing to craft me a set of vanity armor in the form of a black pinstripe suit, sort of like the look of a 1940's mafioso or mobster. The appropriate measurements should be within the journal."

He adjusted his seating as the tailor eyed and processed the request.

"Second, I would appreciate a new set of Heretic robes, Level 20. I don't know what design I want for it, so I will give you creative freedom with it. Same thing with any status effects you would want to put on it, or if you could for that matter." He gave a light chuckle, "Honestly, anything would be better than the rags I'm currently wearing."

Words: [262]
Tags: Sark
Notes: re-linking for the sake of ease of finding the description: log-horizon.proboards.com/thread/6479/request-vanity-set-voodoo-daddy

[Sark]

The tailor had found a comfortable bend in the roots that supported his back, and had taken to staring at the clouds to watch them slowly unfurl, billow and then lessen across the minutes. His mind had entered a meditative, empty peace that zen masters spent decades aspiring to. A tiny smile full of simple pleasure quirked his lips.
 
A shadow fell across him, breaking him from his reverie. Glancing down from the sky his eyes rested on the thing in front of him. A slouched Frankenstein's monster loomed over his wares, its golden eyes shining brightly from its gaunt, stitched face. Baggy bag cloth hid its body from view while an evil looking book drew the eye with its complex geometric cover. Some sort of monster had been summoned, and his close to Halloween Sark should have been better prepared. A sudden sweat broke out over him as he realised it would take at least 5 seconds for him to equip his greatsword, and by then this creature could have inflicted almost a dozen quick attacks. Just as he tensed to spring up and flee, his mind caught up with his instincts.

The monster was barely moving. It lacked malicious intent, and indeed was not even in a battle stance but instead a hunched position indicative of a teenage boy. Taking a second look at the person, Sark could see them as a sort of extreme Goth that might've even been found a decent sized city back in the old world.

The patchwork man approached the small stall of the dwarf, eyeing his wares and seeing to give a brief appraisal of his work. He wasn't clothed in much, still donning his beginner's black robes for the heretic subclass; a simple black robe with a rope belt. He was much taller than the stall seller, and seeming to notice this with his rather tired eyes, came to sit criss-cross in front of the stall. The figure calmly sat down across the rug, and gestured at the wares.

"I see you excel in the art of Tailoring. I have a few requests I would like to make of you."

A notepad was passed across, and Sark could see that a spidery hand has expertly written down the key measurements and simple design guides.  "Nice hand." He commented, especially compared to his own sloppy writing. It turned out that this man was in fact a customer, one who was interested in a bespoke set of vanity gear and something a little more functional.

"Honestly, anything would be better than the rags I'm currently wearing."

This sounded like a fun job. With a ready smile Sark jumped to his feet, and extending his hand introduced himself. He explained his fee, and after taking where Noctis was staying, explained that he would have the items delivered by postman at dawn tomorrow. While Noctis was seated he clapped him on the back, and ducked back to his side of the rug.

---

---

Later that night Sark was working furiously in the main crafting hall of St Pancras Station. Only a few other adventurers were around him, with many busy assisting with the new rail system or enjoying the night. The vanity set had not taken long at all after he had confirmed exactly what a mafioso wore, and now the three-piece suit rested gently on a coat hanger nearby. The freedom to make Noctis a set of armour was proving more difficult. Several failed shoulder guards lay discarded, along with two inner linings for a jacket. He had ideas but they were muddy, meaning they were unable quite bridge the gap from idea to reality.

Finally, as the clock appropraitely struck midnight inspiration struck. During the witching hour the tailor rushed through his preparations, using his silks, cottons, wools and pseudo-synthetics to craft something that screamed 'scary.' It was what Sark felt was a key part of his client, and the tailor's simple world view meant that should dress how you want to be understood.

First; the combined hood-and-mantle. It was made of a thick, rough material like a hessian sack on the outside, but lined on the inside with Frenmic rabbit fur to keep the wearer warm during the upcoming winter. This also gave the mantle a distinct bulk that meant the wearer's silhoutted would look more sloped and onimous. Both inside and outside was dyed a muted black. Small clips were sewn in to allow Noctis to attach a mask-type accessory should he chose to go down that path.
Second; the shirt. It was dyed a similar black and resembled a chef's double breasted shirt with two lines of brass buttons. It was of a finer material than the mantle and gave a certain debonair feel to the clothes. Sark spent some time also crafting six thick, dark brown belts. These were to be worn from navel to crotch in a woven pattern, giving some protection while also allowing for small items like notepads to be easily accessible. A discrete pair of modern pants were sewn to allow freedom of movement, along with a pair of shin-length black boots that Sark had made last week. Over it all was a simple, black, shin-length jacket. All together Sark hoped that his client would look intimidating and powerful. Depending on the accessories chosen, Noctis could emphasize his power, his fearsome nature, or even a more quirky side.

The two items were packaged up. Sark left the crafting hall and trotted over to the 24 hour courier service, 'Data Holder.' They had been a reliable courier service delivering goods to the people ever since the Catastrophe, and Sark relied on their good name to keep his client's happy.

Samurai: _________ 20 Tailor:  ___________ 20 Acrobat: _________ 01

Word Count: 953 x1.1 Oct Art Bonus = 1048

Pokes: Noctis Corvo

OOC:

Skill Descriptions:
Chain 1: "Lightspeed" Denkosetta, "Steel-Cutting Blade" Zantetsuken
Chain 2: "Flashwave" Shunsen
Chain 3: "Blade Clone" Tsuguri Bunshin, "Divinity Slash" Seinaru Shinken
Not Chain: Spear Break

[Deleted]

Dorian had been looking for quite some time for a suitable Tailor, scratching away at his head as he toiled the streets. Ever since his troubles in the dungeon, he had decided better gear was a good place to start, and so an upgrade to his cloth armour was the first thing that came to mind. Looking down at himself, he realised all this time he had been using the everyday clothes he had been wearing in the real world, and decided a new look was in order, so as to fit in to the crowd a little more comfortably. One person in particular from his group in the dungeon had caught his eye, a dwarf Samurai by the name of Sark. Though he had arrived later than the rest of the group, his entrance was by no means lacking in the flamboyancy department. But what interested Dorian was that he was also a fairly well-trained Tailor. Perhaps he had a stall somewhere, or perhaps the Shaman would bump into him during his search.

As luck would have it, the former was the case; stumbling into what looked to be Trafalgar Square - evidenced by the chibi snicker from Skrowe at sighting the rather over-the-top statue of a lady bursting from a fountain amidst two dolphins, albeit in somewhat of a state of disrepair - Dorian spotted a familiar face through the din of the crowd, Sark sat idly by a rug piled with various tailored goods. "Excellent," he muttered to himself, slipping past the bustle of people with his incredibly light feet, to swiftly and silently appear in front of the Samurai's stall. "Hello again, sir Sark." The Shaman stood rigid with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes dropping down to give the dwarf an excited look, his features sharing this same visage of eagerness.

"So... would it be funny if I told you I've been looking for you? Well, someone like you..." His voice trailed off as he realised he was about to begin blabbering, shaking his head to bring himself back to reality. "Anyway, as you can no doubt tell, my cloth is rather lacklustre at the moment... Leaves me wanting more, in most cases. But, I was hoping you could craft me a level 10 set, something a little more sturdy, maybe some enchantments on it for extra protection." He rustled into his inventory, pulling out a sketch he had made of Skrowe, his Shikigami, a few days before. "This is the design I came up with, I was hoping you could fit it into something useful? Obviously, nix the hat. Way too big and wield-y and heavy for what I need." He handed the sketch over to the dwarf, giving him another winning smile. "So, do you think you can manage?"

---

Notes: Sketch
Words: 466
Tags: Sark

[Sark]

Trafalgar Square, in Sark's opinion, was always nicest at Sunset. The buildings cloaked the horizon, but their low stories let the brilliance of the clouds could be seen. The small hill that Sark on gave him an unparalleled view of the lavender and magenta dyed clouds which were streaked with banks of chartreuse and gold. The clouds even had that pleasant, ruffled pattern to them which better caught and held the colours. With sights like these, he felt at peace, with any residual fears of his lost reality temporarily gone.

Breaking from the crowd that passed on the path in front of Sark, a teenager took a few confident steps into Sark's view. His gait was easily recognisable; with his smooth hip swaying and long steps it could only be the shaman from the subway. The boy had been a blast to explore with, and Sark had kicked himself for forgetting to send a friend request when they had split ways. A broad smile broke over Sark's face.

"Hey Bud, great to see you again!"

The spent a minute catching up, and Sark was pleased to hear that his friend needed new clothes. Ever since Sark had left his own starting gear, he had felt so much more welcome by this new universe. The fact that Dorian wanted to also experience this made Sark feel a brotherly compassion for him. Maybe it was that they both had swords, who knows. A sketch was passed across, which Sark took a moment to evaluate. The design was straightforward; a jacket with a triplicate of strong buckles, a belt with a pair of free ends, simple pants, short leather boots, and a thick mantle in a contrasting cream colour. A pair of fingerless gloves capped off the ensemble.

The pair spent a minute spit balling ideas for an alternative to the mask & hat, eventually settling on a patched-look hood. The deal was sealed with Sark explaining his fee and time frame, and with the sale made, the tailor invited Dorian to enjoy the sunset with him.

---

---

---

Sark returned to St Pancras Station once again. Whenever he went here now, he thought of his friend Dumah. The eloquent man had baffled and impressed the tailor in equal parts, and had even offered him as position amongst his guild as a crafting specialist. The offer had been flattering, but Sark had not yet officially accepted the invite. At first he had wanted to start his stall, and since then he had always found one excuse or another to delay. But when the teen sat in the silent, huge hall he often found himself thinking about his friend. A cozy room of companions would make for a better retreat, especially if it had a stock of existing cloth. With a turn of expression unusual for the cheery dwarf, he sighed and got to work.

Before long his mood improved once again. Making these clothes for Dorian reminded him of his own improvements. Although they had not agreed upon a reforge, Sark snuck one into the weaves. It was a [fleet] bonus, much like the pair of accessories he himself wore to improve his speed. By this stage the clothes themselves were a simple feat; he had templates for the jacket and pants, and the boots he had made  week prior. The belt proved the most difficult part. It had to be sturdy without being cumbersome, and the free-swinging loops that sat on each thigh needed to have a felt internal layer for that bit of extra comfort. This last piece was made with the final stretches of Crag Cow hide he had.

The set was done. He held the freshly minted clothes aloft, quietly pleased with his own work. All that was left now was to make it match Dorian's unusual request. He slipped from his workstation and slunk over to the blacksmith's forge. Taking a whetstone, a small anvil and a metal saw, Sark quietly snuck back to this own station. They were 'free to use' equipment technically, but entering another craft's area made Sark's heart pound with false guilt. Setting down the tools as quietly as he could, he got to work carefully destroying his work. The trim edges of the mantle were roughed away with the whetstone, giving it a whispy look. The pant legs were torn with the metal saw, before being crudely restitched with a needllessly thick thread. The same was done for the jacket and hood, before all of the items were scrubbed across the cold iron of the anvil. It gave the clothes a slightly greasy feel, and gave it a sense of false grime. With that distasteful job done the tailor performed some fine stitchwork to reinforce the clothes again.

With the tailoring complete, Sark left the crafting hall and trotted over to the 24 hour courier service. It was the building directly next to St Panny's, and always had people coming and going. The guild that owned it,  'Data Holder,' had been a reliable courier service delivering goods to the people ever since the Catastrophe, and Sark relied on their good name to keep his client's happy.

Samurai: _________ 20 Tailor:  ___________ 20 Acrobat: _________ 01

Word Count: 862x1.1 Oct Art Bonus = 947

Pokes: @serenityspace

OOC:

Skill Descriptions:

Chain 01: "Lightspeed" Denkosetta, "Steel-Cutting Blade" Zantetsuken Chain 02: "Flashwave" Shunsen, "Vacuum Slash" Izunagiri Chain 03: "Blade Clone" Tsuguri Bunshin, "Divinity Slash" Seinaru Shinken Adventr.: Spear Break, Aura Swing Miscella.: Emergency Suture, Magic Light Party Up: Unyielding Spirit

[Deleted]

Dorian tugged at the fabrics of his newly acquired armour, shifted the mantle slightly to let it sit more comfortably on his shoulders. The entire ensemble was a rather exquisite work, form-fitting in all the right places. On top of that, whenever he wore it, he seemed to move faster during battle, which meant more training to implement the speed into a sound battle strategy. But alas, if he was going to push on the fleetness of his movements, he gathered that he'd need more movement buffs; which meant another pleasant visit to his friendly neighbourhood Sark. "But what should I get?" Contemplating his request, the Shaman took no time at all in finding the dwarf's stall a second time, having remembered the route to Trafalgar Square, or what was left of it.

Rounding the corner and shifting speedily through the crowd, his form weaving in between people like a snake, he managed to find himself back in front of the familiar Samurai's carpet of goods, another beaming smile on his face. "Fancy meeting you here!" He chuckled softly, bowing his head low in respect before lowering himself to sit cross-legged in front of the carpet. He had met the dwarf a couple times now, and considering the calamity of the world around him, he was happy to consider him a friend. "I love your work so much..." Dorian gestured to himself, showing off the new armour proudly before continuing. "I just had to come back for more of you." The Shaman gave a subtle wink, before looking over the stock the dwarf had set up between them. Looking for any sort of inspiration for what he'd need, he inspected the assortment of items for few short moments before finally coming up with something.

"This armour, you added a very handy fleet buff onto it," the Shaman began, lifting his hand up to rub at the side of his arm underneath the fabric of the mantle, pointing out the space just below his shoulder. "I was hoping you might be able to add to that buff? Perhaps with an armband to attach here, something simple just to get me going a little faster, if you catch my meaning." He grinned softly, nodding his head to reassure himself that he was asking for the right thing. With extra speed, this scarecrow was going to run.

---

Notes: N/A
Words: 394
Tags: Sark

[Sark]

It was lunchtime and the park was packed. There was a babble of noises all around while the locals and adventurers alike crowded around the food stalls or sat on the gross. The concept of sitting on the grass was a still a little mischievous to the young Sark, who had been raised with the strict knowledge that grass in towns was for 2 reasons and only 2 reasons; to be looked at, and to be grazed. Londinium did not have the ubiquitous 'do not sit' signs like much of true England, but the nostalgia was strong enough that Sark knew he wasn't supposed to. It  was ingrained so deep that his rug was set up on the bare patch of dirt under a deciduous tree. He preferred the bother of brushing leaves away.

From the mess of people nearby a face resolved itself. Sark smile broadly at Dorian, who was now sporting the freshly tailored clothes. "Fancy meeting you here!" He greeted.

"They look pretty sporting on you, hey?" Sark replied with a rhetorical question as the shaman sat down. Indeed, with the new armour accentuating his strong arms and graceful movements, Dorian was already looking more at home in this world. The only thing that bugged the tailor a little was the sword bandolier. It flattened the cloak against the boy's chest, no doubt restricting the ragged flutterings of the cloak. Still, Sark reminded himself, his customers and friends could do as they wish with their clothes.

As the conversation progressed it was clear that Sark had a returning customer; his first! A flash of pride lit itself across his face as he listened avidly to Dorian requesting an additional fleet accessory. Sark clapped his friend on the back.

"I can do better than an extra accessory!" He stood up and turned away from Dorian. The stingy clouds scudded past the sun, allowing a beam of sunlight to fall across Sark's face. He paused a moment to let the statement sink in, then spun about, whipping out his arm away from his body. Determination and passion burned in his eyes as shouted from the top of his lungs.

 "I can make you four!"

He finished with a silent, wide eyed stare. After a moment Sark recollected himself and sat back down. 

"Tell you what - I'll deliver them personally to you down at the Thames Coastline. You'll be going a full 25% faster than what you're used to. When I got my +10% boost" At this point he indicated to his colourful, woolly sock and well oiled boots, "I spent a day tripping over my own feet. Something that this might pose a real adjustment for you ... so it'll be funny to see you. How does tonight work?"

Through a little more discussion they settled the account; a single leather cuff for the upper left arm, a pair of thin leather bracers for the lower arms, an enchanted pumpkin button & woolen socks similar to Sark's, all with the [Fleet] reforge bonus.

Samurai: _________ 20 Tailor:  ___________ 20 Acrobat: _________ 01

Word Count: 505 x1.1 Oct Art Bonus = 555

Pokes: @serenityspace

OOC: Iron Chef <3

[Deleted]

The Shaman gave an excited nod at Sark's reply, very glad that the ensemble fitted his form attractively; it wouldn't do to go around wearing something that was out of place. Noticing the Samurai's stare at the scabbard that sat awkwardly over the top of his mantle, strapped haphazardly to his back, Dorian looked away slightly, contemplating on utilising some of his new skills and getting a more... effective weapon. Deciding to consider what new weapon he would obtain later, he returned to reality, giving the dwarf another happy smile. His eyes went wide at the sudden outburst from Sark, exclaiming how he could do better than an extra accessory; the Shaman's mind went wild with the endless possibilities of what he could be thinking of, watching with eager anticipation as he stood and turned away. As the glorious ray of sunlight illuminated the Tailor's face, Dorian was left aghast as he swung his arm out, proclaiming he could make not one, not two, but four accessories!

He's a looney. I like him. Can we keep him? Dorian was unable to stifle a chuckle at the Shikigami's newly acquired fondness for the Samurai, hiding his features to secretively roll his eyes, before quickly lifting his head back up to return to the conversation at hand. "That sounds wonderful, sir Sark! I'd be eager to see such wonderful creations!" Nodding in agreement to the dwarf's proposal, he listened quietly as he went on to suggest delivering the items personally during a meeting at the Thames Coastline; having not explored that region yet, Dorian was eager to journey out there and perhaps adventure for a bit with his newly made friend. There was no doubt Skrowe was approving of the plan, the Shaman sensing the gentle flips of excitement in the back of his mind. "Well, that sounds like a great idea!"

The 25% speed boost would surely bring him into battles much more ferociously, no doubts there. Coupled with his skillset, he could become a devastating force on the field, no matter what the odds; especially if he were to acquire some sort of weapon that could utilise his speed effectively. Tapping at his temple, he filed the contemplative matter in his mind palace for later, before giving the Samurai a nod of agreement. "Tonight works great, I have something I'll need to pick up first, so I'll meet you out there and we'll knock some heads!" After settling the accounts and hashing out the details, Dorian stood up from his seat by the carpet, bowing his head in respect to the dwarf before lightly slipping back into the crowd, his nimble feet taking him away into the distance.

---

Notes: N/A
Words: 448
Tags: Sark

[Kaytina]

Kaytina Wolf Hair Monk Lv. 24

HP 92% MP 83%

STATUS: None

---

The thrill of fighting is really all that Kay has to look forward to these days. It's been a boring two months since she's been stuck in this game world. The air is still brisk from the chill of winter, but the days are getting longer and warmer. She pauses to think, it should be near the end of February now. Completely forgot Valentine's Day. Not that she had anyone to really celebrate that with. A deep sigh escaped her mouth with a puff of her breath visible on the winter air. She's gotten used to this body and she's noticed several things about it. With every level she gains, the cold doesn't bother her as much. She doesn't have to bathe. Minor wounds gotten from outside of combat take only a couple of days to heal while wounds from combat heal as soon as her HP is full. She's gotten used to this game world's system to the point she can use the GUI and knows the basic terminology of the game world. She memorized her skills and thinks carefully when selecting skills when she levels up. She's gotten used to going into the city and having her clothes and weapons repaired after a day or two of fighting monsters. Actually, she will need to get new cloth armour eventually. This is still her starter gear. She's level 24 now, so she should have more of a selection to choose from.

Of the things she hasn't really done yet, she hasn't gone out of her way to really make allies. Sure there was the small group she joined the first day she got here, but that was more out of necessity than anything else. She does know Jocelyn is here with her in this game world, but she hasn't seen her since the first day either. So she hasn't done much in the way of raiding or team fighting. Just going at it solo. Which isn't bad since her class allows her to do this. Would have been terrible had she chose a healing class and got stuck in it. On that subject... her subclasses were still only at level 1. She has no idea how to go about leveling up herself as a pharmacist. Hunter is pretty self-explanatory. She's got a bow for that. She's just never bothered with it because killing weaker animals just for leveling that up doesn't seem too worthwhile. Though fighting giant snakes isn't exactly giving her a high either.

She was lost in her thoughts and didn't even notice she had already killed the angioserpent she had been fighting. Her body's on autopilot more and more. The monsters have patterns to them and she has been able to memorize them to dodge their attacks and take advantage of their weaknesses with her innate strength. Normally these level 20 big snakes would give an adventurer of her level trouble, but the agility of the monk class makes dealing with them a breeze. The drops of these things are nothing special. Tattered snake skin, a few coins, a really weak vial of poison, and the occasional snake meat and perfect snake skin. From all that she's collected, selling it all should get her more than enough gold to buy a new set of cloth armour, some food, and a bed for the night at an inn. "Now, the city is... ah, there it is," she said after looking around after having lost her bearings while grinding. This has become her every day for the last two months. Maybe something will change soon. Maybe she can go home soon...

---

Back in the city, nothings really changed. There's the occasional person sleeping in the grass by the street, a few groups of people wandering from place to place, a couple people here and there making a beeline to where ever it is they're heading, and the open doors of some renovated buildings being used as makeshift housing and shops. Order in the city has been stable. A combined air of "there's no point in fighting" mentality through everyone's minds. While it's not the best kind of way to live, there's no other choice but to deal with it.

She visited a lander stall first, one run by a girl she's barely spoken to, but there's enough of a familiarity to where if Kay visits the stall, it's to unload raw meat from her fighting. And she takes what she can get. She's not going to argue. Then she visited the guild hall to get into her bank. She withdrew about 100 perfect snakeskins from all the fighting with the angioserpents she's had over the last week. Maybe she could barter with a tailor to get cheaper armor or something, she thought. She also withdrew some gold in case she needed it.

She wandered around some of the more busy shopping districts. Some people had renovated some old buildings and turned them into clothing stores, but they were mostly just selling regular clothes. Enough people yearn for some normalcy to the point where modern clothing has become an escape for some people. She didn't need regular clothes though, she needed cloth armor. And what cloth armor she could find in other stores was just for magic users. Robes, not armor. She needed some kind of thick cloth armor that would give her some kind of protection while still being light. Given the choice of what she has been seeing and her starter clothes, her starter clothes were the superior option and they're just a thick tanktop and cargo pants. She might need to get something custom made.

The scenery now began to bring back memories. Trafalgar Square. She came here during a school trip to London once. The more she wanders around this game world, the more she sees the similarities between real London and this London. The city in this world is definitely smaller, but the landmarks are the right size, just a bit torn to pieces and viney. Some people are hard at work trying to clean the city up, though. If only to stave off boredom. There were a few people with makeshift stalls selling stuff around here, too. She spotted a boy, who looked to be no more than 10 years old, sitting by a run with some clothes laid out for display. She wondered if he was a tailor? Well, doesn't hurt to check out what he has for sale.

She walked up to his setup and squatted to look at the items on display. A... onesie... and a pimp suit? This all looks... so stupid.

"Uhh, hello. I'm looking for some cloth armor to replace my starter armor." She tugged on her black tanktop a bit by the collar. "Do you do any custom work? I don't need anything..." She thought about that onesie again and about said 'stupid', "too extravagant. Just need something that gives me a little better protection and lets me move quickly. I'm a level 24 Monk. I can trade you some snakeskin for the trouble. I have loads of the stuff, both perfect and tattered stuff. Though I'm not sure how useful it would be either way." She pulled out about five rolls of snake skin to show him, ready to be tanned into leather by anyone with the skill to do that sort of thing. Her breath escaped her mouth and she saw it again and it reminded her that it was still winter and she was cold. "And a jacket for what's left of the winter months, I suppose. Probably should have bought one two months ago." She whispered that last sentence to herself. She rolled on her feet a bit and amended her order again, "Actually, can you make shoes or something out of this leather? Am I able to wear leather shoes at least without them slowing me down? Hate the limitations this game world puts on clothes..."

---

Skills Used: n/a

Tags: Sark

NOTES: N/A

[Sark]

The cold bit into Sark's fingers, giving his fingernails a purplish tone that didn't look quite healthy. The tailor ignored it though, confident that by the time he returned back to his guildhall his fingers would be as good as new again. At level 32 the daily weather didn't trouble him too much, except for cases of prolonged exposure like he was giving his body now.

Within his inventory he had a few Everburning Hearts which would be able to warm his hands a little, but despite their name the darn things only lasted an hour or so before they vanished, returning to the ether. Their utility and lifespan made them an expensive commodity, and Sark was trying to save up money to get the Perfect Snakeskin for his next set of armour. So for now his fingers went cold searching for customers. Of course, the drawback of letting his finger chill was that they were clumsy, making a vicious cycle of cost and profits.

A customer encroached on his vision and the boy perked up, his ever present smile growing. A fellow teen stood in front of him, her stance radiating 'back off' vibes while she silently perused his wares. Sark had gained the experience to tell a happy customer from a dismissive one, and this girl did not seem to be impressed with his stock. He didn't take it personally- he was confident in the quality of his skills, and his passion was in the making of the clothes, not the validation from others.

After several silent seconds Sark spoke up, cheer dripping thickly from his words. "Hey there! How can I help?"

It seemed to be the prompt she needed, with the blue eyed girl requesting custom gear. She briefly outlined her goals; cloth armour which kept her motions free and improved her speed. Sark resisted the urge to bring up her player details; while he knew that he had the ability to see her name, class and level, he instinctively felt that it was prying into personal details.

Before Sark could reply she outlined additional requests; a warm jacket, and some snakeskin boots.

"I sure can help!" He beemed. With her warming up slightly Sark bounded onto his feet and began to move back and forth, pointing to different tools of his trade as he spoke. "The armour will be a breeze; I'm a nimble fighter myself, and I've made armour for quite a few other [AGI] types. I 'll even put a movespeed enchant on it, which should help with your motions too.

"The boots and jacket I can do for you as accessories - it means the game will recognize them as different objects so you can really customize for where you're going. Like ..." He looked about, trying to find a good example. Finding one, his face lit up in delight, with the tailor bending down onto his knees. "These boots are actually an accessory." He lifted his pants slightly to show off his cobbling work, in the proces revealing rainbow coloured socks. "The socks too. Both give me a movespeed boost which helps to counter any of those pesky weight ratios, but I can put a whole bunch of different boosts on them. I've got the list of options somewhere here ..." He ducked over to a duffel bag overflowing with different cloth samples and pulled out a scroll of vellum. It was wrinkly, with messy handwriting covering it.

"The boosts are all percentages, which can make things kinda hard, but it should be fine." Once the shopper had taken the page, Sark plopped back down onto his rug. "So now the fun part. How do you want it to look?"

Samurai: _________ 32 Tailor:  ___________ 38 Acrobat: _________ 01

Word Count: 616

Pokes: Kaytina

OOC: I'm setting this at Sark's modern day, otherwise he's 1/1/1. Fluid time goooo!