Forgery

-Dalen Capital, Slave Pens, Night, 2 DSTR-

Gularzob listened to the girl speak about his interest in killing her and could not help the smirk that played at his lips. Allowing it to form a full smile before chuckling heartily, he brought a finger up to pantomime wiping away a tear from a good laugh. As his finger scraped under his eyes, they went from jovial to murderous in a second as he stepped forward towards the girl. Taking hold of the feysteel and shoving her back, he shot a glance towards the blood stains on Kline's chest. Snarling as he turned his gaze back to her, he urged Kline to hold out in his fight with whatever was within that realm. Looking into her eyes, blood red glaring death into her ethereal grays, he brought the hammer up and rested it against her temple before growling out, "Why have you done this, taken the boy's soul? What is your purpose?"

Taking the billet from her hands, he stepped away and went back over to Kline. Kneeling down beside the man, he pulled his shirt open to get a better look at the lacerations. They were about half an inch deep, but had been effectively stopped by his ribcage. Growling deeply as he thought about the man's chances of fighting a beast with a wound like that, he turned his gaze back to the girl. He needed to know more. If he was going to be crafting a weapon that brought to rise an enemy that could endanger his people, then Kline would just have to die. The good of the many outweigh the good of the few. Standing, he walked back over to her and spoke, "Why do you want a sword with the boy's abilities? Why not simply find a warrior and hire them? What is so special about this sword?" He kept a firm, vise grip on the billet, denying anyone with less than exceptional strength from being able to take it from his grasp.