Closing Actions

-Dalen Capital, Gularzob's Shop, mid-afternoon 0 DSTR-

Isai snorted softly at Winifred's comment about the possibility of choosing who to recognize as his queen. Shaking his head, he leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice as his eyes grew cold, "She is my queen, and I have pledged fealty to her. However, it is those in power beneath her who draw false ideas from her decrees in order to fit their purpose that disgusts me." Holding her gaze for a few seconds after he finished, he let a smirk play at corner of his lips and his eyes twinkle slightly to show that his statement was a practiced one used in the company of loyalists.

Lowering his seal as he saw Winifred straighten up before him, he shook his head and spoke as he lit a slender red candle he had pulled out with a flint and steel, "If I really did not trust you, I would tell you to slide an iron dagger into your chest as you spoke, but I trust you understand the gravity of the situation." Looking up from the flaming candle as he felt her hand on his arm, he set the piece of flint and rod of steel down and to the side. Listening as she spoke, he held her gaze and watched for any wavering or movement of her eyes to signal a lie. Satisfied, he looked down at the parchment as she turned to watch Artem.

Pouring a pool of red wax on the bottom right corner, roughly the size of his palm, he brought his seal over and pressed it into the wax. Waiting a few seconds to allow it to cool, he pulled his seal free and blew gently on the wax to facilitate its drying. Glancing up as she turned back with an inquiry about Lars and their garments, he grinned and sat up slightly from where he had been bent to blow. Looking over at Lars where she had both of her hands up, one pointing towards each of the mannequins, Isai spoke in a smooth tone, "Your clothes will be completed sooner than you would expect. Twenty minutes at most, more than enough time to look for a replacement dagger." He added the last bit with a wink, signalling his observation of her dagger sheathes, one of which was missing its blade. Turning his attention from her, he readied Artem's parchment and waved his hand slightly to get Gularzob's attention.

“I was simply admiring your work. I never thought an orc could create such beautiful things. I don’t even think the king of Verden owns a sword like that. It truly is a piece of art.”

Gularzob felt his smile beginning to falter at the man's statement about orcish ability, but he quickly side-stepped the backhanded compliment by speaking, "Of course I noticed, what kind of shopkeeper wouldn't notice a connection like the one you had with the sword." Looking up at the sword with a smile, he crossed his arms over his chest and whistled softly before speaking, "Well, King Asgurt's sword is not this fine, but it is a nice one. I forged it upon his father's request when the boy was still suckling from his mother's breasts. Unfortunately, it has served him quite well when it comes to fighting Dalen troops."

Chuckling softly at the irony, he turned to look at Artem and saw Isai's movement from his peripheral. Nodding slightly, he put a meaty hand on the human's shoulder before speaking, "Well Matteo, we can't let you have a revealing name, now can we. Isai will help you determine one, and he is ready for you now." Taking his hand from Artem's shoulder, he cast a gaze towards the blade in question. Breathing in deeply before letting out a short sigh, he was beginning to turn back towards his forge when he noticed Winifred looking at the daggers. Instead, he opted to lean against the front of the counter so that he could see to her requests, if there were any.

Watching her squat down before staring and squinting at a certain blade, he chuckled softly and took a step away from the counter. He was preparing to ask her if aomething had caught her eye, rehearsing his statement in his head so as to not stumble on his words, when suddenly she stood up and faxed him abruptly. Her words spilled out before him like the contents of a box whose hinge had failed it. Looking down at the ground between them, he tilted his head to the side and shrugged before looking back up to meet her eyes. Holding her gaze for a few seconds, he breathed out a sigh before speaking in a low voice, "She launched a xenophobic campaign against my stronghold. I made it back to defend, but it lasted nearly five years, during which time many of my kin were slain by her soldiers. Since then she has granted us permission to live within her borders, but I will never forget the tragedy. I will never forgive her transgressions, and I will do all I can to support those who oppose her."

Turning to look at his counter with his back to her, he looked at the fire raging in the forge before speaking in a quiet voice that only she could hear, hence why he turned so there was no indication of speech at all, "I know you came from Verden through a portal. My stronghold sent me a message when I inquired about two travelers and a horse that no such description had come down the road. They checked the portal sight and could sense that it had been used. In not sure why you are here, in Dalen that is, but if you came from Verden to oppose her, I wish to aid you."

Turning back to look at her with much more serious eyes than he usually exhibited, he continued, "My stronghold will expand and take this land as ours once again." Swallowing thickly, he closed his eyes and shook his head gently. Opening them back, they had returned to their usual jovial flit, but there was indication of deeper intent under the guise. Gesturing towards the dagger case, he spoke in a much more approachable tone, "Are you interested in procuring one?"

Lars stood in the center of the room, the changing rooms having collapsed on themselves and sorted back into the chest. In their stead, two mannequins, their measurements and likeness matching those of Artem and Winifred exactly, had been formed and set up in from of her. With her hands toward each of them, Lars was able to magically stitch their clothing simultaneously and with several spots being sewn rather than one part at a time. Despite her use of magic to assist in the speed, Lars was more than capable of doing all of this by hand, but there was no need with such an amazing assistant as magic. The drain on her stamina was negligible, spells cast for these capable of lasting for all eternity.

Bringing her hands down, the needles and thread continued to work as she moved towards the mannequins. The outfits would be made of fine silk and other materials notable within noble wardrobes. They would have an outstanding degree of elegance so that they would fit in at any function the newly anointed Lord and Lady might find themselves present at, but they would retain a necessary degree of functionality and mobility so that they would appear overdressed when moving about their daily duties. The colors would be would be matching between the two of them, a collection of dark blues and black. They were in fact foreigners so they would not be expected to be completely on top of local trends, but they would be classy and elegant enough to be recognizable as nobility.

Winifred's dress would feature exquisite lacework, however it would be concentrated on her arms and her upper chest, stopping well above her cleavage. Lars chuckled to herself as she saw the lace taking shape, reminding rhe needles that this would not be a dress for a courtesan, so the drooping neckline would need to be tightened up to acceptable standards. Moving over to Artem's mannequin, she focused on the crotch area to begin with. The man seemed to lead with his lower head and had shown many times in the shop how his eyes could not help but follow Winifred's form. Thinking of this, Lars smiled wickedly before adjusting the plans slightly. From the exterior, the pants would look normal, but the interior had tight confines for the man's genetalia. They would fit within, but any sort of arousal would be awarded with a painful tightening of the strings around the crotch. The pain would serve to redirect the wearer's mind to more appropriate avenues. This was a design that Lars had put into many customers pants, some by request and others by intuition as Lars felt their eyes on her or roving over others. Satisfied, she stepped away from the mannequins and approaches the others. The needles were applying their final touches, and two drapes had risen from near the beginning to block any view of the progress from the others.