Ruingate: Ironfist's Weapons
This shop is about fifteen by twenty feet. The walls are made of smooth and clean oak planks. Close to the front of the room, next to the left wall is a large rack of polearms, spears, lances, and javelins. Also along the right wall are pieces of armor, from buckler shields to full body shields, many helmets, examples of ring mail, scale armor, even plate armor. The back wall has a wooden door in the middle of it, leading to the forge. In the back right of the room is a table, with a red silken covering on it, and it is scattered with smaller blades, daggers, knives, and dirks. The right wall still has weapons spead over it, hung by pegs. Just by a quick glance you see swords, sabers, cutlasses, scimitars, rapiers, and many others. Everything is well forged with good quality metals. In the center of the room is a big oak work table. On it is some unfinished and damaged blades Ironfist is working on, as well as the tools and whetstones he needs.

Labarion opens the door to the weapon shop slowly, knocking on the inside of the door as he enters. Immediately his eyes are drawn to the wall of weapons, and his ears pin back in anticipation... This is pretty much a sure thing, he thinks.

A pile of partially completed swords litter the worktable in the center of the Weapons shop, and more completed ones are jammed in a barrel besides the ferret bladesmith. Ironfist looks tired, his fur is every-which-way and his is covered with soot and burn marks. His eyes are bloodshot and have dark circles under them, but he is working hard. He finished wrapping a grip and drops it into the barrel with a clatter. Not looking up, the ferret says "I'm sorry, sir, but the shop is closed t' most business fer th' next few weeks, unless it is somethin' that can be done quickly..."

"...Err, no, I ain't int'rested in making a purchase." Labarion draws his eyes to the polearms on the rack. "I'm the new pitmaster for the Ruingate Fighting Pits, and I have more of a... bus'ness proposition fer ya."

Ironfist glaces up at the weasel from sharpening a sword. "As long it's after I finish this job, I should be free. What d' you 'ave in mind? Sponsership? I don't really need more publicity...But I can supply weapons if I can get decent seats."

Labarion tilts his head, having never thought about that one... Wiping some of the brown off his nose, Labarion states, "Oh, no, we don' need weapons o'-this- caliber... -this- quality in th'arena. I was jus' wondering if you'd like to set up a small stand in th'arena where you can display an' sell your wares on event days... All the stand owners get box seats, best view in the pits."

Ironfist nods absently as he checks the edge of the sword with a claw. "That sounds like a good idea, friend. D'you supply the stand or do I 'ave to build my own?" The ferret grimaces and continues to sharpen the blade.

Labarion nods, and answers quickly. "We supply th'stand, as well as the workers to operate the stand, if you do not wish to supply your own employees. I can assure you, they can be trusted, as they're th'very same beasts I trust with my own money."

Ironfist sticks the sword into the barrel with a metalic ring. He stands up and offers a paw. "You've got a deal, pitmaster. I can work the stand myself, though."

Labarion shakes the paw firmly. "If y'd like to do that, the stands close before the events begin, so you'll have plenty o'time t'get to your seat. Thank you for your business."

You say, "It's my pleasure, friend." The ferret sits and grabs another partly completed sword. "Now, I really must be finishin' these..."

Labarion nods. "Then I'll leave ya to y'self. Thankya again for your business..." The weasel steps outside, backwards, closing the door after him.