Field of the Dead - Shoppe of Forgotten Mementos

[Selande]

"No, no, fair enough".
Flips through the pages in her book muttering to herself, then sighs.
"Hmm... without the coin the blade would have brought in I lack the resources. Sorry to have wasted your time" she replaces the book in her pack "If I have a windfall I'll be back, but for the moment I'll have to pass".
"Oh well, you have fun now".
She clambers to her feet and walks to the hole in the wall she entered. After peering into the darkness a moment she mutters a few arcane phrases and vanishes from sight.

The shopkeeper politely listens and offers her departing companion a seated bow.

A while later the cloaked woman recounts the conversation as she looks around her now empty gallery. "Waste of time...?" She asks herself aloud. As she picks up her quill once more to continue writing, "I have so much to waste though."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gnome looks surprised to hear that the lady already has a similar cloak.

"You seem to have everything, perhaps I can offer something else besides items. A service perhaps?"

The monk pulls out more items for her to inspect, speaking as he does so.

"The sword matches the fiend better than it matches my skill, a silver kama could work too, but I don't have one."

He pulls a dagger from his belt for her to see. On closer inspection one can see it is non-magical silver.

"This dagger is all I have of silver and it has killed many fiends."

He offers some small items for inspection. ((PM Sent))

"I'm low on coin, but I can offer some liquid items that can be sold for a decent sum."

The woman considers his offer for several moments. "I can't make use of the items, unfortunately. Strange that you would offer a service though." She looks over the small man appraisingly.

"It's been ages since one such as yourself has offered to assist me. I wonder if it's innate or just a coincidence. Surely no one guides that fate other than yourself. I see no chains, afterall." As she continues she gets quieter, as though speaking to herself aloud.

Eventually the shopkeeper shakes her head to dismiss the thoughts. "I'll have to decline that as well, however." She flips paged of her tome idly. "If silver blades come offered to me, I can try to complete a trade for them. In such an event, is there somewhere I can send word to you?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The masked figure regards the cloaked woman as she relates the nature of the blade she seeks. He seems to ponder, although a short chuckle emanates from him when he hears the annoyed tone.

"One might think of such a blade in two ways. One might think of a sword blessed by the gods, and cutting with holy might; such a blade is a relic, and is unlikely to be found by mere trade. Nor, truly, should it be." Ameris says this last pointedly.

He continues, his tone clearly curious as to what the masked woman might respond to the coming words. "There is another way to consider the nature of the blade you seek, and that is a blade once wielded by a paladin, one that has accumulated deeds of righteousness in such hands. Blessed not by the gods, but by service with and to a paladin. Its holiness only in the tales attached to it, holy tales of holy deeds."

He nods. "I do know of such a blade. It was forged as a gift, from a paladin of justice and light to a priest who had lost everything: his dearest comrade, his hope, his sense of purpose, and even the holy sword he had been entrusted with. The blade's first act was to remind him to Endure. When the priest found that sword he had once held in trust, but had lost, the gift he had received as passed on. It went to yet another paladin, a humble one whose service was quiet, who in peace wielded a mop and fought wars of cleanliness."

He begins to tell the tale. There is a trace of fervour in his tone, his eyes bright. "That paladin wielded it in service to the Broken God in many duties, and it was her weapon in war against the very forces of loss, death, bitterness, disease and decay themselves; a war for life, against death. She fought the rotten, risen dead in the woods to the east of here where you and I once hid the shadow burden you carried. She fought in the mountains north of here against boneless legions. She trained a disparate hopeful band to fight alongside her, and look to her command. She fought against destruction itself before the gates of Candlekeep. She fought on the very walls of Baldur's Gate itself against a putrid sea of vileness, and held against impossible odds. She was Unyielding. She gave nearly everything to keep the people of that city safe, and as many of those under her command as she could. All with this blade in her hand. It freed many souls from the chains of undeath, in her hand."

There is a smile in his eyes, some pride perhaps. "After war was done, she returned to more humble duties. But she was rewarded for her actions as saviour, and a powerful weapon was bequeathed to her by the Dukes of the city she defended. And so the gift she had taken from the priest, she returned, for she was a woman sworn away from possessions beyond necessity."

He pauses, then nods. "If you seek a blade that has such a history of holiness, then yes, I can help you."

The shopkeeper tilts her head speculatively. "So is the search one for a blade in service of the gods or for that adorned with noble deeds?" Spoken as though to herself.

"Can't say which suits me better." She looks to her guest with a familiar irritatedness he would probably recognize. "People are fickle and boorish. My aims might not suit that blade and I'll not deceive you anything of the notion."

She taps a finger against the long cloaked bit covering her legs. "I am intrigued though. A once-cherished sword of mine for one of yours. That would mean I'd owe you again..." She looks over him to her collection of goods wondering if anything would be suitable.

[kleomenes]

The shopkeeper tilts her head speculatively. "So is the search one for a blade in service of the gods or for that adorned with noble deeds?" Spoken as though to herself.

"Can't say which suits me better." She looks to her guest with a familiar irritatedness he would probably recognize. "People are fickle and boorish. My aims might not suit that blade and I'll not deceive you anything of the notion."

She taps a finger against the long cloaked bit covering her legs. "I am intrigued though. A once-cherished sword of mine for one of yours. That would mean I'd owe you again..." She looks over him to her collection of goods wondering if anything would be suitable.

"Let me show it to you." Says the masked figure, pushing himself to his feet. "So you can consider it fully, and what would be suitable in exchange."

He unclips his swordbelt, and then holds the scabbarded sword flat across the palms of his hands. He would draw the sword, but only so far as to allow a few inches of steel to be seen, and to allow the inspection of the hilt and crossguard.

"It is named, now, Unyielding. As was its former wielder."

The blade is well made, if not ornate, in a style common in Cormyr. The word "Endure" is inscribed on the crossguard. The masked figure holds out the hilt for the woman to take, so she might draw the blade fully. Notably leaving himself unarmed.

"You would be free to rename it, of course. Although when the mood takes you, Unyielding might be a suitable description of you."

There is a light tone to the last words, and the masked figure's eyes shine with friendly amusement.

"Although I am glad to say it has not always been true."

[Caelin]

A weathered male adventurer steps quietly and cautiously into the ruined building. His face is gruff, but not unfriendly. He glances around the space, his eyes pausing on the woman before continuing to sweep the room. "Lo there, stranger," he says carefully. "Interesting place you've got here."

He steps up to look at the items arrayed, then leans in to read one of the sheets. His brow furrows momentarily and he shakes his head then looks again before apparently giving up the effort. "Name's Darren," he offers as he continues to look at the wares, stopping now and again at a particular item.

Finally he straightens and turns to address the figure directly. "Interesting things you've acquired. Three of 'em in particular have caught my eye." He gestures to the lightning scimitar "That blade," before pointing to the dark garb "those clothes, and those gloves" he finishes pointing towards the supple gloves. "I've coin, or some items in trade you might have an interest in." He looks at her, resisting the urge to peer under the hood and awaits a reply.

[Step_Mac]

During one of his peripatetic wanderings, Cillian passes through the Field of the Dead, a necessary evil located between points A and B. Slinking through shadows to avoid the undead, he notes the odd music. The choice between prolonging his exposure to the nigh-unkillable boney things, and satisfying his curiosity, well, that's no choice at all. . .

Upon arrival, he observes the hooded figure for a few moments before choosing boldness over prudence yet again: with a bold grin, he steps forward and says in the cheeriest of tones, "Why hello there, grim figure! May I ask what you are doing here, in this benighted place?"

[Selande]

"Let me show it to you." Says the masked figure, pushing himself to his feet. "So you can consider it fully, and what would be suitable in exchange."

He unclips his swordbelt, and then holds the scabbarded sword flat across the palms of his hands. He would draw the sword, but only so far as to allow a few inches of steel to be seen, and to allow the inspection of the hilt and crossguard.

"It is named, now, Unyielding. As was its former wielder."

The blade is well made, if not ornate, in a style common in Cormyr. The word "Endure" is inscribed on the crossguard. The masked figure holds out the hilt for the woman to take, so she might draw the blade fully. Notably leaving himself unarmed.

"You would be free to rename it, of course. Although when the mood takes you, Unyielding might be a suitable description of you."

There is a light tone to the last words, and the masked figure's eyes shine with friendly amusement.

"Although I am glad to say it has not always been true."

The shopkeeper doesn't reach for the blade as it's offered. She waits passively for him to finish reciting the tale and finally waves a hand at the blade dismissively.

"Perhaps it's not something I can make use of afterall. Not to fret, however. I will find something suitable when the time is right for it." She sounds confident.

"Welcomed company will suffice for now, I suppose. It's not a frequent indulgence for me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A weathered male adventurer steps quietly and cautiously into the ruined building. His face is gruff, but not unfriendly. He glances around the space, his eyes pausing on the woman before continuing to sweep the room. "Lo there, stranger," he says carefully. "Interesting place you've got here."

He steps up to look at the items arrayed, then leans in to read one of the sheets. His brow furrows momentarily and he shakes his head then looks again before apparently giving up the effort. "Name's Darren," he offers as he continues to look at the wares, stopping now and again at a particular item.

Finally he straightens and turns to address the figure directly. "Interesting things you've acquired. Three of 'em in particular have caught my eye." He gestures to the lightning scimitar "That blade," before pointing to the dark garb "those clothes, and those gloves" he finishes pointing towards the supple gloves. "I've coin, or some items in trade you might have an interest in." He looks at her, resisting the urge to peer under the hood and awaits a reply.

The shopkeeper nods politely to the man as he enters and greets her. When he gives his name, she would make a swift notation of it on a scrap of paper.

Once he's taken an interest in items, the shopkeeper shifts her weight where she sits before speaking. "Afraid those I couldn't part with for gold. I've been surprised before but modest mention of items in trade often doesn't have what I'm looking for either."

She makes a series of quick notations on the scrap of paper. "Unless a proper sword is something somewhat trivial to you. You've see the one I have for sale. I'm looking for something similar, though different. Divine, almost."

The cloaked woman brushes the feathering on her quill against her other hand idly. "That might seem vague but I'll know what I'm looking for when I see it. If that ever happens."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During one of his peripatetic wanderings, Cillian passes through the Field of the Dead, a necessary evil located between points A and B. Slinking through shadows to avoid the undead, he notes the odd music. The choice between prolonging his exposure to the nigh-unkillable boney things, and satisfying his curiosity, well, that's no choice at all. . .

Upon arrival, he observes the hooded figure for a few moments before choosing boldness over prudence yet again: with a bold grin, he steps forward and says in the cheeriest of tones, "Why hello there, grim figure! May I ask what you are doing here, in this benighted place?"

The grim figure would nod politely towards the man as he finally greets her. "Biding time, I suppose. Though in that pursuit, I'm also ridding myself of a few trinkets on occasion."

She would look to her wares absently before returning her attention to the man. "You seem set on a very different path, however. A small mystery what swept you this way." Her last statement is spoken almost as though to herself as she looks over her guest appraisingly.

[kleomenes]

The shopkeeper doesn't reach for the blade as it's offered. She waits passively for him to finish reciting the tale and finally waves a hand at the blade dismissively.

"Perhaps it's not something I can make use of afterall. Not to fret, however. I will find something suitable when the time is right for it." She sounds confident.

"Welcomed company will suffice for now, I suppose. It's not a frequent indulgence for me."

The masked figure dons the blade again, watching the shopekeeper. "So be it. I do wish you luck in your search."

He resumes his seat, clasping his hands between his knees. He looks about the Shoppe, taking in again the various artefacts on display. He looks back to the cloaked figure. "Do any of those that come here to trade come with interesting stories, lady?"

[WookieWarlord]

The dark silhouette of a dwarf emerges into the doorway of the ruin from the fields of the dead. His form obscured and seemingly diminutive among the crackling arcane wards surrounding him. After a wary lookover of the interior, noting the relatively peaceful atmosphere, he relaxes his guard slightly and enters confidently.

The previously dim light of the ruin is disturbed by the occasional bright, erratic flash from the excessive magic it now contains. He stares at the woman mutely for a short time, merely grunting if she has anything to say, before moving over to sit upon the dirt with his back against a wall.

With an axe and shield propped up beside him, the dwarf can be heard quietly muttering to himself, as one by one each of the active spells upon his person is dissipated harmlessly. Once most of the obscuring effects are dispelled, it can be seen that his eyes are closed in concentration, and a few shallow wounds apparent through rents in his light armour are visibly healing as well, the flesh gradually knitting itself together.

[Step_Mac]

During one of his peripatetic wanderings, Cillian passes through the Field of the Dead, a necessary evil located between points A and B. Slinking through shadows to avoid the undead, he notes the odd music. The choice between prolonging his exposure to the nigh-unkillable boney things, and satisfying his curiosity, well, that's no choice at all. . .

Upon arrival, he observes the hooded figure for a few moments before choosing boldness over prudence yet again: with a bold grin, he steps forward and says in the cheeriest of tones, "Why hello there, grim figure! May I ask what you are doing here, in this benighted place?"[\quote]

The grim figure would nod politely towards the man as he finally greets her. "Biding time, I suppose. Though in that pursuit, I'm also ridding myself of a few trinkets on occasion."

She would look to her wares absently before returning her attention to the man. "You seem set on a very different path, however. A small mystery what swept you this way." Her last statement is spoken almost as though to herself as she looks over her guest appraisingly.

Cillian arched a brow, then grins and replies lightly, "I feel like I am biding time too, in truth, but I do it by wandering rather than waiting in one place. Call it a. . . useful compulsion?" After perusing some of her offerings, he nods to himself, and points to a helm (OOC: Vigilance). What can you tell me about that one? (Lore d20: 16+8=24) It looks like it would be useful for someone who doesn't want to be followed, or overheard." After a moment, he adds wryly, "Wouldn't do a thing for someone who's paranoid, but then I suppose that can't be helped. Any thoughts on what you might want for it?"

[crimsonrain15]

A ragged Nathan stumbles into the ruins, curiosity piqued, and looks around. Slightly on edge, having just fought through a small army of undead, relaxes only slightly. Once he realizes that he stands within a shop, he quickly browses the goods, then he finds the rapiers.

"Would a hundred bags suffice for the pair?"

He would then test their weight and take a few practice swings.

[Nihm]

A small hin in black and wearing glasses wanders in from the tainted lands about the ruins. She offers a polite nod with a wry smile on her lips to the cloaked woman as she walks deeper between the wares. Her head slowly turns as her eyes scan the items on their blankets. Stopping suddenly, she approaches a blade that is longer than she is tall. She lays hands on it and slowly investigates the details. Without looking up or fingers slowing from their work, she calls back, "So... this one... the falchion... coin or trade?" She turns to regard the owner and awaits a response as she puts a hand on her hip.

[Keenar]

Through the silence of the fields you can hear a rythmic clunk of armor approaching. After a couple minutes the curtain to the tent is pulled away and a large half orc clad in heavy full plate enters. His armor is dented and looks very worn, although with further inspection you can tell the armor is very well made, even if it was intended for an individual smaller than the one who is wearing it. Taking a quick look around he notices the hooded lady who seems to be completely lost in her writings. After a few awkward moments of just standing there he abruptly stats talking
Hello pretty lady, I be Argrug! This tent is very nice even if you have to kills bones to get here.
With a large toothy grin he continues to walk around the shop looking at several of the items. He asks a few questions of some of the blades but doesn't wait long enough for a reply before he wanders on to the next one. All this time his misfitting armor bangs in the quiet of the tent. Some time later he puts a few of the items aside. Finally looking at the woman he continues.
Argrug really likes the stuff you has. Me would like to make these mine. I can give you nice shiny things if you like them. Then we both have new stuff.

//Pm sent

[TownsVanFreedom]

From the hills to the north moves the armored figure, the stout dwarven man weaving a path with a unwavering step towards the southern lands, the melody drifting on the rancid air taking his attention for a moment.

"Wha' in da?"

Almost as a echo to join in the tune, rises the clang of steel and fizz of magical energies turning the air heavy and thick. The undead rising upward ambushing the warrior "By da axe o' ma fathers" The graveled voice travels with the clanging sounds of battle as the wild magical bolts sunder against shield. The Dethek runes along his cloak seem aglow absorbing a measure of the power.

Methodically the warrior cleaves a path through the dead, towards the narrow confides of a near by rune. The undead relentless in their pursuit as blade meets shield and axe meets bone, though as sure as a mountain the flurry of battle begins to die as the dwarven man manages to turn the tide. With a heave he takes the lull to dash toward the entrance of the rune.

Blood trickles down from a gash over his milky eye, the scar tissue reopened. However paying little heed to it he turns, his shield blocking the entrance toward the open field. Taking a moment to survey the deathly quietness, content his tongue rolls over his lip. The iron taste of his own blood forcing a smirked grin "Damn bag o' bones" With a grunt he spits out a bloody wad of phlegm onto the ground, turning his head back into wards the shoppee "Eh? Wha?" The words stammer almost surprised at the sight of the hooded woman engrossed in her tome.

"Ya mus' be pardonin' ma intrusion stranga, less ya mean me harm, Fo I mean ya none." The dwarven warrior lowers his guard, showing no hostile intent as his good eye gleams over the spread wares. His iris expanding as his gaze hangs on the Dwarvern Axe, his voice takes on an almost business tone as he lets out a low breath "Ya be merchant eh?"

[Keenar]

Through the silence of the fields you can hear a rythmic clunk of armor approaching. After a couple minutes the curtain to the tent is pulled away and a large half orc clad in heavy full plate enters. His armor is dented and looks very worn, although with further inspection you can tell the armor is very well made, even if it was intended for an individual smaller than the one who is wearing it. Taking a quick look around he notices the hooded lady who seems to be completely lost in her writings. After a few awkward moments of just standing there he abruptly stats talking
Hello pretty lady, I be Argrug! This tent is very nice even if you have to kills bones to get here.
With a large toothy grin he continues to walk around the shop looking at several of the items. He asks a few questions of some of the blades but doesn't wait long enough for a reply before he wanders on to the next one. All this time his misfitting armor bangs in the quiet of the tent. Some time later he puts a few of the items aside. Finally looking at the woman he continues.
Argrug really likes the stuff you has. Me would like to make these mine. I can give you nice shiny things if you like them. Then we both have new stuff.

//Pm sent

After some time passes he grabs the scimitar and the bloody rags.
You like any of my shiny things? Me give you some of my shiny things for these items? Thens we be happy!

//Bump

[Selande]

The masked figure dons the blade again, watching the shopekeeper. "So be it. I do wish you luck in your search."

He resumes his seat, clasping his hands between his knees. He looks about the Shoppe, taking in again the various artefacts on display. He looks back to the cloaked figure. "Do any of those that come here to trade come with interesting stories, lady?"

"They all come with interesting stories. It might even be a requirement to even find this place." She shifts her weight where she sits.

"They don't all share those stories though. I'm patient, however. Everything gets told eventually."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dark silhouette of a dwarf emerges into the doorway of the ruin from the fields of the dead. His form obscured and seemingly diminutive among the crackling arcane wards surrounding him. After a wary lookover of the interior, noting the relatively peaceful atmosphere, he relaxes his guard slightly and enters confidently.

The previously dim light of the ruin is disturbed by the occasional bright, erratic flash from the excessive magic it now contains. He stares at the woman mutely for a short time, merely grunting if she has anything to say, before moving over to sit upon the dirt with his back against a wall.

With an axe and shield propped up beside him, the dwarf can be heard quietly muttering to himself, as one by one each of the active spells upon his person is dissipated harmlessly. Once most of the obscuring effects are dispelled, it can be seen that his eyes are closed in concentration, and a few shallow wounds apparent through rents in his light armour are visibly healing as well, the flesh gradually knitting itself together.

The shopkeeper would quietly attend her tome as her guest visits. She might eventually look away from her work as she seeks what next to write, and may in this process notice the dwarf. A brief appraising glance over his equipment and demeanor would be all the hooded woman would express before returning to her work. So long as he doesn't seem aggressive, she'd leave him to his own company.

The woman seems quite comfortable with armed, enchanted strangers sharing close quarters with her.
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Cillian arched a brow, then grins and replies lightly, "I feel like I am biding time too, in truth, but I do it by wandering rather than waiting in one place. Call it a. . . useful compulsion?" After perusing some of her offerings, he nods to himself, and points to a helm (OOC: Vigilance). What can you tell me about that one? (Lore d20: 16+8=24) It looks like it would be useful for someone who doesn't want to be followed, or overheard." After a moment, he adds wryly, "Wouldn't do a thing for someone who's paranoid, but then I suppose that can't be helped. Any thoughts on what you might want for it?"

"It was the property of a watchman of Candlekeep. He was tasked with barring sly intruders from entry. I imagine this was quite useful to him." The shopkeeper absently taps a finger against her knee.

"I'm not really sure what I'd want for it. I suppose some sort of trade could be made if it has a meaningful value to you. What would you part with?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A ragged Nathan stumbles into the ruins, curiosity piqued, and looks around. Slightly on edge, having just fought through a small army of undead, relaxes only slightly. Once he realizes that he stands within a shop, he quickly browses the goods, then he finds the rapiers.

"Would a hundred bags suffice for the pair?"

He would then test their weight and take a few practice swings.

The shopkeeper looks at Nathan briefly before peering over at the items in question. "Hmm. You seem like the type who might enjoy a heavier sword... but if you prefer such elegant blades..."

The cloaked woman tilts her head as she considers. "The lessercrafted of the two I'd part for a small sum. It's likeness was common amongst well-to-do adventurers where I come from. The more powerfully enchanted sword I've used extensively and it's maintained a sharp edge. I'd not part with it for less than nearly double your offer."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small hin in black and wearing glasses wanders in from the tainted lands about the ruins. She offers a polite nod with a wry smile on her lips to the cloaked woman as she walks deeper between the wares. Her head slowly turns as her eyes scan the items on their blankets. Stopping suddenly, she approaches a blade that is longer than she is tall. She lays hands on it and slowly investigates the details. Without looking up or fingers slowing from their work, she calls back, "So... this one... the falchion... coin or trade?" She turns to regard the owner and awaits a response as she puts a hand on her hip.

The shopkeeper would return the polite nod as the hin visits her shop. When asked about the sword she would flip several pages in her tome as she considers the question for some length of time. "A lighter-wield sword in trade would be preferred. Though enough gold might also suffice."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through the silence of the fields you can hear a rythmic clunk of armor approaching. After a couple minutes the curtain to the tent is pulled away and a large half orc clad in heavy full plate enters. His armor is dented and looks very worn, although with further inspection you can tell the armor is very well made, even if it was intended for an individual smaller than the one who is wearing it. Taking a quick look around he notices the hooded lady who seems to be completely lost in her writings. After a few awkward moments of just standing there he abruptly stats talking
Hello pretty lady, I be Argrug! This tent is very nice even if you have to kills bones to get here.
With a large toothy grin he continues to walk around the shop looking at several of the items. He asks a few questions of some of the blades but doesn't wait long enough for a reply before he wanders on to the next one. All this time his misfitting armor bangs in the quiet of the tent. Some time later he puts a few of the items aside. Finally looking at the woman he continues.
Argrug really likes the stuff you has. Me would like to make these mine. I can give you nice shiny things if you like them. Then we both have new stuff.

//Pm sent

The shopkeeper would nod and otherwise passively attend the half-orcs conversation, though he strangely has her full attention. She might find his presence less comfortable than her usual guests.

When asked about items, she would quietly consider for a moment. Looking over the items offered to her, "I've no particular use for anything offered, unfortunately. I'm looking more for a sword than anything else."

She appraises the large man's reaction for signs of upset.
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/// Will respond to TownsVanFreedom later! ///

[Keenar]

[[/quote]The shopkeeper would nod and otherwise passively attend the half-orcs conversation, though he strangely has her full attention. She might find his presence less comfortable than her usual guests.

When asked about items, she would quietly consider for a moment. Looking over the items offered to her, "I've no particular use for anything offered, unfortunately. I'm looking more for a sword than anything else."

She appraises the large man's reaction for signs of upset.[/quote]

The half orc frowns a bit when she says she is not interested in the wares he presented. He spends a while looking at the scimitar and and bloody rags before he replies.
Well if sword is what you would like I do have one me give you in trade. Me didn't want to lose it because it's very shiny. Just like this one! Maybe you can use it! Me also give you big big bags of gold
And the large grin returns to his face.

//pm sent