Custom Order

"Would it be possible, to use the seathread silk for a shirt. but utilizing glimmerstone thread for all the seams?" he asks. The seamstress nodded, her eyes glinting with approval. “Aye, lad—seathread silk shirt with glimmerstone thread seams? Doable, no sweat. The silk’ll flow light and tough, and them glowin’ seams’ll stitch it sharp—fancy yet fierce. What color ye wantin’?”

Steven leaned in, sketching his vision with quick gestures. “For the shirt—make it sleeveless, loose ‘round the arms so my fists can move, no sleeves at all—what I’d call a tank top. Seathread silk, dyed a bluish silver—like the sea under moonlight. Use glimmerstone thread for all the seams, let ‘em glow subtle.” The seamstress tilted her head, then grinned. “Oh, ye mean a Vyrthian Cut—that style’s rare ‘round here, but I know it. Silk, bluish silver, glowin’ seams—got it. Next?”

“For the shorts,” he continued, “knee-length, relaxed fit—what I’d call board shorts. Ashfeather cloth, tough but breathable—keep its natural ash-gray color, no dye. Glimmerstone thread for the seams, deep pockets on each side ye can slip yer hands into upfront. Then, a drawstring belt—seathread silk, dyed bluish silver, slick and strong.” Her eyes widened, quill pausing mid-air. “Board shorts? Knee-length, loose, with pockets like that? Ain’t no style I’ve seen in the Mistveil—or anywhere! Ye’re inventin’ somethin’ new, lad!” She cackled, excitement flashing. “Ashfeather in its gray, glimmerstone seams, silk drawstring bluish silver—pockets up front? Wild, but I’ll make it sing.”

She tapped her quill, beaming. “Vyrthian Cut silk shirt in bluish silver, yer new ‘board shorts’ in ash-gray—glimmerstone seams, silk tie to match the shirt. Fierce and fresh—40 copper, silk’s a touch steep, ready by mornin’. Deal?” Steven nodded, his D-rank flair birthing a style all his own.

Steven finalized his picks with a decisive nod, reaching into his pouch for the payment. He slid 20 copper across the counter for the Stormgull Flyer set—its steel-gray shirt and blue-black pants a comfy grab off the rack—then added 40 more for the custom order: the Vyrthian Cut seathread silk shirt in bluish silver and the ash-gray ashfeather “board shorts” with glimmerstone seams and a silk drawstring. Total: 60 copper, a solid spend for a D-rank brawler upgrading his look.

The seamstress scooped up the coins, smirking. “Paid up front—smart lad.” She eyed his current black shirt and pants, wrinkling her nose. “That merchant rag ye’re wearin’—low-quality garbage, churned out by some hack shop. Toss it, ye’re better than that now.” Steven chuckled, agreeing—she’d nailed it. He ducked behind a curtain, shedding the drab black threads in a heap, kicking them aside like shed skin. The Stormgull Flyer slipped on smooth—steel-gray linen cool against his chest, blue-black canvas pants snug but free, a D-rank glow replacing the merchant’s junk.

Stepping out, he held up a hand. “No rush on the custom stuff. I’ve got an idea for a symbol—my crest—but I need to hit the mage guild first to sort it. Can I bring it by tomorrow mornin’? Then ye’ve got the whole day to stitch it up, no hurry.” She tilted her head, then nodded. “Aye—bring yer crest tomorrow, I’ll take the day to work it right. Symbol’s a fine mark—makes it yers. See ye then.”

Steven adjusted the Stormgull Flyer, its fit a quiet thrill, the black crap left crumpled in the shop’s corner—a hack’s trash traded for a brawler’s stride. He headed out, mind spinning toward the mage guild and the crest that’d carve his legend.