The Armory

Sofia led me down the market to the armory she was talking about.

“Ah, Sofia. New party again?” said the owner, smirking at her. “What happened? Burn off another one’s eyebrows?”

“Sh-shut it! Just help him find a weapon,” Sofia said, blushing and turning away.

“Whatever you say missie,” the older smith said. “Any idea what you’re looking for?” He turned to me.

“I’d prefer a sword. Something lightweight, sharp, and versatile. Also, it’s gotta cost less than a gold piece,” I said, eying the blades mounted to the wall.

“For your price range, best I can offer is this,” he said, pulling a shortsword off the wall, handing it to me. It’s well balanced, seems durable enough, and was sharp enough to give a small cut to my finger with ease.

“I’ll take it. How much,” I asked, strapping the sheath he gave me onto my side.

“8 silver,” the armored said. I handed him the money, placing the blade into my new scabbard. “Have fun you two. Try not to catch fire.”