CRING!
The small brass bell above the heavy oak door chimed clearly.
As Grim stepped over the threshold the rich distinct scent of the workshop hit him immediately.
The smell was a sharp metallic blend of cold steel,polished mahogany and the faint bitter tang of coal dust.
Sunlight filtered dimly through frosted glass windows illuminating dust motes that danced around rows of display cases and wall mounts.
To the left fine blades dominated the rack.Longswords with sweeping handguards heavy,trench daggers with knuckled hilts and gleaming rapiers suspended on velvet-lined panels. Opposite them stood the firearms.
On a velvet cushion inside a glass counter near the entrance lay a compact six-shot revolver.
Behind the counter a man sat leisurely holding a folded copy of the morning daily.
A few loose strands of long dark hair shifted over his shoulders briefly revealing the sharp unmistakable taper of two pointed ears nestled against his temples.
"Ohh! We have a customer today!" he said in a melodious tone, folding the newspaper and standing up from behind the counter to greet the man who had stopped across from him.
"Grim..." the man murmured while studying him. "Grim Wargrave."
His expression changed a bit but returned to normal which didn’t escape Grim’s eyes.
"You seem to be aware of me," Grim said.
"Who doesn’t know you in the City of Ladena," the man replied chuckling.
Cough!
"I am Wellis the forger and owner of this place," he said, extending a hand.
"Nice to meet you Sir Wellis," Grim said.
"Nice to meet you too, Young Master!" Wellis said smiling.
Despite maintaining a smile he was vexed inwardly wondering why the hell the cub of the Devil had found him today.
’Looking at that frosty face frozen as if from ancient times the rumors are certainly true.’
"So what can I help you with, Young Master?" he asked.
"I want to buy a gun," Grim said.
"A gun! Of course!" Wellis responded with enthusiasm.
"Which type of gun would you like? Factory-made or do you want to put in a personal request?"
"I want a factory-made one to use now. Aside from that I also want to put in a request," Grim said.
"I need a revolver.Something concealable under a coat reliable at close to mid-range and powerful enough to stop whatever comes running at me."
The shopkeeper’s pointed ears twitched slightly, a subtle glint of interest flashing through his dark eyes. He gave a soft knowing laugh and rested his palms on the polished glass counter.
"You are quite Direct Sir. I like that Young Master," the shopkeeper said pulling a brass ring of keys from his vest pocket. "A fine blade carries prestige but in a city growing louder by the day nothing speaks quite as clearly as lead and powder."
Unlocking the velvet-lined display beneath the counter the elf said "Allow me to introduce the lineup."
He pointed to the nickel-plated revolver. "This is the Vanguard. It hinges open at the frame for lightning-fast reloads. Light, smooth and perfect for a quick draw."
Moving his hand to a heavy dark steel firearm he continued "Next the Ironclad. A .44 solid-frame single-action piece loaded through a side gate. Heavy as a brick but it packs pure unadulterated stopping power."
He tapped a strange short weapon with multiple rotating barrels. "The Whistler, a .32 pepperbox. Terribly inaccurate past ten paces but absolutely beast in close in a tight alley."
Finally he lifted the last piece.lt was a revolver with rich.And my personal favorite, the Cavalier. A 45 gate-loader with an integrated ejector rod. It had good balance, deadly accuracy at close range, and hits like a charging bull."
He leaned forward resting his palms on the glass.
"So Young Master... which one do you like?"
Grim took a pause experimenting with the guns studying the ins and outs.
Compared to his world the development of guns here was still in a rudimentary phase and the guns showcased in front of him were all revolver types.
The Cavalier was close to a shotgun with one pellet each but it packed a heavy punch.
The Whistler was a silent killer that was easy to shoot and swifter to draw but it lacked accuracy beyond ten steps which usually corresponds to six meters.
The Ironclad was a toned-down version of the Cavalier that packed quite a punch without compromising speed but it became a hassle while reloading.
The Vanguard was the best in overall performance, easier to reload, swifter to fire and it had decent accuracy.
Grim stared at the four wondering what choice to make only to pause.
’Why choose!’
’Money is the least thing a son of a Duke lacks.’
"Pack all of them!" Grim said.
Wellis almost faltered hearing this. "Are you sure?"
"I mean taking all of them isn’t a problem but if you use all of them during a fight it would be a mess to fill up the blanks causing a blast," he added.
"I am not gonna use them for long," Grim said, shaking his head and he pulled out a piece of folded blank paper from the bag he was carrying.
"You belong to the Archive Lineage right?" Grim asked.
Wellis wasn’t alarmed by this for most decent craftsmen had the hand of the God of Archive behind them and it was common knowledge.
He stared at Grim carefully pondering the reason behind the question.
"You remember the vow right?" he asked.
"Which vow?" Grim asked.
"The Sacred Vows of the Archive!" Wellis said.
"Knowledge is sacred."
"Knowledge is eternal."
"Knowledge is power."
"He who bestows knowledge is the Master of the Flame and he who receives it is the Vessel."
"By the blood of the vessel and the ink of the unseen witnessed by the Lord of Archive I swear to honor the truth revealed, to guard the secret bestowed and to recognize the giver as my benefactor in this life and the next."
The power of the seals inside Wellis reacted but he put up a calming smile.
"You speak the Old Words, Young Master Wargrave," Wellis whispered softly. "Tell me... what knowledge have you brought to my forge today?"
"It’s this!" Grim said unfolding the paper and slamming it on the table.
As he unfolded the paper flat against the glass counter his dark eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
"This... this is..." Wellis choked on his words leaning down until his nose was nearly brushing the paper.