"Pins, eh?" The man grunted, pursing his lips and then glancing over his shoulder to where Caiside had gone. "Y'think yer up to tha task, boy? Gotta be real precise though, I won't have anythin' comin' out of this shop that won't stand tha test of time." Despite the gruffness in his voice, there was a modicum of approval in it. Something that said he'd likely be hard on the apprentice, but that he'd indeed be there to teach him what he might need to know. Prideful or not, the old man was certainly the type to appreciate good work when he saw it, even if he was too stubborn to ask for the help when he needed it.
"A gourd with a—" Frowning, he gave the bard a bit of a glance, before shrugging. Coin was coin, and as long as the long-haired one kept showing up with it, as well as finer materials than he'd been fortunate enough to work with in years, he'd keep his mouth shut. A rare gift indeed.
"Masks?!" He mewled, balking surprising at the idea. "This ain't for one of 'em sexy parties is it? Nawp, I remember them well. The blood, the dancin', the howling at the moon. Much as I might like to work with what yer brought me here, specially if it comes from that ol' turnips stock, ye won't find me helpin to create any o' tha' mischief." With a last longing look at the ingots before him, the old man turned up his nose, pursed his lip, and crossed his arms.
If this was a sex thing, or a way to resuscitate that cult, he most certainly wouldn't be a part of it. He'd made that mistake once already.
"A gourd with a—" Frowning, he gave the bard a bit of a glance, before shrugging. Coin was coin, and as long as the long-haired one kept showing up with it, as well as finer materials than he'd been fortunate enough to work with in years, he'd keep his mouth shut. A rare gift indeed.
"Masks?!" He mewled, balking surprising at the idea. "This ain't for one of 'em sexy parties is it? Nawp, I remember them well. The blood, the dancin', the howling at the moon. Much as I might like to work with what yer brought me here, specially if it comes from that ol' turnips stock, ye won't find me helpin to create any o' tha' mischief." With a last longing look at the ingots before him, the old man turned up his nose, pursed his lip, and crossed his arms.
If this was a sex thing, or a way to resuscitate that cult, he most certainly wouldn't be a part of it. He'd made that mistake once already.
