Grizzled features twisted into a scowl as the older orc squinted against the relatively brighter light of the main forge, thick brows lowering over eyes like smouldering coals. He lumbered forward with the ponderous gait of one carrying considerable bulk, coming to a halt at Bran's side with a grunt.
"This is my father, Kurg," Bran said by way of introduction, though the faintest hints of a smirk played about his lips as he eyed the dour orc. "I wish to consult with him regarding your commission."
Kurg's gaze flickered briefly to Aleria, that scowl deepening for the barest instant as he seemed to size her up. Then, with a rumbling snort of acknowledgment, his attention shifted back to his son.
Bran held up the parchment bearing her runic design, gesturing towards the various shapes and sigils.
"We have a number of spare iron plates that would suit this purpose," he explained, glancing between his father and Aleria. "How much, do you think, if we made use of those?"
Kurg leaned in closer, squinting down at the parchment with a furrowed brow. His gruff voice, when he spoke, carried the unmistakable rasp and broken cadence of one struggling with the common tongue.
"Rune... carving," he rumbled, one meaty finger tracing over the intricate design. "Take time. But metal, we have."
The orc paused, seemingly mulling over the matter with that same intense scowl. At last, he lifted his gaze to meet Aleria's, the smouldering coals of his eyes locking with her own.
"Fifty copper," Kurg stated, the words emerging slow but decisive. "Each."
Aleria felt her brow furrow slightly at Kurg's stated price, unable to completely mask her wince. Fifty copper per talisman was a bit steeper than she'd hoped, though not entirely unexpected she supposed. Still, with her current funds...
"Might there be some way to bring that cost down a touch?" she asked, keeping her tone level and politely inquisitive. "I'll need a fair number of these talismans to start."
Bran seemed to pick up on her unspoken meaning, offering her a slight nod of understanding.
"Haggling isn’t uncommon here," he said, the rumbling timbre of his voice holding a placating note. "If the price gives you pause, we could perhaps arrange for part of it to be covered through trade instead of coin."
One broad shoulder lifted in an easy shrug as Bran's strange eyes studied her openly.
"These enchantments," he began, glancing down at the parchment still clutched in one hand. "How many uses might one expect to derive from a single one, would you estimate?"
Aleria felt her gaze drift down to the iron pendant hanging about her neck, fingers tracing over the worn grooves of its runic patterns as she considered her response. At last, she met Bran's inquisitive stare once more.
"Four or five uses, I would say," she replied, keeping her tone measured. "Perhaps more, depending on the severity of the injury being tended. But these are intended only for minor wounds - Cuts, gashes, hard knocks and aches. Nothing too severe."
The smith nodded slowly at her explanation, seeming to weigh her words. After a moment's pause, Bran glanced towards his father.
"What say you, Pa?" he asked, the lilt of his cultured voice holding an undercurrent of subtle amusement. "A fair trade, given their stated purpose and limitations?"
Kurg's brow furrowed in that now-familiar scowl, his gaze flickering between Aleria and his son as he mulled over the matter. At length, he gave a slow, rumbling grunt.
"Ten copper each," the old orc bit out, his gravelly tones brooking no argument. "Rest... in trade."
Aleria felt her shoulders sag slightly with relief at the revised price, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"That's more than fair," she agreed with a nod of gratitude. "Name your terms for the remaining balance, and you shall have it."
Bran's mouth quirked in a slight smile at Aleria's ready agreement, giving a small nod of acknowledgement.
"In that case," he began, gesturing vaguely with the parchment still clutched in one large hand. "For every set of, say, ten you commission from us, perhaps you could provide us with five more pre-enchanted ones in trade?"
Aleria felt her brows lifting slightly at the half-breed's proposed terms, surprise flickering across her features. Bran seemed to pick up on her unspoken query, offering a small shrug of explanation.
"Most of our clientele are simple labourers and craftsmen," he elaborated. "The sort who might find good use for minor healing charms to help ease the aches and pains that come with their work."
Aleria considered Bran's words, mulling over his suggestion. It was a shrewd bit of business sense, to be sure - taking a portion of her wares in trade, only to then sell them on at a markup. A small frown creased her brow as she eyed him, wondering if she ought to feel slighted at such a ploy.
And yet, as her gaze drifted over to the hulking, impassive figure of Kurg looming beside his son, Aleria found her misgivings fading somewhat. The dour old orc's countenance was as unreadable as ever, his features set in that perpetual glower. But there was an unmistakable weariness to his stance, the weight of years etched into the lines of his craggy face.
Aleria's frown softened somewhat at that realisation, her eyes drifting back to Bran's open, earnest expression. He watched her, waiting patiently for her decision with no hint of guile or ill intent. Just a pragmatic businessman, seizing upon an opportunity where he saw one.
At length, Aleria gave a small nod of acquiescence, her features smoothing out into a faint smile.
"Very well," she agreed, holding Bran's inquisitive gaze. "For every ten unenchanted discs or plates you forge for me, I shall provide five more with minor healing spells worked into the runes. Does that sound amenable?"
Bran's answering smile was immediate, crinkling the corners of his vivid eyes.
"More than fair, Mistress Aleria," Bran rumbled in that deep baritone, ducking his head in a respectful nod of gratitude. "You have struck a generous bargain."
He glanced towards his father then, that roguish grin still playing about his full lips.
"Did you hear that, Pa?" the younger smith asked, his rich tones holding a teasing lilt. "The lady has accepted our terms. Best get those old arms of yours working a chisel, eh? We've talismans to craft!"
Kurg snorted at that, the sound more akin to a disdainful grunt than any true acknowledgment. Even so, Aleria could have sworn she caught a glimmer of approval, however fleeting, in the old orc's smouldering gaze as it flickered between her and his son.
Then, with a rumbling noise that might have been words in his native tongue, the grizzled smith turned and lumbered back towards the banked forge, already reaching for a set of tongs as he went.
Aleria inclined her head in a polite farewell as Bran bid her good day, watching as the smith turned to rejoin his father at the forge. A faint smile played about her lips as she observed the pair - the grizzled old orc grumbling something in his guttural native tongue, prompting an amused chuckle from his half-breed son.
Shaking her head in mild bemusement, Aleria turned and made her way out into the bustling marketplace once more. The raucous sounds and pungent aromas of the crowded bazaar washed over her in a familiar, almost comforting rush. It had been some time since she'd last found herself amidst the vibrant chaos of a thriving town like this.
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