Wheel of Time MUD

I have come across:
a steel Warhammer

Preferably looking for a pair of dirks

Will entertain other rare weapon offers

This may be good for crushing witch's heads. How many hands does it take to wield and how heavy is it?

Parker wrote:This may be good for crushing witch's heads. How many hands does it take to wield and how heavy is it?

It's definitely for use with one hand in combination with a shield, and weighs in at 14.5 lbs.

Hmm. Perhaps it is better suited for skinny armed boys in color shifting cloaks then. Best of luck.

Parker wrote:Hmm. Perhaps it is better suited for skinny armed boys in color shifting cloaks then. Best of luck.

As the Child of Light made the off-comment about the skinny armed boys in color shifting cloaks, the brigade of white cloak wearing men in Tear laughed heartily.

A medium-armed fellow wearing a color-shifting cloak approaches the raucous laughter from afar, yet finds only boys in soiled cloaks giggling at each other. His smile and obvious excitement at the thought of some good laughs and drinks quickly fade as he abrubtly halts and turns back towards whence he came, obviously trying to pretend he was never making his way towards the little boys.

Wuken leans against a wall near the trading market listening to the crowd as they bustle by, taking in the noises and atmosphere. A small group of boys wearing white cloaks gossip to each other, swinging about a toy hammer, playing gleefully. A man wearing a shifting color cloak, seemly flexing his arms with so much strain as he walks, grunting with each step. The man in the shifting cloak seems to spin as he heard the small boys laughing, his face splits with a giant smile as he struts towards the boys. Wuken arches his brow as the man glances his way. The man breaks into a sweat, as he quickly spins on his heels and strides away quickly.

"....Damn child cuddlers" Wuken mutters to himself.

Might I enquire as to what this steel warhammer is? A new combo weapon? A rare? A device by which Gaidin entice young children for cuddles?

The ancient man was uncomfortable. Too many people, too much noise, too many smells. It was overwhelming and his discomfort was condign for his awful decision travel this far south in the first place. He was much more suited for the walls of Fal Dara, which were more reminiscent of his home in Rhamdashar, quite literally ancient memory at this point. He had a job to do down here - to heal, or, as a last resort, put down, an unfortunately deranged soul. But as focused as he was on his task of finding a healing decoction made from roots only found in this part of the world, he could not help but notice the spots of lecherous depravity that were too often found in this market.

He steered clear of the Whitecloak children from the get-go -- who knew what foolishness they believed about men and women like him? -- he did not need to be heckled by pre-pubescent children playing at adults. But he certainly noticed when the disproportionate Warder, who appeared to perpetually skip leg day, strode towards them with an idiotic grin on his face. However, the most unsettling exchange was the one between the Warder and the odd-looking old man wearing drab gray with the exception of a ragged crimson cloak that had seen better days. Until the Warder's appearance, the gray-clad old man had been watching the children, subconsciously stroking a rusty, yet elaborately constructed dagger-hilt depicting a lion's head. The blade was missing.

They are mine, the leering old man's eyes seemed to say. I saw them first. You don't interfere with another man's prize. His lasciviously arched eyebrows appeared to emphasize skepticism at breaking some kind of established code between perverts. The Warder appeared confused, but turned on his heels, and strode away, probably to do some bicep curls.

The ancient man had seen a lot over the course of his never-ending fight against the Shadow, but this exchange and its implications were deeply unsettling and made the ancient man shiver in discomfort. He sighed and moved along. He was down here to cure a different sickness of the mind.

Marshall approached the stall, skinny arms swinging awkwardly. He tried to lift the steel warhammer, veins protruding along his sickly arm, seemingly made of skin and bone. Sighing he decided he would simply buy the sketches he originally came for, those depicting young men wrestling in glee.