Splits of leather, replacement hilts and blades, rivets and metal scraps are jumbled together in crates. A box of broken shields, armor and weapons sits in one relatively clean corner. Two barrels with a plank of wood across them serve as a makeshift counter. In the back of the small lean-to, a scruffy-looking Elf with tobacco-stained teeth and fingers works at his trade.
You also see a large sack, a large sack, Diwitt and a sign.
Glancing out of the lean-to, Diwitt whistles at a shapely young woman passing by.
Waving, Diwitt says, "Tonight honey, my place!" She looks at him as he flashes his yellow-toothed leer and laughs outright before replying, "Not even in your dreams!"
Diwitt looks around then mutters to himself, "Darn thieves stole my bucket!"
OOC: Seems the bucket has gone missing somehow.
~~~
True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost.
