Of Leather And Spikes

[Quentin Boone]

The street outside was busy and as Quentin opened the door into the shop, the bustle erupted into a cacophony of indistinct conversations and the hawking of street vendors. As the door closed behind the bearded brawler, the shop returned to an almost-serene quiet that was accented by the muffled clanging of hammer on anvil somewhere in the back. Quentin took a few minutes perusing the wares on display: Ornate helms of various metals, steel swords sheathed and unsheathed, daggers with intricate designed. He chuckled at a split-blade dagger; it wouldn't do well in stabbing someone in the ribs.

Shaking his head, the tall man stepped up to the counter. He stood a good foot or more above the aged shopworker, whose straggly grey beard made him look even older. Quentin noticed that his arms were thick, and supposed the man was either the owner, or an old blacksmith.

"Right, I got these leather straps, an' I wrap 'em round me hands for fightin'." Quentin took the two straps from their place tucked into the waist of his brown trousers and put them on the varnished wooden counter.

"What I want is for ya t'put four spikes in the middle of 'em. One for each knuckle." He scratched his head, considering the material he wanted for the spikes. It was a necessary purchase; chances were Adal was going to push more and more fights against armed opponents, and Quentin would need something to balance the odds. But the fat innkeeper was getting more and more hungry - for gold and flesh.

"Well, damn it. Gi' me steel, if the price is right?" He waited for the shopkeeper to respond, dreading the price he'd quote, but also knew it was a worthwhile purchase - armed fights always gave more money.

Quentin started to drum his fingers on the counter, more out of nervousness over the price than boredom.