You have always dreamed of visiting the artisan bazaar in the city of Wutrarus, where the finest craftsmen and artists from all over the world gather to display and sell their creations. You have saved up enough gold from your quests and adventures to finally make the trip, and maybe, buy a new, special weapon to replace your ordinary blade.
As you wander through the bustling market, your eyes are captivated by a stall that radiates beauty and nature. It seems to have been crafted with magic from fresh tree branches, still alive with green leaves and blooming white flowers. The branches twist and bend into organic shapes and record patterns, forming shelves, racks, stands, tables, and even a working forge, creating a harmonious blend of art and function. You can see the stall owner hammering a glowing blade on an anvil, but she does it with grace and finesse as if she is dancing. You feel a sense of wonder and curiosity as you approach the stall, eager to see what treasures it holds.
“Welcome, brave adventurer.” The elf greets you with a warm smile as she pushes her goggles to the top of her head, exposing her bright golden eyes. “I am Illyana from the Silverwood. You must have a keen eye and a sophisticated palate to be drawn to my modest stall. What do you desire? A brooch for your sweetheart? A chest to safeguard your treasure from dragons? Or perhaps, a weapon worthy of a king?
"Yes, I'm looking for a sword, but..." The elf interrupts before you could finish.
“My dearest customer, your blade will be forged from shards of stars that only fall to Earth once every 100 years. The hilt is being carved from wood gifted to me by the magic forest after I sing to it for two moons. I will forge the sword with magic supplies when all the planets are in line. Actually, no, maybe the fire in the heart of the world will be more suitable for you…”
The pale purple ponytail swing and shimmers like a waterfall of stars as she goes through materials on the racks. Her golden eyes light up with inspiration. She speaks with such fervor and eloquence that you feel drawn into her vision, even as you wonder how much it will cost.
But before you can ask, a burly human blacksmith with a big beard and the smell of a hundred dead rats approaches. You cover your nose as he whispers in your ear. “Don’t listen to her fairy tales. I can make you a sword that’s just as good, if not better, for a fraction of the price. I got some weird ore from a goblin cave and wood from a magic tree I took down yesterday. Don’t tell the elf. And my uncle Jim who lost his wizard license will put crazy magic in it for cheap.”
“You!” the elf shouts when she sees the black-bearded man. “The squirrel told me your misdeeds, Glaus of the Dump! How dare you slay a magic tree? Do you not care for the forest’s anguish, the woodland creatures that lost their home?”
“Aw, they’re just trees.” The man shrugs. “They can always pop out another one.”
Illyana points an accusing finger at him, her voice rising in pitch as she continues to speak. “Your heart is blacker than the soot in your forge! You will never be able to create anything of true class and value. Your swords are only fit for massacring goblins and orcs, or slaughtering peaceful druids who only wish to tend to the flowers.”
“Now, now, lady. Don’t get your leafy panties in a twist. I didn’t chop the tree down. I just asked my uncle to throw a fireball at it. That counts as a natural cause, right? Trees burn down all the time.”
"You barbarian! No wonder why only the fools and orcs come to you for business. You are lucky that this bazaar doesn't allow violence!" The elf turns back to you, pleading. "Dear adventurer, please don't buy a weapon made by this uncultured swine. My sword may take decades to complete, but it will last millennia and bring you glory, honor, and fortune. Your descendants will sing songs about your greatness and pass down the sword through generations."
The bearded man snorts at Illyana's speech and responds in turn. "Decades? Listen, Twiggy, I know time doesn't mean shit to you. But when your sword is done, this lad will be too old to hold the sword without breaking his hip bones. His descendants won't give a damn about singing because they'll be busy trying to pay off the loan for your masterpiece. "
"That's not true. My blades are affordable for the right person. I just need more time to reach a wider audience."
"Yeah, time you ain't got." Glaus laughs and slaps you on the shoulder. "Twiggy here might look rich and flashy, but she is broker than the dirt under my fingernails. Why do you think she mingles with us common folks? She can't afford to live with her kin. I heard elves kicked her out of Silverwood for pursuing a trade deemed 'unworthy' by her stuck-up kin."
"I left Silverwood in my own accord! Do not spread lies about me, Dumpman!" The purple ponytail ruffles up like a cat's tail.
"Well, whatever floats your twigs. So, pal, what will it be?" The bear man turns to you. "A sword that might be done sometime next century or a sword I can hand you today?"
Illyana murmurs, averting her gaze. “I can modify one of my existing blades in a month for you at no extra cost, and even offer you a generous discount. It may not match the perfection of a full custom job, but I assure you of its superior quality.”
"Aw, Twiggy is desperate." Glaus laughs and pokes the elf with a dirty finger, leaving behind a black smudge on her pale skin. "How about I lend you some gold so you can eat something other than bark and grass tonight, eh? Might help lift that stick outta your ass."
"Don't touch me, garbage scum! You smell worse than orc sweat and troll farts combined." Illyana takes a step back and wipes the smudge off with a handkerchief.
"Hey, I bathe twice every day but it's not my fault that orc ladies love me so much they douse me in musk oil." Glaus winks at you. "So what'll it be, lad? One month or one hour? Or if you want intricate details and decorations like her stuff, I can finish it for you in three days."