"….'n then I told her about the inn next door, an' she wanted nothin' to do with it all of a sudden! Just placed near a 'undred silver on the table and off she went." He said, placing the last wooden box carrying supplies onto the cart. He walked over and patted Aeglos, the draft horse, on the nose, who nickered softly back at him, snuffing his pockets for sugar cubes. "She was right fair, Master, I'll give her tha', but 've never encountered a woman so strange. But, ey, she did fund the last leg of the travel." He smiled to Aeglos, patting one pocket, then the other, and it was his back pocket that held the sugar cube, and he let him have it while Master wasn't looking.

He tossled Aeglos' mane and moved around to hop onto the cart, standing taller than Master, grinning wide. "And now we get t' go off and travel! See th' world, stand shoulder t' nose with pirates, sail th' seas an' see what awaits us! Haha!" Then he jumped down from the cart with a childish twirl, sniffing and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand as he looked at the packed up shop with its doors bolted up tight with new locks. "So what made y' decide to move across the ocean, Master?"

Sweat stung his eyes as he heaved and shoved the boxes into their proper place on the cart, taking the final box from Mateo once he set it on the cart and all but kicking it into position. His apprentice's energy was irritating, but he kept his tongue between his teeth. "You should have told me earlier, Mateo." He scolded, hopping down from the cart and walking over to Imp, eyeing the black ass with distrust and hate, and when the mule lunged to bite he dodged and grabbed the beast's halter; harshly he yanked that head, clubbing the beast over the head with his fist, and while it was dazed he quickly harnessed the monster.

With all the heavy work done he put his hands on his hips, watching Mateo bounce around, before rubbing his eyes. "Many things, boy, least of all the fact I sicken of just selling stock weapons or fixing someone's axel, of shoeing horses and making nails by the bucket. Menial tasks are suited to poorer, less talented smiths, and I'll not waste my talent and yours on such blindsighted people." He crossed his arms, though softened as Aeglos nosed his shoulder, his hand rubbing over the stallion's brow. "So we will go to the city for artisans, start anew, and profit from our talents…. but it is a long journey, one fraught with danger, and I find myself realizing something."

He nodded to a long box he had specifically told Mateo to not load up yet. "Open it, it is yours."

Inside the box, laying upon silk, was a broadsword of damascus steel, the pattern like fire down the blade, the hilt of dark mahogany inlay with gold, gold that continued into fine filigree along the spine of the blade. It fit perfectly in his hand, made with the specific dimensions of Mateo's fingers and palm. "I know you have been sneaking off to go practice swordfighting, I have followed you, watched you, and I am appalled by your poor skill." He said sharply. "I'll not have you join me only to pick up a sword and get yourself killed because you know naught of the blade, so as we travel I will teach you." 

"Aye, well…..I thought it was best t' let you rest 'fore I told you a stranger'd made their way into the forge. Sleep tends t' do well on your temper, Master." Mateo said idly, watching him harness the ever-irritated Imp. If ever Master had met his match in irritation, it was in Imp. They suited each other, and Aeglos, for all of his grace and majesty, deserved better. Oats at every meal, multiple servants to rub him down after every run, the works. What was he doing serving a surly elf and a fickle apprentice with barely any silver to their names? Still, Mateo loved Aeglos unabashedly. When Mateo let his village to be Master's apprentice, Aeglos had been his only comfort, and he'd remained faithful to his upkeeping ever since.

All that aside, he eyed the long, elegant box with mild trepidation. It wasn't more work, was it? Something that needed polishing for his idle hands on the long journey ahead? It wouldn't be the first time.

But when he opened it and just looked at the gorgeous broadsword with its gold and mahogany and patterning and layered steel and gods he was starting to cry wasn't he – He swallowed the lump in his throat and rushed over to Master and hugged him clumsily, hiding his face in Master's elegant shirt. A thank you was mumbled in there somewhere, and if his shoulders shook a little, it was soon covered up with a cough as he backed away and rubbed at his reddened face. He sniffed wetly and smiled up at Master with a watery laugh. "You mean it? You'll teach me?" He said, unable to keep his voice straight. "….Does it 'ave a name? All the great swords 'ave names."

He watched Mateo open the package, watched the shock and awe on his young face, the tears in his eyes. It was immensely satisfying, and he moved to saddle Aeglos, his harsh expression softened infinitesimally by his apprentice's clear joy over the sword. Yet he turned as he heard rushing footsteps, only to only be knocked back a staggering step by the boy as he hugged him. Miruin's arms were raised, stiff as he looked down at the youth embracing him, and once he stepped away Mir straightened his shirt. He frowned at the tearmarks on his shirt, waving a hand before unbuttoning it and pulling it off. "Name it whatever you wish, it is yours now."

Miruin's back was heavily scarred, old wounds that had no place on a smith's body, signs of swords and spears and arrows piercing flesh. He rummaged through a bin in the cart, pulling out a fresh tunic and drawing it on, before pulling himself into Aeglos's saddle. "Hurry and steer the cart, we have much ground to cover and I want to be free of this wretched city as soon as possible.

He didn't speak again until they had passed through the city gates, his grip on Aeglos's reins loose, lax, as he rode beside the cart. "…. I know you are brimming with questions, go ahead and speak boy.'

He nodded to Master's permission, and after carefully closing the lid on his sword and stowing it away securely in the cart, he climbed into the seat of the cart while Master was busy changing his shirt. He'd seen those scars before, and they were nothing new to him, though the story behind them were always kept close to Master's chest. What occupied him now was what to name his beautiful new sword, his thoughts racing as he wiped at his wet cheeks. The Tempest….no. The Ageless Wonder of the South! No. Maybe something classic, like Gjallarhorn or Antioc, something memorable.

He thought of name after name as they rode out of the city, mindful of the signs of Imp's temper. If he started to drift, he needed a scritching behind the ears before he started to kick. If he bit at his harness, he needed some soft words and a gentler hold on the reigns before he'd refuse to move entirely. He was used to it, and only had to pay half a mind to him as they went along. Windreaver! No….Lohengrin? No….

He looked up to see Master riding up beside him, and he leaned back in the cart seat. He chewed on his first question, then said, "Who was the one who taught you how to fight, Master? Have you been in many fights before?"