Maechlyn

Standing about a head higher than five feet, Maechlyn is a powerfully built man, with heavy muscles and an unruly shock of dark brown hair that tumbles over his forehead. His strong physique is overshadowed by the twisted line of his shoulders, however, and he seems to have trouble swinging his right arm freely. Years of close work have etched his skin, leaving fine squint lines framing his green eyes, and acid burns along his fingers.

He wears a coarse linen shirt and green wool trousers, with a leather apron to protect his clothes as he works. Reinforced leather boots complete his outfit, and a forge hammer hangs from a loop on his belt. Noticing your gaze, he wipes his forehead with his sleeve, then says, "Stuff we sell is in the barrel. If you're interested in something special, just ASK me about CUSTOM."

Maechlyn drops a burin on the floor, where it rolls under the workbench. Grumbling under his breath, he kneels down, awkwardly fishing beneath the shelf. He pulls out a few copper kronars, a gum eraser, a broken piece of chalk and a fist-sized dust bunny before finally pulling out the tool he dropped.

Rossman: "Yeah," Maechlyn rumbles, "I work for Rossman as his journeyman, keeping an eye on the apprentices and all. Good man -- hard when he has to be, but fair."

Nicola: "The lady Nicola is most gracious to me," Maechlyn replies stiffly.

Orc: "Proper dangerous, they are," Maechlyn nods. "They attack the town fairly often, their drums beating hollowly across the lake as they work up their nerve, egging each other on. The walls hold, though we've lost a guard or two since I've arrived."

Jomay: Maechlyn shrugs and says, "Wasn't around then. To hear folk talk of her, she's seven feet tall with a foul temper and a long grudge."

Therenborough: "Grew up there, and was apprenticed to the forge when I was ten. A good place to live, if you can make your way. After... I came here, to start over as an etcher and finisher," Maechlyn shrugs.

Langenfirth: "One of these days," Maechlyn snorts, "someone's going to put that Elf out of our collective misery and be done with it."

Riverhaven: "A corrupt lot, our Haven is," Maechlyn snickers. "Ever talk to some of the town's sailors?"

Constable: Maechlyn snorts, "I think you've a wider acquaintance with the man than I do, so perhaps I should be asking you about him, eh?"

Steward: Maechlyn nods. "Rossman's man -- he's the one we go to when we need supplies for the forge or the shop."

Maechlyn: "Nothing much to tell, really. I'm a journeyman to Lord Rossman. Came here after the accident," Maechlyn shrugs. "Fortunately I've a knack for etching and finish work as well as the forge work, or I'd have wound up on the streets, I expect. Here... there's so many with scars, inside as well as outside, that I fit right in." His lips twist in a self-deprecating grin.

Eorie: Maechlyn grunts distractedly, then looks up at you. "Did she send you?" he asks, "because I still don't want any embroidery on those shirts I ordered from her. Why do women always feel like they have to decorate a man, anyway?" He returns to his work, grumbling under his breath.

Cayne: Maechlyn snorts, "A charlatan, who titillates the keep's serving maids with his so-called "charms" from what I've seen of him."

Jester: "You happen to like beanbags, he's your man. Me, I like to think of myself as a grown-up," Maechlyn grumbles.

Baron: "The old Baron was kind enough to recommend me to Rossman after..." Maechlyn's voice trails off and he shrugs.

Gyfford: "He's very aware of himself, I think. Though I suppose anyone raised like that can't much help it," Maechlyn shrugs.

Amlach: Maechlyn grimaces, then quickly smoothes his face to a neutral expression. "Field Marshall Amlach is a fine warrior."

Warcat: "You hear them, yowling with the orcs," Maechlyn says, "just before they attack in force. I'm told they're quite fierce. The lady Nicola has a coat made from some she killed" His face softens slightly before returning to his usual surly expression.

Portman: "Ehh, let's just say that his wares seem to help me a lot more than Mistress Gretzyl's do," Maechlyn says with a half-hearted grin. "Why, you buying?"

Dyer: Maechlyn tilts his head and asks, "You mean Mistress Eorie, who owns the shop, or her daughter, who does all the work? I'd hate to be her daughter -- responsible for everything, but nobody remembering her name when they look at the garments they purchase." He gives a wry twist of his lips.

With a muttered imprecation, Maechlyn cuffs an apprentice on the ear. "Watch the temperature or the work will be ruined!" he snarls, then turns back to his own task.

Forge: "You looking to do some work yourself? I think you're a little old to be an apprentice, don't you? It's for hire if you need to do your own work, though -- just buy a ticket next door. If you're looking for us to make you something special, just ask me about custom work," Maechlyn replies. [ASK MAECHLYN ABOUT CUSTOM to order a specially made weapon]

Guards: "Ehh, bunch of muscle-bound morons, for the most part. Only thing that saves their jobs is the fact that the thieves are even more stupid," Maechlyn snorts.

Gretzyl: "She means well, but she can't help me, I'm afraid," Maechlyn grumbles.

Hartsease: Maechlyn says, "They call her a gentle soul, and feel sorry for her. Me, I think she's a good bit stronger than they give her credit for." He shrugs his twisted shoulders. "Easy thing would have been to go into the mansion after them, right? Not like she could fight, so it'd have been over quickly. She chose the harder path, and each morning she gets up, dresses herself and tries instead to live." He gives you an odd look and adds, "A pointy stick ain't a good measure of courage, you know. Most times, it's a measure of idiocy."

Kitten: Maechlyn scowls. "Pesky things, always underfoot."

Sweetleaf: Maechlyn shrugs, "Never knew the lady myself. To hear people talk, she was near to a saint, so she must have been better than most at hiding the things she didn't want others to know 'bout, right?"

Lord: Maechlyn says, "Lord Rossman's a good man, better than my old master. I've learned a lot since he took me on as a journeyman."

Nixies: "I saw one, once. She was beautiful, rising from the water of the river and calling to me in a sibilant hiss that sounded like the water itself called my name..." He smiles to himself, then adds, "Mind, I'd downed a few pints of Portman's best before I saw her, so who knows?"

Oleveir: "Now there's a man who takes himself seriously. If he ever put half that effort into expanding our borders, we'd rule the entire world, I think, Maechlyn snickers under his breath.

Gypsies: "Bunch of thieves, of course, but their women... Well, they enlivened many a fantasy when I was growing up near Ker'Leor," Maechlyn leers knowingly.

Stubbing his toe on an anvil, Maechlyn growls a curse under his breath, pounding the iron with a clenched fist. Seeing you watching, he snarls, "What do YOU want?"

Lake: "Weird color for a lake, all brown and murky like it is. They say it's great for ale, but I'm just as glad we've the river to drink from," Maechlyn replies.

Jantspyre: "It's water, it's wet. I suppose it looks pretty, if you like that kind of thing. How much can you say about a river, anyway?" Maechlyn asks.

Giants: "They live in a ravine, a ways north and east of here. It's because of them that I traveled by ship to get to Rossman's Landing," Maechlyn replies.

Peccaries: Maechlyn giggles oddly and calls, "Here, piggie piggie piggie! I can't believe that someone would not only import those things, but breed them to grow bigger than they do in their natural homes. Let me tell you, "special kind of stupid" doesn't even begin to describe it!"

Drinak: "Don't think he'd give me much for your hide, but keep asking stupid questions and I'll be tempted to find out" Maechlyn says with an exasperated expression.

Maid: Maechlyn shrugs, "They'd rather bat their eyes at a hero, or a footman, far as I can tell." He eyes you with an insulting sneer before adding, "You'd be a proper treat for them, of course."