You choose to work on his scimitar in exchange for the magical dagger. A good choice to barter your time instead of coin, it means you have work for the next few days. A productive tinkerer is a useful tinkerer. Since this is a trade, your mentor also won’t take a cut of the profits, since there isn’t really a profit for her to take a cut. Also, working on the scimitar will give you experience for such a modification in the future, that you can eventually apply to your own weapons. Though it’s difficult to apply such onto such a small item as a dagger, or even something as thin as a rapier, but you can eventually obtain a short sword to modify if you are inclined.

You let him know that it will take a few days to finish tinkering the scimitar, and that he can find you at Rebeca’s Rock if he needs to. He informs you that he is staying at the Purple Ribbon, a decent enough inn that you are familiar with. He hands you his scimitar. It feels light, lighter than you expected at least, even though it’s blade is slightly longer than normal, perhaps by an inch or so. It’s curved blade gleams against the sun, the rays scattering off the steel. No doubt this blade was made in the East, though not by any dwarf. It’s been well taken care of, though it definitely has seen some use, you gather as you eye up the blade. Check the pommel, you see an intricate PS etched into the bottom, no double the seal of the smith that created the weapon.

With the blade in hand, you don’t have much to do here. You can continue to explore the festival and it’s festivities, or you can-

A sharp scream cuts through the air like a knife. The moment it ends, it’s followed by a cacophony of other screams, shouts, before they are quickly drowned out by the sound of a low howl that thunders through the city. The howl sends shivers down your spine. Your body becomes ice cold, the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand on end, and goosebumps litter your body. Fear? Excitement? A mixture of both perhaps?

People are panicking all around you, fleeing away, though some curious souls are scampering through the crowd to see what the issue is. You hear the clatter of the merchant beside you sweep his items into a bag, no bigger than a newborn baby. A bag of holding, though it’s red in colour with the symbol of two golden scimitars.

The merchant throws you a glance and then motions his head to where the howl had come from.

“There seems to be trouble afoot, young master. Perhaps it would be best if, as you say, for us to step aside?”

Where’s the fun in that?

Do you wish to return to safety, to your home or the workshop, or do you wish to see what is going on?

Make your choice.