Arms crossed, and face with a blank expression, Marius watches an old dwarven armourer work over his bench. He was promised the work would be completed this morning, but the sun now appears high in the sky, and the rogue's belly reminds him it is time for lunch.
Repressing the urge to sigh, he straightens himself from leaning on a beam and leans around to see what the dwarf is doing now. The mithril shirt the dwarf is working on glimmers in the light, and makes a melodic tinkling sound as the dwarf hammers at each rivet of the new links he is adding to the shirt.
The brightness of the shirt would bother Marius more, if he hadn't been to a tailor earlier and ordered new several shirts large enough to wear over his new armour. Despite the various warnings he had recently read after his beginnings into the arcane arts, the dour rogue finds himself unable to think of conducting his tasks without some form of armour.
The dwarf leans back, and wipes the sweat from his brow with a gnarled hand. "That should do it, sir," he announces.
Taking the proffered shirt, Marius slips it over his head and adjusts the shirt until it fits comfortably. He twists and turns, as well as swinging his arms around. Finding that the pricey armour barely seems to restrict his movement, the rogue smiles in delight.
"Fabulous work, my good dwarf!" he exclaims happily.
The armourer bows slightly. "I hope it serves you well. Better than it's last owner."
Marius frowns, "Who was the last owner?"
The dwarf shrugs. "Some elf. Why I needed to make it larger around the chest for you. Of course, sir, I didn't want to imply that the armour failed him. But mithril shirts have a tendency to still allow arrows to the eye."
Wincing at the story, Marius reaches down to his belt, and takes one of the larger pouches from it. It makes a clinking sound as he hands it over to the dwarf. The dwarf jiggles the pouch as if weighing it.
"Pleasure doing business with you, my good man," the dwarf says as Marius hurries out of his workshop onto his next errand.