Chapter 6-175: Buying Opportunities (1/2)
I laughed despite myself. “Yeah, I know that feeling!” Still, Tremble had been Zieben-Slotted before the balor’s Sword, so it could have gone right to Nein. Adding in Arsenal variations, and all that nightly Karma for two years... “Your Sword beat you to Ten, didn’t she?”
Sama got an odd look on her face. “I didn’t have to fight every night, but often enough that she and Stand made out pretty damn well. Yeah, all Ten Slots open.” There was a satisfied hum from the plain slab of metal affixed to her right bracer.
“Okay, so you’ve the Weapons of a Deep Ten... you can’t be suffering too much.” I had to roll my eyes at her. Some things just came with time, and she’d had years more here than I had.
“It’s roughly two straight years of Naming Karma to pay for ten Slots, Arsenals, and Intelligence and upgrades on one Weapon. I’ve got two, three if you count Fall, the days aren’t straight, and I’ve got other things I have to make, too.” We both politely ignored feeding Zeks-Slot Weapons to them. Those didn’t just drop out of the sky... well, wait, they ONLY dropped out of the sky.
“And you probably don’t even want to think about a Special Purpose until you’re post-Ten, just so you don’t gimp them.” Yeah, yeah, designing grotesquely powerful magic items was a hobby for the rich, powerful, and long-lived. “I get it, I get it. I’ll be helping the grind, trust me. Now, what about Nashville?”
Her blue eyes glittered, cold and hard. “The Imprusar found I was going to be down there escorting a client. They made special plans...”
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Nashville, Tennessee, not too awful long ago...
“Oh my word, is that the new PG-20? Must see closer!”
“Look, look, that’s the new Esperom Far Ear!”
“The new Klubartov Bracer design! Ingenious!”
“Nonanev’s Grippers! What a fine set of boots! What’s the meaning behind this tread design, can you tell me?”
“They got the memory metal design working for Blauwertz’ nets? That’s fantastic!”
“Kugurov only makes sniper rifles, but they are as good as any Gritworks design...”
“Look at that Hurn-Hurn Bully Boy Hand Cannon. Only for Ogres, indeed...”
Daedrig Blakhamar was one of her ‘older brothers’, and had requested her as an escort when he ventured down to the Nashville Olde Time Country Gunshow, which was the largest show for independent weapon and weapons-related technology and magitech in the country.
Sure, the Gritworks Extravaganza in Detroit attracted more of the big names, crowding out the small timers who didn’t have all the name recognition... but this was one of the key places where new ideas floated to the surface, and all the big corps had spotters here looking for the next newest, greatest idea, hoping to corral the designer and add something new and unique to the corporate inventories.
While many of these temperamental people would never sell out to a corp, licensing wasn’t out of the question, and for many of them, getting a Provisional Affiliation with Gritworks was actually something of a dream. The Old Fogies division of Gritworks was made up of all sorts of independent and eccentric artisans who benefited from the affiliation, but were allowed to pursue their own goals while Gritworks verified and vouched for their skill, and handled the newfangled internet marketing.
Daedrig operated as a buyer-at-large for the dwarven community of St. Paul, spending his time looking for stuff for all the dwarven craftsmen who supported him. Be it a better shoe design, a cool wheel axle, or the newest kind of Nickelback ammunition, he hunted it down, made copious mental notes and observations, and brought it back to the Masters back home to ruminate over, sometimes buying actual items if they were advanced enough to warrant personal inspection.
He was one of the older Blakhamar kids, an actual blood son of Hank Blakhamar, and having grown up in a household with so many oversized siblings, he got on well with practically everyone. He was very undwarven, a smiler and a hand-shaker, always with a laugh or a grin... but he was still a Blakhamar Crystal Dragon stylist, and his dark eyes were hard and cold and missed nothing.
He’d spent ten years in the service, too, and much like Shiv, didn’t talk about what he’d done there. It hadn’t been in accounting, although he might have been company armorer for one of the quieter elite combat teams.
He’d made a name for himself at shows like this, and the salesmen both smiled and grimaced to see him coming. If he bought, it would not be at the show, unless it was something extraordinary... but an order might be coming later, if they were good enough with the gab. Things he tagged could wind up being ordered by craftsmen, collectors, and enthusiasts across half the North, so he was recognized and treated well.
Having a golden-haired young woman in plain combat togs tagging along with him was new, as usually it was a looming brute in armor or a deftly smiling, fast-handed sort with obvious quick-draw rigs coming along with him.
Sama didn’t mind, as getting adopted into the Blakhamars came with some family obligations, and she was getting paid full rate for her time.
This place was absolutely full of a large number of people wearing firearms and cutting implements, and although she looked very casual, she was drifting along in Combat Focus, keeping an eye on everything around her, doing threat assessment, and really ignoring most of Daedrig’s nonstop exclamations of joy and trivia and greetings and goodbyes and reminiscing as he strode happily through the crowds here.
There was a shooting range in the trading hall, the Silencing just not quite good enough to allow the constant distant popping, cracking, and occasional booming to echo through the settings, competing with the country music anthems that naturally had to represent the Grand Ole Opry only a mile or two down the road.
As a matter of fact, she’d seen at least five members of the Opry roving about the place, looking at all the shiny new implements of kill-kill on display with the same kind of glitter in their eyes as any other attendee... and usually with deeper pocketbooks.
From kids trying out customized GR-19 mods to grandmothers testing out recoilless.45 Magnum pistols Mohono would prefer, the party-like atmosphere of the place was not inhibited at all by the amount of firepower being toted around by the participants.
Of course, you could tell who among the participants WAS their own firepower, by the way they dressed, and if that wasn’t enough, the occasional falling snowflake, arc of lightning, or fire dancing about hands or shoulders or whatnot would do the job, too.
There was a lot of lethality in this place, and it didn’t bother her threat-wise... but she was here to do a job, pretty much ignoring Daedrig’s attempts to draw her into conversation and get a reaction from her, which amusingly was earning her more respect than if she’d been chatting with him. For all his smiling, he took his work seriously.