Ithalin shared his gaze between the weapons lining the wall, Heinrich, as the elf mulled over options, and Hermasia, as she stood silently while the men conducted their business. His thoughts turned to how the elves had managed to give such intelligence to their constructs, how they had grasped such perfect imitation of life. Such a being would prove perfect for the infiltration, or even long-term subjugation, tasks Ithalin often wound up handling. He snapped his attention back to the present as Heinrich did the same. With measured stride, so as to avoid encroaching to the point of rudeness on the other man, Ithalin followed him down the line of instruments until he stopped at a most cruel-looking warhammer.<br/><br/>Leaning in as the man began his recounting of the history behind the weapon, he examined it with the same gaze a noble would give to a white canvas some fool decided to label art. The smith who forged the weapon clearly had both calvary and heavy infantry in mind, and could reliably be considered, or perhaps was considered, competent.The rear spike denoted this in particular-- a novice smith, or one from a civilization still in the early stages of combat evolution, one that lacked mounts or metal armor, would have forgone the spike to save metal and effort. The same was true for the four smaller spikes on the hammer portion. While the sheer weight of the tool, evidently enough to justify a counterweight, would have been enough to turn a helmeted soldier's skull to soup in a skin bowl, the spikes would be most useful in furthee concentrating the blow, as well as rupturing their armor-- and internal organs. His only disappointment was at the lack of langets on the haft, though he figured that may be due to it being of metal construction-- hard to tell, what with the leather in the way. He pushed the concern aside, deciding he could likely have a strip attached at the armory, alongside requisitioning some vambraces.<br/><br/>A short laugh escaped his lips as the elf finished his tale, accompanied with a nod as Ithalin returned to a straight-backed posture.<span style="color: #b30000">"Technology overtaking technology. Seems those Borogravians forgot the only way a warrior stays relevant in changing times is to learn a bit of magecraft."</span>Smirking, he held out a hand for Heinrich to put the instrument in, not wanting to seem rude by simply snatching it from his grasp.<span style="color: #b30000">"Aye, I'll make good use of it, instructor. Have a few tricks up my sleeve, if I can get free of this gods-forsaken rock you lot call home, that should let me close ranks a bit faster than imbeciles charging a rifle-line. I'll sing a song of death with it for each song sung over a bottle of their vintage."</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>