<div class="floatleft">(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/trev_portrait.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Trevoby Flintwood<br/><strong>Race and Occupation:</strong>Human, Blacksmith<br/><strong>Location &amp; Time:</strong>Flintwood Forge - Afternoon<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Carlotta and Gatura by mention<br/><hr/><br/>"I know fifteen coppers can be an awful lightening of your purse," Trevoby said softly, straining to keep his mischievously gleaming eyes on the deadpan expression of the female adventurer before him, "so if you'd like to make an... alternative form of payment," wherein his eyes sink to the valley of her bosom, pressed up high by a snuggly fitting leather corset, "I would be more than glad to-"<br/><br/>Three pieces of gold clattered upon the countertop, one of them spinning for a prolonged period before dropping onto its face. Trevoby glanced down, wondering how she had retrieved the money so quickly without his notice, only to look back up and find her already gone. Grasping the wooden counter and lunging forward, leaning through the storefront window, he watched as the young adventurer walked away, fixed battleaxe strapped to her back, obscuring his view of her exquisitely tight leather pants.<br/><br/>"Come again!" he shouted after her, then sighed as his body slumped over the window.<em>One of these days,</em>he swore. He looked around as the streets grew crowded, adventurers and townsfolk aplenty going about their business. Some adventurers were arriving at Amberdale for the first time, others coming in from errands and tasks assigned them by the locals, and others still preparing to leave and obtain wolf pelts or condor eggs. At some point they all began to blur together, burly folk in leather armor with blades of iron, eager to make their mark upon the world.<br/><br/>With a grunt Trevoby pressed against the countertop, hoisting himself upright. He halted halfway, eyes caught by the most peculiar sight. A tall yet wonderfully curved specimen could be seen amidst the crowd, sashaying side to side hypnotically, as if beckoning for Trevoby, only Trevoby, to come and take it away.<br/><br/>"What a glorious looking staff!" he exclaimed, lifting boot to the countertop to try and straddle on over. He hadn't even made it halfway before he was jerked on back into the dimmer, hotter light of the forge. "Wait! No!" He exclaimed, lunging once more, gloved fingers grasping the counter. "She's beautiful!" he cried, leaning forward to try and catch sight of it again. There! Headed towards the tavern! Being carried by that obnoxiously garish hat with red hair! Wait, no, it was a woman! With a wonderfully short ski-<br/><br/>"GAH!" he cried once more as Hansel's massive paw of a hand tore him from the window.<br/><br/>"Chase skirts later, m'boy," boomed Hansel, mustache hairs fluttering from his heavy breath. "I need you to pay attention."<br/><br/>"How long have you been awake?" Trevoby interjected, glancing back at the now abandoned rocking chair. Hansel gripped the boy by the chin, turning his face back to the walrus mustache.<br/><br/>"When ya go to the Tavern tonight," the elder man commanded, fingers gripped firmly on Trevoby's jaw, "you will post this notice up on the notice board." He held a sheet of parchment before Trevoby's face, shaking it so that it loudly rippled, as if to keep hold of the young apprentice's attention. "Do ya understan' me?" Trevoby tried to nod, but Hansel's grip kept his head firmly in place. So he settled for a muffled "yeff sherr".<br/><br/>Hansel's grip eased off of Trevoby's now aching jaw, the rotund man nodding in satisfaction before stamping the parchment to the apprentice's chest with his ogre-like palm. The larger fellow then eased his way back to the rocking chair, slowly settling his heft into the creaking seat. Trevoby coughed, struggling to recapture some of the air knocked out of him, before taking the parchment and scanning it over.<br/><br/><div align="center"><em><strong>Stalwart and Ambitious Adventurers Wanted!</strong><br/>Flintwood Forge is in need of some Blood Iron, able to be found in the Old South East Amberdale Mineshaft.<br/><strong>Reward:</strong> A piece of equipment made from the Blood Iron and additional copper pieces for your troubles.<br/>Meet with the Blacksmith at this posting board in the morning for details.</em></div><br/>"You're going to this mineshaft yourself, sir?" Trevoby inquired, his brow creased with hints of concern. Hansel's guffaw sounded much more like a pack animal with a cold.<br/><br/>"Don't be silly," he waved his hand. "I'm too tired and old. So you'll be going!"<br/><br/>"Ah," Trevoby nodded. He rolled the parchment up, placing it in his pocket before finding his seat upon the stool once more. It took several potential customers to pass by before Trevoby sat upright, eyes widened in a most worrisome epiphany. "Wait,<em>me</em>?" Hansel snorted.<br/><br/>"Well<em>someone</em>has to know what they're looking for," he said, crossing his sausage fingers together and wiggling his mustache. "Besides, it'll do you some good to get out of town for a while."<br/><br/>"What good?" Trevoby objected. "I like it here! Besides, who'll forge all the spoons?"<br/><br/>"Poppycock," Hansel waved his hand in the air. "I can take care of those with little trouble."<br/><br/>"Yes, but," Trevoby sputtered, hands waving uselessly in the air, "they say there's a big momma spider in that mineshaft! That it's why it's abandoned!" Once more, Hansel waved his hand.<br/><br/>"Which is precisely why you're getting adventurers to accompany you," he insisted. His eyes opened, scanning out the storefront window at the passersby, nearly leaping out of his seat as he pointed. "Ah, see? That big, burly looking fellow with the dark skin. You get him to join and that spider will be no problem!"<br/><br/>"But I-"<br/><br/>"Want to keep your apprenticeship, yes?"<br/><br/>Trevoby was finally silenced. An anger smoldered like the final coals of a campfire refusing to go out, burning just hot enough to keep the glow. He released his frustrations by kicking the stool out from underneath himself, huffily stomping into the forge. He grabbed the hilt and blade he had been trying to work on, slow and steady progress on what looked like flimsy hunks of metal, and set them beside the kiln. He reached over top the oven, grasping one of the handles to the air pump, hissing as he almost dropped it right into the heated fire. Righting it, he gripped the handles tightly, huffing as he began to squeeze. He breathed with the instrument, getting the kiln prepared.<br/><br/>If he was going into an abandoned mineshaft with bats and a big spider of some sort, then he was going to be prepared.