<div align="center"><strong>Corann Character Post</strong></div>(sorry for the extremely short post; just sitting around talking for now)<br/><strong>Time of day beginning post: </strong>Noonish<br/><strong>Time of day ending post:</strong>An hour or so after noon; time has been passing<br/><strong>Location beginning post:</strong>Seaside Sal's<br/><strong>Location ending post: </strong>Bold Bison Inn<br/><strong>Characters currently interacting with: </strong>Rianna<br/><strong>GM Intervention Request\Required? (Yes/no):</strong>No.<br/><br/>Corann clearly caught a glimpse of Rianna’s flesh; oddly enough, the man neither blushed nor stared. Rather, he simply acknowledged it with an level of raw approval entirely above his evident level of maturity, then sat back in his seat evenly, no indication of the drives he was, no doubt, carrying around with him.<br/><br/>Finishing his meal, Corann arched a brow at his new companion, “Business? What sort of business?” It was fairly common knowledge that the olives in the grove produced an oil that allowed blades to be forged with both greater flexibility and tougher edges; not magically so, but enough to be near that quality. Such blades, forged by the sole Dwarf in Accord (along with a few other, usually Gifted, smiths) had once fetched a high price and much notoriety for Accord. Now, between the desolation of the war and the absence of the oil, the trade had fallen away. To be honest, the Chosen, excellent smiths, some of which had supernatural powers, had taken the arms manufacturing niche quite honestly.<br/><br/>If Corann realized that starting the oil trade back up might step on his people’s toes at all, he didn’t show it. Then again, the Chosen were dedicated entirely toward military conflict against evil monsters; forging weapons for the rest of the world probably mattered little to anyone other than those who found value in money.<br/><br/><br/>