“Do you have any idea what I just went through for this egg?” you ask. “Some kind of weird force was using it for something, and it took control of our minds somehow. I got jerked around and had a net thrown at me, and a friend of ours got knocked unconscious. So, you know, I am not just going to sell something like that to a poacher. And that goes double if they’re in the Guild.”
You see a flash of anger in her eyes as you mention the Guild. So, she doesn’t care for them either. Might be able to do something with that.
“Don’t have time to listen to tall tales,” she grumbles.
“If you don’t believe me, ask him,” you say, pointing to Drip. “He’s a priest.”
“Even if he is, and not just one of your actor pals, I’ve known plenty of priests to lie before,” the smith mutters.
“Well, for whatever it may be worth, I corroborate her story,” Drip replies. “Indeed, I threw the net at her. And her blade to free the egg.”
At the mention of your blade, the smith glances at your sheath.
“Oh, right. Barely even remember what happened there, I was such a mess. Hope the sword’s okay.” You carefully unsheathe it – specifically, you do it very slowly, so the smith doesn’t think you’re trying to threaten her. “There was some weird goop there, I think? Doesn’t look like any of it got on the sword, though.”
“I believe the woman who called herself Marian did something with it,” Drip notes. “My mind is not entirely clear on the matter either, however.”
The smith seems to react to Marian’s name. Not that you’re particularly surprised. But she’s also glancing at your sword.
“Where’d you get that, exactly?” she asks. “It’s no prop. And it’s not like any I’ve ever made.”
Well, if she’s willing to change the subject, you think it’s best to indulge her.