an aid to laundry troubles

[unsheathedfromreality]

[At some handwave-y time shortly after the closing of the Story, a note in an workmanlike cursive hand goes up on the bulletin board:]

If you need a change of clothing, I can make simple tunics and trousers that won't disappear.

Find me:

[A simple doodle of Illarion's face follows: Pointy ears, long hair, blindfold (or veil), malar stripes. Enough to go on when most of the Library is human.

It is signed below the doodle with an eye-and-feather symbol. No name.]

IC UPDATE:

[A few hours after the initial post goes up, an additional sheet of paper is appended to it:]

Payment is not necessary but if you're one of those who can make or find permanent items, you can bring one of the following:

- Fabric
- Thread or gut
- Head/round knife
- Awl
- Leathering needle
- Raising hammer
- Pliers
- Portable anvil
- Hides or leather

NO glitter. We have plenty.

Comments

[unsheathedfromreality]

[It is totally an off-brand blood elf.

He glances over as one of the pieces he's not working with is picked up. That particular one has some ... odd stippling to it. Not unpleasant, but it's a little odd that in a whole bolt of silk only one section is covered in little black rosettes like the flank of a leopard.]

Don't know I've heard of embersilk before. But it is fine stuff -- might need to find someone else to share it with, if I can get it to stick around.

[Thus why he hasn't ceased cutting and pinning, even to talk. He has at least one person in mind who could use something made from it, and he'll need at least half to make something up to her standards.

The lack of breathing -- except to speak -- and the disconcerting echo that's sometimes there and sometimes not behind and before his words might be ... familiar.]

Well met, Rio. [No name in return.] Think you have thread that would go well with this? Don't want to use what I've picked out of the sheets.

[And his supply from the Maker Space, sitting still on its spools nearby, is in a variety of unnatural colors that don't compliment the silk at all.]

[juniorarchivist]

Oh, it's lovely to work with, I hear. Enchants like a dream. I only deal in finished products usually, but every now and then..

[He's more and more certain, as he observes Illarion, that he's dealing with a Death Knight. One without the usual glow of the eyes, of course, but undeath has a certain taste in magic, and this was it.

Every elf he'd ever met that was undead was a dark ranger - red eyes - a san'layn (and he's obviously no vampire) - or a death knight. And that last one is the most populous. He's no red, to be unsettled by their presence, but then again it wasn't his shrine that was devastated by death knight predation.

Good. They deserved it, for what they did to the bluewhelps.]

Hm, I have..

[The dragon pulls off one of the little bags hooked to his belt and begins rummaging through it with interest. It's immediately obvious that thing has far more space in it than any little pouch ever should.]

Iiii.. have some rune thread.. and wildercloth.

[He comes up with two spools, one faintly glowing green, the other a pleasant golden.]

I think the wildercloth will match better with your current red. What should I call you?

[That's not asking for a name, exactly. Names hold power. He didn't tell anyoen his own true name..]