Zendra grit her teeth as she approached the smithy, her eyes focusing on the man within. She didn't bother announcing herself, nor did she make any sound at all to interrupt him She simply stopped a couple feet outside and held out her spear waiting for him to take notice the white haired woman with the stitched up face, and the weapon she held in her hand. Zendra didn't plan to carry it for much longer as she didn't deem herself worthy to weild it anymore. But she also couldn't sell it to anyone for no one in this world was more worthy of it. She would find a place of rest for it if she could. But not until it was repaired and in the proper condition.

Kent opened the door and walked out, wearing a thick brown leather jacket and matching gloves. Generally he didn't use any protective wear, but it was more likely for the weather than anything else. He raised an eyebrow at the silent woman. "Looking for a repair... or a sell... or what?"

"Repair." Zendra answered simply, her expression in a cold hard glare. While this seemed to be a particularly common expression for the woman it seemed a little more forced than usual. Her hand went to her belt where she undid a pouch containing a handful of gold and silver pieces and held it out to him with her other hand. "I can pay."

Kent remembered a similar request. He motioned her inside and went to check his equipment. "You're not the first to ask for something like that. First person who told me they just wanted something sharpened ended up being some weird ghost hunter. Steve. Named the place after him." He began to examine her spear from a distance, trying not to get too close to Zendra as she seemed rather tense at the moment. It seemed it needed a bit more than just a simple sharpening. "Not too bad. Just a few gold and it'll be good as new. I'll need to keep it overnight though, if you wouldn't mind."

Zendra wasn't here for stories. It seemed as though she picked a chatty blacksmith to take care of her weapon. It didn't matter though. As long as the man was good at his trade and repaired the spear so that it was in acceptable condition she would be satisfied. Once he assessed the item she carried it over to a weapon rack and placed it there. "That is acceptable." She said sternly. "And I require more than just the sharpening of this weapon. The head seems to be a little lose."

"Not an issue," Kent said, "I'm used to weapons of this sort." The knight was growing a bit concerned about her attitude though. "What is a woman like you even doing in Shrike? Not usually the place you go for this kind of work. Not a lot of old fashioned people here." He extended his hand, "Name's Kent, by the way."

For a moment, Zendra looked a little more angry when Kent asked her what she was doing here."Mistake." She answered coldly. Not willing to explain that she hadn't quite mastered everything about the world's langauage and ended up getting on the wrong ferry. "I seek another weapon and a place of training." The last three words seemed to hold more force than the rest of them and there was a peculiar pause between them and her next question. "Is there such a place here for that?"

"What kind of weapon do you need?" Kent asked. He examined her figure and arms, trying to determine her fighting style. "Sword? It's elegant, allows for a lot of freedom. I prefer it myself." He thinks a bit. "As for training, I can't think of much around here. My apprentice and I train out in the yards but we don't really count as a 'place of training,' I don't think. Just a warrior and his squire."

"I am most comfortable with a spear but I am no stranger to other weapons." Her eyes looking over the ones in the shop. If not a spear then what would be the most suitable for her to take up? Any weapon in her hand was an old friend, but the spear was a sister by comparison! She frown upon hearing that there is not really any suitable places to train in this area. The words that followed that however sparked her interest and she shot a glance at Kent studying him much like the display of weapons before her. "You say you are a warrior yourself? Then I wish to know what kind of warrior you be."

Kent motioned towards the somewhat empty armor stand with his eyes. Few things were displayed. Most noticably, however, was Kent's kiteshield. It bore the mark of his former order, and shimmered as light touched it. Kent also drew his sword from its sheath, holding it as if it was a weapon of a much lighter weight. "Once, I was a knight. While I myself no longer bare the title, I still have all the training that I've recieved." Kent put his sword away and returned Zendra's stare. "With sword and shield, I am a servant of my god, and hope to prove myself again."

Zendra watched, and she listened, but she didn't look all that impressed with this man or the display he was showing her. Certainly finding another servant of a god was a positive revealation as there seemed to be so few in this world. But this was not the kind of answer from him that she was seeking. "A warrior is not known by the flapping of his tongue or by the kind of armor that he wears." She picked up a couple of long, rather plain looking staffs sitting propped up against a wall nearby and tossed one to Kent. "I seek an answer again; what kind of warrior you be?"

Kent took the staff in his hand and was a bit shocked by how straightforward she was. Then again, he appreciated her tactics in meeting new people. Why hasn't Kent ever thought of this? Kent held the staff in one hand and began to test its weight and its balance. He tossed it into his other hand and did the same. When he was ready, Kent got into what might have possibly been a battle pose. He placed the staff on the ground, wrapped his arm around it, and began to slouch and lean into it. Kent kicked up one foot and put on a much too relaxed expression. Was he even taking this seriously?

Normally Zendra wouldn't have been so patient to wait for the man to be ready for her to attack, but this time she she let it pass. It was not out of politeness as much as it was due to the shot of pain that arose at her side when she tossed the weapon to him. She looked over the man and the stance he had chosen, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts. It was likely a trick to either make her think he didn't now what he was doing and take her by surprise, or anger her in making her think that he wasn't treating this with seriousness.

If you underestimate your enemy you die. If you let your enemy have sway over your emotions you die. Zendra wouldn't allow for either. Without warning she charged forward, taking the staff into both hands and thrusting it forward at his stomach.

Kent's only foot on the the groud flew out from underneath him as he fell straight onto his right side, Zendra's staff hitting the air directly where Kent used to be. From Kent's position, he quickly rolled onto his back and kicked himself back onto his feet. With a fluid motion he swung the staff around his head to gain momentum and then attempted to whack Zendra's side with the weapon.

As her staff met with air she turned, moving after the blacksmith as he rolled away and kicked himself upright. She saw the attack at her side coming and the end of her weapon met his with a loud clack as she blocked. Zendra felt the stitches of her wound pulling cruely at her skin with each small move but she chose to ignore it, focusing on the fight at hand first and foremost. The pain should only be acknowleged only after the battle. She stepped forward, closing the space between the two of them and trying to push him back.

Kent jumped and twisted through the air, landing several feet back. The man was used to wearing heavy armor, but instead of his body getting slow because of it, Kent had trained himself with it's weight as a way to only make him stronger. Without it restricting his movements, the exile was an entirely different fighter. Kent held one end of the staff with both ends like an extremely long sword. The staff wobbled slightly in the air as Kent manipulated it, smacking it against the ground to Zendra's right and bringing it up again as a swing to her other side.

Zendra blocked it easily, however with that one simple motion one of the stitches had been pulled too far and it ripped through her skin, the wound opening a little and letting hot blood seep through her tunic, blossoming like a red flower. Even then she refused to pay it any heed. Her adreneline was rushing, and she was still engaged in combat. The battle was more important and she demonstrated this by gritting her teeth and knocking Kent's staff upwards, the motion pulling ripping even more through her skin. She attacked, arcing the end of the staff down at her opponent's skull.

Kent pulled his staff back towards him and pushed it above his head to block her attack. It was not a movement that matched the rest of his combat style, instead being much simpler. "Ma'am, I think it'd be a good time to stop," he said, "to the first blood and all that." He backed up a bit, keeping up a defencive stance.

Zendra paused but didn't drop her guard keeping her eyes on him should he decide to use the mention of a little blood as a way to trick her. She could feel it though, warm and sticky as it ran down her leg, being soaked up by her clothes. "It is nothing." She said flatly, though even as she spoke she was becoming increasingly aware of the pain and she was trying everything she could to keep her expression from displaying that. "But if you wish to stop here so be it. I will not keep the blacksmith from his work for long."

Kent dropped his stance and put the staff he was using on the ground. "It looks like a lot more than nothing." The knight approached her, making no attempt to look threatening, as she seemed to still have her guard up. "That's not something from the fight, either," he said, "...are you alright to head out? I have a bed here you're more than welcome to use."

"I said it is nothing and that is what it is!" Zendra snapped. She made her way over to the weapon rack and returned the staff to where she had found it, she paused there though, a wave of lightheadedness sweeping over her. "I will be fine." She placed her hand on the wound and cringed, instantly regretting it due to the flare of pain that followed the action. She grunted, then started making her way towards the exit. If she stayed any longer she would be bleeding on his floor. "I will be back for my weapon tomorrow."

Kent didn't feel comfortable with her leaving in such a condition. "You never told me your name," he said in attempt to keep her around a little longer. He went to a table and shifted through a bit of supplies until he found three things: A pair of pliers, a needle and string, and bandage wraps. He hoped she didn't see him do so. "I'd hate to have you go without knowing the name of a warrior so dedicated."

Zendra didn't notice any of Kents actions. Her vision began to darken slightly and she swayed a little on her feet, gaze falling momentarily to the floor. It looked as though she was getting blood on it after all and not just a few drops either. Through the fabric she could feel where the wound had reopened. Perhaps a few more stitches came out than she had been aware of. It wasn't as though she had been keeping track. "I am called Zendra." She answered the man, her voice growing quieter as she said her name. She turned again, took a couple more steps only to stumble, shoulder slamming against the wall. For a moment, it was the only thing keeping her propped up and on her feet, but as she slid to the floor a number of curses tumbled from her lips... or at least she thought they had. She passed out on the way down.

Kent heard the thump as she hit the ground and blacked out. While he was expecting such to happen, he still wasn't quite prepared for it. He rushed to her side with the bandages. He moved her just enough to close his door and immediately lifted her tunic enough to observe her wounds. She had quite the nasty cut, running down nearly the entire length of her side. He removed his gloves, reveiling his black scars, and prepared took the bandages in his hands. "Damn stubborn woman," he muttered as he began to wrap the wound as fast and as best he could. With that, he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to his bed before leaving to get other supplies.