Antrekk

Scowling at the fact that a potential customer had turned away his fine wears, Antrekk payed no mind to the Midlander's scolding. He let out a long sigh, then with a genuinely hurt look on his face, began rolling his wares back up into a bundle. "She not know what missing..." He mumbled to himself, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to gaze at the clouds overhead. "Such fine skin going to waste, when not touching great wares of Antrekk, son of Bannikov..." But his mourning was cut short by the exchange nearby.

Antrekk certainly noticed the Midlander's smirk, letting out a sudden guffaw and flexing his considerable biceps. "Guwahahaha! What is this? You give girl vial of snake spittle so that she may make-believe protection? Maybe it work, maybe it don't, but snake spittle soon run out, and then what girl do? Come back to you?" Antrekk removed what previously looked like a bundle of poles and canvas strapped to his back. Then with a sudden flourish, the bundle unfolded across the ground before him, showing an array of cloth goods and clothing, notably dresses. "This just small sample! Take look! Even few hats, hats that not need be rubbed over body!" He grinned at the Midlander, his bright smile almost seeming to sparkle.

The words: "weaver" and "need" instantly piqued the interest of the overtly tall and muscle bound Highland Hyur as he was passing by. He grinned wide and reached up a hand to stroke his handlebar mustache as he approached the woman in need of his "special" skills. The approach didn't take long, for his strides were longer than a lalafell could hop. "Hah! I hear need of weaver! I am weaver, Antrekk Bannikov! I make all great cloth things you need! You tell what need yes?" The huge man smiled, placing his hands on hips, and towered over the Miqo'te that mentioned she needed a new hat.