eachdraidh | Video; Available only to the Unseelie

[Lancelot stood in front of a great, molten forge, walking along a narrow walk-way inside Troichean Beinn. He was out of his armor, wearing a thick smithing apron and a short-sleeved tunic, startlingly different from the usual attire he would display. As always, Lancelot's absolute lack of enthusiasm shined like a dying star.]

To those of the Unseelie court--I have a trade I would like to make with you. If you believe yourself skilled in researching history and mythology, please respond.

I have a second trade I would like to make to those with an affinity towards nature--in which I must emphasize that such an affinity is a necessity, unless one prefers risking death in this.

[Hoisting his free arm up, Lancelot raised a short-sword with a gleaming red blade, fairy letters written down the length of it. Visibly, the sword seemed to have been vibrating somewhat. Anyone with magical affinity may even hear a soft, hollow sort of noise coming from it as well.]

To those who can assist me in these favors, I can repay you with the fruits of my labors. Wrought iron, enchanted by fairy-magic. I cannot promise the best of weapons at this moment, but if you aid me in this, I will create a finer reward for you.