Anthony Blackwin

Anthony grins, his tail swishing proudly as he sets down a long-wrapped bundle beside him.
“You ever seen craftsmanship like this?” He carefully unwraps the cloth, revealing a set of gleaming blades — each with its own unique hilt and story. “This one here’s a Moonfang dagger — forged by a blacksmith who swore he quenched it under silver light. And this beauty—” he holds up a slender sword with faint runes along the edge “—was traded from a traveler who claimed it once belonged to a knight that could cut through chainmail like parchment.”

He chuckles, running a claw lightly along the blade’s flat edge.
“Most folks see steel. I see stories — battles fought, lives saved, and mistakes learned the hard way. Aye, I don’t just collect blades… I collect history. And maybe a few bad decisions along the way.”

“Alright, you’ll like this one. So, last winter, I tried to impress the village baker by helping her carry flour sacks. Thought I’d look all strong and dependable, right? Well, turns out, I didn’t realize one of the sacks had a hole in it. By the time I reached her shop, there was a perfect white trail of flour behind me — looked like it had snowed indoors.”

“The baker said she didn’t need to follow her nose to find me — she just followed the mess. I still get called ‘Snowtail’ every time I walk past her stall.”