Clint unclasps a few belts sliding two hand axes and two longswords sheathed in scabbards one dull, average, uninteresting even. The other sword Clint held for a brief moment longer. To a trained or observant eye, they could see decorations of silvery circles and crescents, and stars running up the side of the scabbard like the phases of the moon terminating to a blue jeweled hilt.

Darbrand doesn't stop his work, but gives a sideways look over at Clint disarming.

"Interesting piece you got there. No worries we'll deliver it back to you no worse for wear. If you could sign here on the logbook, pay the membership, and administrative fee." He rhetorically states.

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Clint grabs the conveniently located quill from the ink bottle next to the log book and scratches out his name and date being the latest entry. He pulls out the required coin provided in the details of the newsletter about pricing, and scoots it over.

"Alright, here are your tags for when you return for the stored items." The proprietor of the establishment sets two tin tags with a thin twine neck rope with the number 2's stamped on them.

"With that settled. Welcome to Garmult's House of Mastery."

Clint removes the iconic poncho that covered his hidden chain shirt folding them and dropping them into the basket with metal rattlesnake sounds. He changes into the light brown tunic and trousers tying the pant's draw strings and fastening the accompanying sandals to his feet and ankles. Lastly, he adorns the tags and tucks it beneath his shirt.