Percy stepped cautiously through the door, eyes darting around the dimly lit space that at a first glance seemed like a weird cross between a forge and an apothecary. Shelves and workbenches were stacked high with everything from unfinished potion bottles to strange, half-completed weapons. Entire stacks of weapons lined the walls, ranging from swords and shields, to axes, great bows and even some cool staffs and wands. Below the stacks were glass shelves, that held potions of all different colors and sizes.

To the back of the room were three massive forges that were burning blue currently, and there was a herbalist's table to the side as well. A hazy mixture of incense and something faintly metallic hung in the air, and Percy swore that he caught a whiff of burning sulfur as he inhaled.

The place had character. He would give it that. Every corner seemed to hold something curious, something almost alive. Percy was looking around the shelves, when he saw a small brass shield which was shoving away a pair of scissors that seemed intent to cut into it.

"Ah, that's just Mercy," there was a small pop, a man coming out of thin air beside the shield. "A bit of a diva isn't she, doesn't like sharp objects." He didn't seem to notice Percy's raised brow, giving the shield a fond pat as it finally settled back into its place, giving the scissors one last shove for good measure.

Emerett was a striking figure, Percy had to admit. He was short and wiry, with an unruly mane of hair that seemed to have a personality of its own. His eyes sparkled with mischief, one bright green and other a deep blue, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. He wore a long patched-up leather apron that looked like it had burnt thrice and then someone had colored it up. A multitude of tools hung from his belt, clinking together as he moved; and there was a curious bracelet wrapped around his wrist. Percy couldn't keep his eyes off the bracelet. It was a dark black that seemed to pull him in, he swore he could see stars glittering on it.

"Welcome to Emerett's Incomparable and Awesome wares. I’m Emerett, weapon enchanter, potion brew master, and occasional dance partner for a rather rowdy broomstick."He flashed Percy a grin that somehow managed to be both charming and faintly alarming.

"I, uh, heard you make… unique weapons? And some powerful potions?"

Emerett grinned, clearly taking this as the highest of compliments. “Unique! Oh, you’ve come to the right place. Let me show you around.” He turned, waving the client forward with exaggerated flourish. “You’ll see here the most charming assortment of weapons in all the realms.”

"So, should we start with weapons? Or should we start with potions? Let's start with weapons first. What sort of weapon are you looking for?", Emerett asked as he led Percy to a side door and into another chamber.

"I, uh, am not sure. I have trained with swords, shields, hammers, axes and even staffs and none seem to fit me perfectly. Master Dimitranovich sent me. He said you would be able to help me better."

"Oh!! Old man Dimi sent you? Well, he sent you to the right place. So how is he nowadays? Does he still fall asleep dead while reading in the class?"

"Yeah", Percy laughed nervously as emerett led him to a small open area in the inner chamber. He was a bit surprised with the casualness Emerett called master Dimitranovich. No one at the academy dared to even show a slight amount of disrespect to him.

"That's old man dimi alright. Every time I used to go to his office, or sent him something to read so that he could review it, he would fall asleep in between. It was frustrating, I must say. Like, who sleeps while reading magic of all things?"

Percy didn't know what to say. He just nodded.

"Alright, here we are." Emerett led him over to a sword mounted on the wall, its hilt carved with intricate runes. He reached for it carefully and lifted it with a flourish. “This,” he said, with great satisfaction, “is the Raging Fury." He grabbed a broad, heavy sword from its rack. Barely lifting it, he only had to shift it slightly before it began to emit an ear-splitting wail, like a banshee on a particularly bad day. Percy winced as the sound bounced off the walls, making his teeth ache.

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“A real crowd-pleaser, this one,” Emerett shouted over the racket, clearly thrilled. “Perfect if you want your enemies to really know you’re coming. Subtle? Maybe not. Effective? Oh, absolutely.”

He swung it lightly, each motion eliciting a different, slightly off-key wail until he returned it to its place on the rack. Percy couldn’t help but feel a slight ringing in his ears as he watched Emerett gleefully move on.

Next, he picked up a crossbow and turned to the client with a grin. “Now, this one’s got a bit of… let’s call it flair.” Emerett loaded it, aimed at a target on the wall, and squeezed the trigger. There was a momentary silence, then a thwunk-thwunk as the bolt flew wildly, bouncing off the ceiling and the floor before narrowly missing his foot.

“Oh, don’t act all shy now,” he said, patting the crossbow with a look of fondness. Then, turning to Percy, he added with a wink, “This one has… well, let’s call it a personality. She gets stage fright.”

Percy could only nod, feeling his confidence in Emerett’s craftsmanship dwindle by the second. Still, the wizard pressed on, undeterred.

“Alright, brace yourself for this one.” He picked up a spear, clearly proud as he held it aloft. It flickered with a weak, inconsistent glow that turned a garish shade of green before sparking violently. Suddenly, a stray bolt of magic shot from the spear, igniting a stack of scrolls that instantly went up in flames.

Emerett leapt forward, blasting water to extinguish the smoldering parchments. “Ah, see? Dynamic lighting!” he said, patting out the last wisps of smoke. “Really keeps enemies on their toes. Nothing like a little surprise flare-up, hmm?”

Percy took an instinctive step back, torn between horror and fascination.

Before he could voice any concerns, Emerett had grabbed his pièce de résistance: a self-swinging sword that began whirling through the air the moment it was freed from its scabbard. It sliced through the air with absolutely no sense of rhythm or direction, coming dangerously close to both Emerett and the client.

“Look, no hands!” Emerett shouted, his face lighting up with childlike delight. The sword whirled unpredictably, nearly clipping Percy, who pressed himself against the floor, wide-eyed and wondering if he was trapped in some sort of fever dream.

“Impressive, right?” Emerett beamed, oblivious to the client’s horror. “It’s the future of combat!”

Percy could barely keep up with the barrage of enchanted weapons, each one stranger than the last. Emerett seemed to delight in each quirk and defect, showing off a staff that blurped out a cloud of smoke each time you stepped, a crossbow that refused to fire if too many people were watching, and a talking axe that couldn't decide if it liked apples better or oranges.

As they continued, Emerett shook his head with a look of disdain. “Some so-called ‘weapon smiths’ spend all their time with ornate incantations and fancy names. They craft something with a name like ‘the Blessed Blade of Eternal Reckoning’, 'Sword of the first heaven' and call it a day.” He rolled his eyes. “A weapon should have a personality, don’t you think? It’s the one thing that’s really going to save your life—some wisp of spirit that’s as sharp as the blade itself.”

Emerett gave a knowing nod, clearly proud of his philosophy. Then, as if on cue, a faint snoring echoed from a nearby rack. Percy turned, squinting to locate the source, and found a sword half-draped in cloth, its hilt wrapped in a faintly glowing thread. The blade, however, lay still and silent, except for a soft, rhythmic snore.

“Ah, yes,” Emerett sighed, picking up the sword gingerly and giving it a light shake. “This one here… not the most attentive of my creations. Took inspiration from a certain friend of mine.” He gave a wry smirk. “She’s got a tendency to drift off halfway through the action.” He chuckled to himself. “Suppose it’s my fault for making her too… relaxed.”

Percy raised an eyebrow, half-expecting Emerett to start singing the blade a lullaby.

He continued showing off his arsenal, introducing each weapon with as much fervor as a proud parent. Emerett even demonstrated a shield he claimed had “unbreakable concentration”—and, with a slight smirk, added that he doubted anyone he knew could manage the same.

Finally, they reached a small alcove near the back, where a single dagger lay, radiating a soft, sapphire glow. Unlike the others, this weapon seemed calm, collected. Emerett picked it up and held it reverently.

“This one,” he said, voice quiet for once, “is the closest thing to perfect I’ve ever made. She’s quiet, subtle, but she’ll defend you with all her heart.”

Percy, who was thoroughly overwhelmed by now, managed a small nod. Emerett put his arm around his shoulder and guided him to a nearby shelf where a plethora of weapons were lined, smiling as he asked, "So, which one do you like?".