The Once-Consul of the West had been spotted all over, in the last few months. Meandering this way and that, enjoying what seemed to be a pleasantly free life, unburdened by the ichor of expectations. Though, for the most part such moments were scant. Exploring this 'true' freedom to it's fullest. At least, before he got to work. In time, the settling of a reasonably infamous visage would give way and his new choice of residence would come to light.

The Lawn.

Where-in, it seems, he had set up shop once more. The Artisan setting his terms for work, however loose they were. upon parchment paper. A Smith who desired not payment--but experience. And at least in some small part, promise. 

Quote:

Do you need something made? Do you have plans, materials, but a lack of hands able to help manifest them? 
Do you wish to learn the tricks of the trade yourself? To figure out how to bring those scribbles on paper into the real world?

I do not ask for coin, neither do I ask for some sort of debt. The services I provide will be purely in pursuit of mastering my craft, while otherwise allowing those I decide to help to have a chance at making a difference. Whether it's a weapon to cut down the dark, or something of greater purpose.  

All I ask, is that you provide the materials. And perhaps, if any payment is wished to be given to tip the scales; that you pay in materials, exotic or elsewise. Not in coin. I have more then enough of that for my simple life. And that you have patience, should I not be able to assist immediately.

Seek me at the Lawn, whether it to seek something made; or to seek to learn such arts yourself. We can chat. And so long as you aren't found lacking in intent? We can see about making that passing thought into a manifested dream. Send me a letter, if you're keen. 
-Cletus Klein