Cyril was slightly appeased by the compliment. In truth, he was far more bolstered by the comment than he was willing to let on, even to himself. Although he was prone to making overly quick and often faulty assessments of people, his conclusions were not set in stone. He would have not risen to the position he had if that were so. A set strategy only resulted in lost lives when it all collapsed. Just as he figured out many such plans, each to support the main plan, so too did he puzzle out people.
It was such a pity, then, that people were much more complicated than a battlefield.
Cyril was not one to display false modesty, he was proud of his work and rightfully so, "So people say, and they would be correct." If he was being perfectly honest, he rarely made his own armor. He was not trained in creating his own armor but instead fixed and improved whatever passed his way.
Oddly enough, he thought he received much more patronage because of it.
He saw the man looking at the wall behind the counter. Following his gaze, Cyril found himself looking at his own armor on the wall. Unknown to him, his eyes mellowed from their hard look for a moment before he looked away. "That is not for sale." His words were harsher than he meant to sound, so he winced and then added, "Too small for anyone else."
Not that he would sell it even if a dwarf of the exact same height and weight walked in and demanded it under the orders of a paragon. Bozzle the paragon, it belonged to him and he had earned the right to keep it nearby. However, he had an Antivan armor, complete with a fascinating built in poisoned spike in the gauntlet that might fit the customer. Cyril sized him up with his expert gaze, this time looking not at his demeanor but only his physical measurements, and mentally fit him into the armor. It would work.