10th of Winter, 513AV
Noon Bell
Noon Bell
The unstable ground shook side to side in slow rhythm kept to the beat of the wild, throwing none but upsetting many. Illness ran through a number of men and women, adult and children alike. But Maehwrath was fine, unperturbed by the slow pitching to and fro. This was, after all, not his first ride on a cargo ship. He had taken in the view from the deck for a while, though the smell of sick began to bother his own stomach where the rolling of the sea could not. Of course, he had learned the lesson too when he first stood on board a vessel.
It had been so long since he had stayed on land though, he almost felt at home on the sea. What had it been? Two years? Feels like five. There's nothing to do! So complained the darker half, Wrath, within their shared mind. You mean, there is no one to fight. Maew was dominant now, so it was his smile that stretched across his deep violet lips, not the grimace his kindred spirit would wear. Same difference, he mentally lashed.
Instead of retaliating, Maew lead their shared body down into the belly of the ship. He had often tried to learn of such vessels, learning terms like Deck, Starboard, Port, Mast, Sails and other such simple things while the more complex aspects had come in spurts. None took the time to answer his questions proper, not when he refused to laden their hands in silvers. It was not a simple sailor's education he desired. Not when he knew what lay just beyond his reach.
And there came that thought again. We could Animate something. Wrath was quick to respond, as predictable as ever. I'm down Maew knew he hardly had to ask to use magic, world or personal. His counterpart was the one who could have easily overgiven if not for the gentle guidance their close bond allowed. So off to the merchant's cabin.
He stopped for only a moment to turn and backtrack down the long stretch of hallway. It took him a moment to remember where to turn, what with the strange construction of the Zeltivan trade vessels, but eventually after a few wrong choices he managed to chance back across the right path. He knew it only by the sound of shouting and laughter that usually came from the merchant quarters, especially if the wine traders felt generous enough to open a cask and sell cheep.
Pushing the door open, Maewrath stepped inside. Immediately he was confronted by the smell of Man; sweat, filth, ale, but above the rest was the stench of death. He knew a number of these men specialized in selling corpses, but in a crowd this big he did not know which ones. Perhaps no one did.
He had not expected a silence at his entrance, but to his displeasure one or two men did stop to look him over. Without offering them any return focus, they went back to their tasks, whether it be drinking or bartering. There was a lot of both. There had been more of the drinking portion earlier in their travels when the barrels had been full, but now near Sahova there was a need to "conserve." Somehow the traders earned more than the share of peasants like himself.
With a deep silence, he strode among the traders, his crimson gaze breezing over whatever was present. What are we looking for? the lighter soul Maew questioned to his mental companion. A challenge. Something with arms... Utility and aesthetics, I suppose? It's got to look good. A sigh escaped his lips emulating annoyance. In truth though, it was refreshing to have his darker half thinking of something other than fighting... even if it would lead to something that might help him fight later.
He saw clay first and foremost. He considered it, but in the end neither part wanted such a simple base. It was not like they expected to make a Pycon at their level of experience. Hold up, you passed something. Brooch, red gem. His eyes had skimmed over it at first, but while Maew had missed it, Wrath spotted it right out. A good spot. Shall we deal? Go for it.
"Pardon me, fine sir," he spoke using a friendly and partially formal tone. "This brooch has interested me. What is your asking price?" With the vocalized interest, he carefully plucked the brooch from the box of other assorted jewelry on display. First he displayed it to the merchant before taking a look for himself. It was just a copper setting with a beautiful red stone. The decor of the metal around the stone looked like droplets.
The merchant nodded as a broad grinned spread across his lips. "Ahh, Ey though' ya'd be 'ere fer mah jewels! Tha'd be Blood Agate, very rare!" At his comment of rarity, the Akalak looked not at the merchant, but at those around him. They were eyeing him right back with a sudden interest. As an Akalak, apparently they believed he should know right off the bat whether it was of any real value.
He did not. Drawing his eyes back to the jewel, he considered its simplistic beauty. What the petch're you waiting for? Make a deal! The dark voice sounded out within the shared mind. He wanted to hiss back at him, but instead he returned in a calm voice - not that it mattered when the mental chat was unnecessary for their communication. It was just for preference. He is trying to swindle us, Wrath. "Two gold mizas"
"Fifty!" The stout trader snarked back.
"I do not appreciate being conned." Lifting his gaze to the merchant, he brought a slow trickle of djed to fuel his voice and that gaze between them. It was taxing, but he imposed a look of knowing in his eyes, of just enough experience to see through the con. It was a bluff. "Five mizas... and you polish the jewels for me, or I polish the floor with your lying tongue." He was teetering between lines, his words were persuaded by the dark personality itching to throw fists. The djed flow slowed when he stopped speaking, but the gaze held with a slow trickle. He knows, the Akalak knows! he implied just so faintly. No emotion, just faint subliminal suggestions. The intimidation was all natural from the seven foot violet man.
Slightly paled, the trader brushed off the situation with a grace Maew admired, but annoyed Wrath. "Ah's jus' hav'n' sum fun, y'kno'? Tha'd be a fine offer." Maybe he had not been intimidated on the surface, but he could be shivering just beneath the skin. Or at least, the darker side of Maewrath thought this to keep himself from making certain.
His thumb and index finger slipped into the narrow opening of the pouch on his belt. Plucking one miza out at a time, he accumulated a small handful. He said nothing as he glanced down to count before tilting his hand to let five roll free while a number more were caught before they hit the man's rickety table. "I shall be back before the next bell, so a quick polish will be fine." The glare at his back was probably sharp enough to drill a hole through a Glassbeak's breast, but he took it in stride. Now he needed something for a body.
