The thirty-seventh day of winter, 514 AV
Keene moved over the uneven ground at a steady rate, breath moving through him in a heavier fashion than it had at the beginning of the day when he'd set out for the bazaar. With how many times he'd been in and out of the citadel, Keene had grown a bit more accustomed to the taxing journey to the point where, if he maintained an even pace without pushing himself too hard, he could make it to the citadel in a little under three bells. The docks, however, were still a task. The slope was enough to made things difficult without the added, ridiculous distance. From a tactical standpoint, the obscene journey from the docks to the vestibule was well designed. There were not enough trees to provide cover to anyone approaching, and the expanse of the inclined land and twisting path was more than enough to deter any sort of a attack, should anyone be daft enough to even consider it. Still, it didn't change the burn in his legs or the stick of his sweat to his back as he pushed through the strain, clearing a rise to stare out into the grey expanse.
He could see people milling around both the docks and the ship that carried with it the supplies he'd been sent to fetch as well as those that he wished to purchase on his own. With a controlled inhale and exhale, Keene started down the final leg of the journey, adjusting the straps of his nearly empty backpack as he neared the stony beach, feet displacing the stones to create a muted crackle of stone against stone. The port was, as always, quieter than most everywhere else on the island. Even with those who populated the area spoke in hushed tones if at all, save a few frustrated looking nuit who seemed to be bickering over who was to purchase a sheep that stood placidly between them, oblivious to the fight over its fate - of which Keene assumed ended in something worse than death. The animal was so perfectly content, Keene found the situation fitting for most who arrived on Sahova, himself included: unaware, unassuming, only to be cast into the crucible to emerge either reforged or ash.
Avoiding contact with anyone else, Keene perused through the shops, stopping to purchase food and spices Atziri had requested along with several other things. Ink, rapprochement, and quills were among them, items that he found to be of a more personal nature than he had first thought. Coin exchanged hands quickly and efficiently as he made his rounds, and his backpack grew heavier, his steps slowed some, allowing his eyes to catch on whatever he thought might be useful. Living in the cavern, Keene had found there were things that were inconvenient to be missing - windows aside - and had already taken steps to procure the necessary adjustments. A hatchet was one of them. While his magic could rip through trees easily enough, Keene found that mundane tasks were better left to mundane devices. His reimancy had progressed to the point where he was able to wield a vast amount of power. Using that power for something so simple pushed beyond the line of efficiency into foolishness. When he had started his training, the work had been good for control and mastery. Now, Keene was perfectly happy to learn how to chop down a tree and cut the wood as well. The physical labor would do him good, as well as condition him for the rigors of the island. He wasn't as weak as he had been in Zeltiva, but his strength was still laughable.
A sewing kit was also purchased for practical reasons. Several of his garments were neatly folded in his room, torn in all manner of places. While he had no idea how to sew, the man with the kit had assured him there was a small pamphlet within that would allow him the basics of the craft - something that he requested to see much to the chagrin of the shopkeeper. Repairs were necessary, but elegance was hardly an issue. If he could maintain his clothing to make them last longer, it was well worth the coin. And, magic was something that he could only do for so long before it began to tax him, other hobbies were not something to be shunned. He purchased a sizable strip of cloth to use for patch work in the future, reasoning that if cloth was removed from a shirt, it would have to be added back to be repaired.
With his shopping taken care of, Keene lingered about the ship, resting against the hull and watching the exchanges of Pulsers and nuit a like. It was hardly a picture of the Zeltivan market, but the Scars had only recently departed, leaving Keene with a loneliness that did well to have a little time in the company of others, though not in interaction. He was well aware he would be used to his mostly solitary life soon enough again, but having little else to do other than to start back on the lengthy journey to the cavern, Keene allowed himself the small leisure of people watching until it began to grow late enough that he was prompted back for fear of walking in the dark, burdened by his purchases.
Keene moved over the uneven ground at a steady rate, breath moving through him in a heavier fashion than it had at the beginning of the day when he'd set out for the bazaar. With how many times he'd been in and out of the citadel, Keene had grown a bit more accustomed to the taxing journey to the point where, if he maintained an even pace without pushing himself too hard, he could make it to the citadel in a little under three bells. The docks, however, were still a task. The slope was enough to made things difficult without the added, ridiculous distance. From a tactical standpoint, the obscene journey from the docks to the vestibule was well designed. There were not enough trees to provide cover to anyone approaching, and the expanse of the inclined land and twisting path was more than enough to deter any sort of a attack, should anyone be daft enough to even consider it. Still, it didn't change the burn in his legs or the stick of his sweat to his back as he pushed through the strain, clearing a rise to stare out into the grey expanse.
He could see people milling around both the docks and the ship that carried with it the supplies he'd been sent to fetch as well as those that he wished to purchase on his own. With a controlled inhale and exhale, Keene started down the final leg of the journey, adjusting the straps of his nearly empty backpack as he neared the stony beach, feet displacing the stones to create a muted crackle of stone against stone. The port was, as always, quieter than most everywhere else on the island. Even with those who populated the area spoke in hushed tones if at all, save a few frustrated looking nuit who seemed to be bickering over who was to purchase a sheep that stood placidly between them, oblivious to the fight over its fate - of which Keene assumed ended in something worse than death. The animal was so perfectly content, Keene found the situation fitting for most who arrived on Sahova, himself included: unaware, unassuming, only to be cast into the crucible to emerge either reforged or ash.
Avoiding contact with anyone else, Keene perused through the shops, stopping to purchase food and spices Atziri had requested along with several other things. Ink, rapprochement, and quills were among them, items that he found to be of a more personal nature than he had first thought. Coin exchanged hands quickly and efficiently as he made his rounds, and his backpack grew heavier, his steps slowed some, allowing his eyes to catch on whatever he thought might be useful. Living in the cavern, Keene had found there were things that were inconvenient to be missing - windows aside - and had already taken steps to procure the necessary adjustments. A hatchet was one of them. While his magic could rip through trees easily enough, Keene found that mundane tasks were better left to mundane devices. His reimancy had progressed to the point where he was able to wield a vast amount of power. Using that power for something so simple pushed beyond the line of efficiency into foolishness. When he had started his training, the work had been good for control and mastery. Now, Keene was perfectly happy to learn how to chop down a tree and cut the wood as well. The physical labor would do him good, as well as condition him for the rigors of the island. He wasn't as weak as he had been in Zeltiva, but his strength was still laughable.
A sewing kit was also purchased for practical reasons. Several of his garments were neatly folded in his room, torn in all manner of places. While he had no idea how to sew, the man with the kit had assured him there was a small pamphlet within that would allow him the basics of the craft - something that he requested to see much to the chagrin of the shopkeeper. Repairs were necessary, but elegance was hardly an issue. If he could maintain his clothing to make them last longer, it was well worth the coin. And, magic was something that he could only do for so long before it began to tax him, other hobbies were not something to be shunned. He purchased a sizable strip of cloth to use for patch work in the future, reasoning that if cloth was removed from a shirt, it would have to be added back to be repaired.
With his shopping taken care of, Keene lingered about the ship, resting against the hull and watching the exchanges of Pulsers and nuit a like. It was hardly a picture of the Zeltivan market, but the Scars had only recently departed, leaving Keene with a loneliness that did well to have a little time in the company of others, though not in interaction. He was well aware he would be used to his mostly solitary life soon enough again, but having little else to do other than to start back on the lengthy journey to the cavern, Keene allowed himself the small leisure of people watching until it began to grow late enough that he was prompted back for fear of walking in the dark, burdened by his purchases.
