1st Day of Spring, 519 AV
"Like I said, you'll need to wait like everyone else while we review your goods," Elias announced, voice crisp and bordering on irritation. In one gloved hand was a bundle of papers, in the other, a quill that dripped a fat glob of ink every few ticks unless held at just the right angle. After about three bells of this, his fingers were as stained as his temper was frayed.
"They. Are. Mangos! Mangos from Syka! What is there to review?!" The portly merchant had promptly lost his patience when the Ebonstryfe commander had failed to immediately wave him through. His response had been one fully expected and envisioned the moment Elias had laid eyes on the man's round, bouncing belly and his plenitude of chins come clambering up to the checkpoint with all the pomp and confidence of a prince.
"That is not how this works," he explained slowly, as if to a child. "You request passage across the Lake. We check your things. You wait quietly like the others, and then once we're satisfied, you can go. No sooner, no later." With the end of his feathered quill, he pointed in the direction of the Bazaar. The markets were particularly rowdy this morning, the din of tradesmen and hawkers loud enough that it was almost all one could hear, even so far away. Usually the Lakeshore was a constant buzz as the outpost toiled and turned its cogs, but the crowds and the even the atmosphere itself had changed when word from docks had unleashed hysteria not too long ago as the fishing trolleys sluggishly dragged themselves back to shore, their crews hooting and hollering in excitement that their nets were full to the bursting. As it turned out, another of Rhsyol’s miracle had brought the waters of Lake Ravok to a near froth with the bounty of so many fish. That, added on top of the fact that today was also day of harvest for the miles and miles of cattail and lily pad farms that stretched along the shore, and you had yourself a recipe of pandemonium, commerce, and religious fervor all mixed into one tightly packed little town that even on its best of days was moments away from exploding it all out bedlam.
To say Elias was not enthused about this new post he’d been given would be an unhealthy understatement. He at the very least understood now why so many of the Stryfe, his own unit included, had been assigned to gate duty. Today of all days though... Either fate was conspiring against him or someone not quite as scrupulous was pulling the strings.
"This is the seventh time I've been to this city! One would think you people would just remember me by now and let me pass," he snapped, and the mage started to grind his teeth. The merchant took one glance toward the bustling Bazaar and turned his nose up. "I'll not let this whole cart spoil because of some backwater asshole who doesn't know how to do his job. Do you know who my patrons are?! I have very important friends in this city. Very Important friends who can make the life of ant like you more miserable than you imagine." There was a long silence after his cherry cheeked outburst, and more than a few people were giving the scene a wide berth and an uncomfortable glance as they began to shuffle away.
"Seven whole times, you say?" The soldiers voice was calm, his grimace like ice water in the veins. The rotund merchant nodded and folded his arms, looking very satisfied and superior for a fruit salesman. "Well then, forgive me sir. I had no idea. Let me just write that down." Very carefully, Elias drug the quill's tip across the page, crossing off the man's name with a thick line of black ink. He handed these to the young woman beside him -Sabel, a member of his unit who had been awkwardly silent throughout the exchange, but was cupping her face in her palm now.
A few more of his comrades wandered up, for they'd been stationed at the Outpost as a group for the next few days. They'd been listening from a distance like carrion circling a battlefield, drawn in by the promise of death and bones to pick clean. The trader soon saw this tide of black closing in and the scowl slipped from his face. His already ruddy skin took on a new, even more blooming hue, and his hands threw themselves up in the universal gesture of surrender as his step stumbled backwards. Elias followed his retreat pace by pace, and by the time his back bumped into cart, the merchant realized with a gasp there was nowhere left to run.
In that moment of panic, Elias wasted no time in burying a heavy fist into the fat man’s belly. The fool doubled over in a mixture of surprise and pain, the air abandoning him before he started to retch. While he was bent down struggling to recover, Elias grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head back against the wooden frame of the wagon. The sorcerer leaned in, his lips hovering dangerously close to the trader’s ear as he began to whisper. “We know who you are, master Tomen. In fact, we’ve been waiting here all morning just for you. I have a message from my patrons. It’s a simple one so listen close; We both know what’s really in that cart, and we both know what I’ll find when I search it. You want to sell your ‘mangos’ this city, fine, by all means, our lord’s domain welcomes all, but I think the Nitrozians could offer you a better deal than your current benefactors ever could. They made this offer once and you turned them aside. Now they make it for the last time. I reckon its the sort of deal a man like you simply can’t refuse… Now shake your fat head if you understand me.”
The Stryfer felt his hand, still full of bourbon colored hair grow slick with sweat and grease as the merchant blubbered and nodded feverishly. “Excellent!” Elias suddenly cried out, pulling back with a jovial grin upon his scarred face. The merchant looked somewhat relived for all but a tick before a resounding slap across his puffy cheeks sent the foreigner clattering to the muddy floor with a womanly yelp. It looked as though he'd learned his lesson, mewling and shivering on the ground as he was. “Get from my sight now, I’m done with you.” The swordsman grumbled wearily as he wiped his hands clean. Tomen wasted no time scurrying off to wherever it was petchs like him scurried off to and Elias paid him no further mind.
"Shyke, Elias. You really are an asshole," one of the other soldiers jested, eliciting scattered laughter from the gaggle of ebon-clad warriors. It was a mirth that was shared by none in the long procession of those still waiting for entry into the city, least of all the ones who were next in line.
"They. Are. Mangos! Mangos from Syka! What is there to review?!" The portly merchant had promptly lost his patience when the Ebonstryfe commander had failed to immediately wave him through. His response had been one fully expected and envisioned the moment Elias had laid eyes on the man's round, bouncing belly and his plenitude of chins come clambering up to the checkpoint with all the pomp and confidence of a prince.
"That is not how this works," he explained slowly, as if to a child. "You request passage across the Lake. We check your things. You wait quietly like the others, and then once we're satisfied, you can go. No sooner, no later." With the end of his feathered quill, he pointed in the direction of the Bazaar. The markets were particularly rowdy this morning, the din of tradesmen and hawkers loud enough that it was almost all one could hear, even so far away. Usually the Lakeshore was a constant buzz as the outpost toiled and turned its cogs, but the crowds and the even the atmosphere itself had changed when word from docks had unleashed hysteria not too long ago as the fishing trolleys sluggishly dragged themselves back to shore, their crews hooting and hollering in excitement that their nets were full to the bursting. As it turned out, another of Rhsyol’s miracle had brought the waters of Lake Ravok to a near froth with the bounty of so many fish. That, added on top of the fact that today was also day of harvest for the miles and miles of cattail and lily pad farms that stretched along the shore, and you had yourself a recipe of pandemonium, commerce, and religious fervor all mixed into one tightly packed little town that even on its best of days was moments away from exploding it all out bedlam.
To say Elias was not enthused about this new post he’d been given would be an unhealthy understatement. He at the very least understood now why so many of the Stryfe, his own unit included, had been assigned to gate duty. Today of all days though... Either fate was conspiring against him or someone not quite as scrupulous was pulling the strings.
"This is the seventh time I've been to this city! One would think you people would just remember me by now and let me pass," he snapped, and the mage started to grind his teeth. The merchant took one glance toward the bustling Bazaar and turned his nose up. "I'll not let this whole cart spoil because of some backwater asshole who doesn't know how to do his job. Do you know who my patrons are?! I have very important friends in this city. Very Important friends who can make the life of ant like you more miserable than you imagine." There was a long silence after his cherry cheeked outburst, and more than a few people were giving the scene a wide berth and an uncomfortable glance as they began to shuffle away.
"Seven whole times, you say?" The soldiers voice was calm, his grimace like ice water in the veins. The rotund merchant nodded and folded his arms, looking very satisfied and superior for a fruit salesman. "Well then, forgive me sir. I had no idea. Let me just write that down." Very carefully, Elias drug the quill's tip across the page, crossing off the man's name with a thick line of black ink. He handed these to the young woman beside him -Sabel, a member of his unit who had been awkwardly silent throughout the exchange, but was cupping her face in her palm now.
A few more of his comrades wandered up, for they'd been stationed at the Outpost as a group for the next few days. They'd been listening from a distance like carrion circling a battlefield, drawn in by the promise of death and bones to pick clean. The trader soon saw this tide of black closing in and the scowl slipped from his face. His already ruddy skin took on a new, even more blooming hue, and his hands threw themselves up in the universal gesture of surrender as his step stumbled backwards. Elias followed his retreat pace by pace, and by the time his back bumped into cart, the merchant realized with a gasp there was nowhere left to run.
In that moment of panic, Elias wasted no time in burying a heavy fist into the fat man’s belly. The fool doubled over in a mixture of surprise and pain, the air abandoning him before he started to retch. While he was bent down struggling to recover, Elias grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head back against the wooden frame of the wagon. The sorcerer leaned in, his lips hovering dangerously close to the trader’s ear as he began to whisper. “We know who you are, master Tomen. In fact, we’ve been waiting here all morning just for you. I have a message from my patrons. It’s a simple one so listen close; We both know what’s really in that cart, and we both know what I’ll find when I search it. You want to sell your ‘mangos’ this city, fine, by all means, our lord’s domain welcomes all, but I think the Nitrozians could offer you a better deal than your current benefactors ever could. They made this offer once and you turned them aside. Now they make it for the last time. I reckon its the sort of deal a man like you simply can’t refuse… Now shake your fat head if you understand me.”
The Stryfer felt his hand, still full of bourbon colored hair grow slick with sweat and grease as the merchant blubbered and nodded feverishly. “Excellent!” Elias suddenly cried out, pulling back with a jovial grin upon his scarred face. The merchant looked somewhat relived for all but a tick before a resounding slap across his puffy cheeks sent the foreigner clattering to the muddy floor with a womanly yelp. It looked as though he'd learned his lesson, mewling and shivering on the ground as he was. “Get from my sight now, I’m done with you.” The swordsman grumbled wearily as he wiped his hands clean. Tomen wasted no time scurrying off to wherever it was petchs like him scurried off to and Elias paid him no further mind.
"Shyke, Elias. You really are an asshole," one of the other soldiers jested, eliciting scattered laughter from the gaggle of ebon-clad warriors. It was a mirth that was shared by none in the long procession of those still waiting for entry into the city, least of all the ones who were next in line.
WC - 1147
