20th Spring 522 AV – The Open Sky Bazaar
Life had become distinctly more complicated of late, and not just because Sunberth seemed to be going through so form of rutting instinct manifestation, laced through with drugs that had flooded the streets and the occasional bout of violence between the gangs. No, this particular complication was a bittersweet one, currently slumped upon the couch back at the apartments, taking in everything between hobbling about upon the temporary crutch he had located for her. Lys had never seen anything like the Outpost before, though she had taken to it better than he had been worried she would. She seemed almost as curious as he was, perhaps even more, and so he spent several bells touring as much as she was able to, before giving into her body and his insistence that she rested.
He would have his hands full with her, no doubt, she was already pulling off her bandages every so often to check on the wound and administer her own skills – she knew some rudimentary medicine she had told him, having learned rough and ready applications upon the streets. He had said nothing, simply letting her discover that she wasn’t immortal, even if she wished she were. Still, she had healed more quickly than anticipated. The wound n her leg was pretty much clean now, with the infection gone and just the scarring of tissue to come before a full recovery would be made. Her leg on her left side was slightly weaker, hence the crutch, but before long he thought she’d be running rings around him again – a fact for which he was both grateful and fretful. He was running out of stories to tell her to explain how he had found her, where he had been since she had seen him last, and a half-dozen or more other questions. She had the ability to tease him until she finally got the answer she wanted, even if he didn’t want to initially give it – and that filled him with tendrils of fear.
So, he had retreated to the place he usually did when trying to sort his mind of mundane, non-magical matters, the Open Sky Bazaar. Its chattering, hawking and the warmth of the gathered bodies was a comfort to him. He was always wary, keeping his eyes open for threats of hunters, but on the whole, he was beginning to prefer the Outpost to Sunberth for timeless browsing.
Each stall was a snippet of somewhere else – other cultures, foods, weapons, decorations and all the rest. It tickled as his curiosity, the desire for knowledge having grown exponentially over the seasons since discovering his heritage. It was strange, he could remember he had always been open to new things and concepts, but now it was less an openness and more…a need…he felt. He found himself enjoying the conversations with strangers from far off places, absorbing what he could and musing upon them later, pipe between his teeth – these days Lys nattering at him alongside.
This particular meeting, though, he was not now enjoying. He had simply ben looking for a weapon of some kind – preferably a Voril one but his luck had been less than stellar in that regard – but had slammed into a wall of communication issues that had left him confused, trying to tease out the edges of a tangled rope that seemed to shift and reorient itself whenever it realised that was what he was doing.
What is it with my luck and Benshira? Next they’ll be letting Arcadius out of the back to try to grab me now…petching… he thought, though he kept an affable smile plastered across his face and his gaze attentive, trying to pin the men before him down. One was the shopkeeper – who apparently didn’t speak common – and the other was translating. Alric felt that it was a cheap sales tactic, but he had no proof and didn’t seek a confrontation and so kept such thoughts to himself.
“You’re sure this is actually Voril?” he asked, studying the blade that was in his hands, eyes taking it in and seeking some sort of resonance but feeling…nothing. He hid his rising disappointment, though in the back of his mind he was starting to question many thing, about this interaction as the translations and re-translations were performed. He sighed, his patience beginning to wear thin.
“Yes yes, he says it was told to him that it was certified as so. He is not a Voril mage, so he cannot hear it himself, but he has been told by many learned men he trusts that it is. Did you want to buy it?”
“I’m not sure your friends are as well learned as he says they are…” he said, his tone deliberately questioning and reserved, seeking to prompt a reaction he could use to determine things further. It seemed to work as they slipped into a heated back and forth between them, Alric forgotten whilst they sounded like they argued with each other, gesturing firmly with their hands.
He frowned at the weapon, studying it and finding it to be of excellent quality. Whatever it was made of wasn’t steel, it was something with a finer edge and less shine but more solidity. Whilst they were distracted, he ran his fingers across the blade, pulling off his glove to run Lykata imbued fingers lovingly across the weapon. Images flashed and flickered, owners of varying times and places, different cultures, flowed through his mind’s eyes. So lost was he in trying to read and interpret the flowing threads of knowledge, he didn’t immediately notice that someone else had joined them int heir back and forth dance of commerce.
Life had become distinctly more complicated of late, and not just because Sunberth seemed to be going through so form of rutting instinct manifestation, laced through with drugs that had flooded the streets and the occasional bout of violence between the gangs. No, this particular complication was a bittersweet one, currently slumped upon the couch back at the apartments, taking in everything between hobbling about upon the temporary crutch he had located for her. Lys had never seen anything like the Outpost before, though she had taken to it better than he had been worried she would. She seemed almost as curious as he was, perhaps even more, and so he spent several bells touring as much as she was able to, before giving into her body and his insistence that she rested.
He would have his hands full with her, no doubt, she was already pulling off her bandages every so often to check on the wound and administer her own skills – she knew some rudimentary medicine she had told him, having learned rough and ready applications upon the streets. He had said nothing, simply letting her discover that she wasn’t immortal, even if she wished she were. Still, she had healed more quickly than anticipated. The wound n her leg was pretty much clean now, with the infection gone and just the scarring of tissue to come before a full recovery would be made. Her leg on her left side was slightly weaker, hence the crutch, but before long he thought she’d be running rings around him again – a fact for which he was both grateful and fretful. He was running out of stories to tell her to explain how he had found her, where he had been since she had seen him last, and a half-dozen or more other questions. She had the ability to tease him until she finally got the answer she wanted, even if he didn’t want to initially give it – and that filled him with tendrils of fear.
So, he had retreated to the place he usually did when trying to sort his mind of mundane, non-magical matters, the Open Sky Bazaar. Its chattering, hawking and the warmth of the gathered bodies was a comfort to him. He was always wary, keeping his eyes open for threats of hunters, but on the whole, he was beginning to prefer the Outpost to Sunberth for timeless browsing.
Each stall was a snippet of somewhere else – other cultures, foods, weapons, decorations and all the rest. It tickled as his curiosity, the desire for knowledge having grown exponentially over the seasons since discovering his heritage. It was strange, he could remember he had always been open to new things and concepts, but now it was less an openness and more…a need…he felt. He found himself enjoying the conversations with strangers from far off places, absorbing what he could and musing upon them later, pipe between his teeth – these days Lys nattering at him alongside.
This particular meeting, though, he was not now enjoying. He had simply ben looking for a weapon of some kind – preferably a Voril one but his luck had been less than stellar in that regard – but had slammed into a wall of communication issues that had left him confused, trying to tease out the edges of a tangled rope that seemed to shift and reorient itself whenever it realised that was what he was doing.
What is it with my luck and Benshira? Next they’ll be letting Arcadius out of the back to try to grab me now…petching… he thought, though he kept an affable smile plastered across his face and his gaze attentive, trying to pin the men before him down. One was the shopkeeper – who apparently didn’t speak common – and the other was translating. Alric felt that it was a cheap sales tactic, but he had no proof and didn’t seek a confrontation and so kept such thoughts to himself.
“You’re sure this is actually Voril?” he asked, studying the blade that was in his hands, eyes taking it in and seeking some sort of resonance but feeling…nothing. He hid his rising disappointment, though in the back of his mind he was starting to question many thing, about this interaction as the translations and re-translations were performed. He sighed, his patience beginning to wear thin.
“Yes yes, he says it was told to him that it was certified as so. He is not a Voril mage, so he cannot hear it himself, but he has been told by many learned men he trusts that it is. Did you want to buy it?”
“I’m not sure your friends are as well learned as he says they are…” he said, his tone deliberately questioning and reserved, seeking to prompt a reaction he could use to determine things further. It seemed to work as they slipped into a heated back and forth between them, Alric forgotten whilst they sounded like they argued with each other, gesturing firmly with their hands.
He frowned at the weapon, studying it and finding it to be of excellent quality. Whatever it was made of wasn’t steel, it was something with a finer edge and less shine but more solidity. Whilst they were distracted, he ran his fingers across the blade, pulling off his glove to run Lykata imbued fingers lovingly across the weapon. Images flashed and flickered, owners of varying times and places, different cultures, flowed through his mind’s eyes. So lost was he in trying to read and interpret the flowing threads of knowledge, he didn’t immediately notice that someone else had joined them int heir back and forth dance of commerce.