8th Bell, 7th of Winter, 513AV
Apple... or pear?
Neither seemed really quite appealing. Several bruises and rotten bits peered out from multiple places along the skin, while a sickly sweet smell, permeated from the roughed up fruit. It was not an uncommon thing, as she had noted since her first day at the Hostel. Still, food was food.
She chose the pear and cut off the rotten bits, then proceeded in attempting to appreciate how the bruises softened the already sweet fruit, and hoped that no ill effects would strike her afterwards.
Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, she noticed a small movement in the pile of discarded bits. A wriggly thing reared its eyeless head, and she fought the urge to squash it with her bare fist... just barely managing to resist slamming her hand or getting as far away from the cursed thing as possible. She felt a sense of revolting disgust for the little creature wash through her stomach. It reminded her of maggots and such unpleasant creatures. After a quick whiff of the bits she had cut off, she pushed them away with a faint grimace, pushing thoughts of the bug from her mind, downed two mugs of water to erase the after-taste of the fruit from her senses, and headed towards her room.
Something that seemed to surprise the other residents, was that she could easily down four to five mugs of water without choking or breaking a sweat.
Her people's gift for storing water in their bodies was something she had always appreciated, for water was a scarce thing in the desert. This however, was not her dry, sandy homeland- this foreign and strange city had water aplenty, which was something they seemed to take for granted. Then again, it was something that they lived with everyday, so perhaps they were not entirely to blame... Shikoba believed, that it was only those such as she, who had lived in a land with little drinkable water, and whom had seen the ill effects of Hai cursed stagnant water, who could truly appreciate Morwen's gift. A person could get sick from still water, more so than even food that was slightly off.
However, here, it seemed that there was only bad food, and the lack of it could have similar ill-effects, and from the impression she had gotten from the locals, they did not seem the type to freely offer aid to an outsider. In addition, she would soon need to consume some sort of a decent meal, not rotten food, preferably one with meat or soup, and she saw no way of that happening in the Safehaven Hostel. The only other problem she had met since her arrival, was a lack of employment.
She had enough to last her through the season, perhaps two, if she was careful with her coins- if she even stuck around for that long, but there was no running around the matter. It would not last forever. Reaching her simple room, Shik flopped onto the bed on which she had spread out her bedroll, and began to mull over her thoughts. Food was not so much of an issue- how hard could it be? This was not the desert. So then- money. Abruptly, she sat up, picked up her packing board, took out her coin purse, and poured the contents onto the plank before her. She separated the gold mizas from the silvers and coppers, placing them in piles of ten. There were seven and thirty piles, and four golden mizas. Repeating the same method for silver and copper mizas, she came up with a total of three hundred and seventy four gold mizas, two silver mizas, and six copper mizas. By estimating her expenses from the previous season, she guessed that she would be out of half of that by the end of the season... but how would she find employment? “I am no Benshiran merchant, nor am I especially talented in anyway,” she muttered in her native tongue. No... that was not necessarily true...
After all, she was of the Abayla line, and she had learned enough of her stories to have been marooned by her tribe, her own family, for telling them to an outsider.
Perhaps she could make a profit off of storytelling- it wouldn't hurt to try, and it would help her shaky, but passable, Common... probably. She would try to tell her stories, ones from her warm, dry homelands, and create a few of her own from the sights she had seen, the people she met along the way, as she had done on the sloop. However, in order to do so, she would need to scout a place, or places, where she could find a willing, or even a reluctant audience for her to entertain. It was time to explore the city.
She did not trust those within the establishment to not trifle with her things, and kept the majority of her most prized possessions within the folds of her clothing- which she had layered to keep out as much of the coldness as she could. 'Warm clothes,' she thought, 'it will be the first time I need them. 'Another thing for her to buy, among others. She grudgingly left some of her coin, rapped in a square yard of linen, at the bottom of her first backpack, and a similar one in her second. She kept twenty gold mizas, along with her smaller mizas in various places on her person, and one of her daggers in her left tunic sleeve. The other, she had carefully wrapped with a third square yard of linen, and had cautiously tucked into her undergarments. She would never carry one without the other, nor would she ever leave these treasured gifts from her father behind. She slung her empty waterskin over her hip, and was ready to head out.
30 Chimes later...
There seemed to be a large crowd up ahead, the sound of laughter and shouted advertisement, just barely reaching her ears. As she followed the noise, she pulled the hood of her cloak down over her head, and finally arrived a plaza filled with wooden booths and waggons, and the salty, fishy scent she associated with dead sea creatures; something she had grown accustomed to over the past few seasons. What lay before her appeared to be a fish market, and a popular one at that. However, at first she could not understand where all of the shrieks of laughter and sounds of instruments came from... Why would there be so much merriment over the catches of the day? It wasn't until she walked down the nearest row of stalls, that she realized the cause for celebration. Mingled throughout the plaza, were entertainers.
Short, small, tall, and round, there was every sort of entertainer you could imagine, at least, to her eyes it seemed so. Her scope of such people was limited to the cons and dancers of Ahnatep, and the storytellers and singers of her tribe. Here, she saw people throwing multiple items into the air and catching them at different times, dancers in costumes she had never seen before, shows of slight of hand card tricks, perhaps even small magics, and many others she could not even understand. All spoke in a tongue that she could just barely grasp. It seemed as though there was a celebration of sorts, perhaps a festival? She could not fathom what for, but it seemed a celebration none of the less.
“Miss.... why are your eyes so dark?”
Shikoba jumped, and looked down, only to see the bright curious eyes of a child, while a shiver at a sudden coldness ran up her spine. It unnerved her that this little one had somehow managed to sneak up on her. She mentally rebuked herself for being so careless as to let even a child sneak up on her; never mind that she had not even heard a single footfall. As Shik looked at his expression, she could tell that he seemed unsure as to whether or not to be suspicious of this stranger- the feeling was mutual.
Glancing around conspiratorial, she turned her attention on to him, and in an almost whisper, said “All the better to keep my secrets, child.” Her face was sombre, except for the faint hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, while her voice contained a certain depth to it, with a tone that seemed as though it was glazed in a rich, warm timber. “Can you see them?”
The small boy cautiously looked into her obsidian black eyes. He stood there quietly for a moment, almost as if he were contemplating something. “No... not really,” he hesitated, pausing. “They just seem... sad.” Her face went expressionless for a spilt tick, while her mind reared back in surprise. 'How did he know?'
Upon further inspection, the child's curious eyes were a brilliant hue of blue, astonishing even, and his head, which came just to her elbow, was crowned with curly, dark locks. In his left fist, he clutched what appeared to be some sort of flag, or perhaps the mast of a toy boat. A quick glance around told her that the boy seemed to be on his own; no one seemed to be searching the crowd with worried eyes. "Did you get... separated from your Ma?” When the boy solemnly nodded his head, the young Chaktawe crouched down to his eye level, and crossed her arms over her knees. "Would you like to look for her?" When her enquiry received a small nod, Shikoba smiled. After having looked in the child's eyes so intently, she had noticed a few things; faintly blurred eyes... and the ground, which she could see through the child.
She lowered her eyes for a moment and gathered herself, before returning to rest her gaze upon the young boy's face. Resting her chin upon the back of her hand, she continued more playfully, “Where did you last see her?” The boy closed his eyes in thought, as if to recall something long forgotten. “I... I can't remember...” he murmured, a frown marring his childish features. “... I remember hearing Ma shouting at someone though. She was really mad. Her... face was red- it only gets like that when I'm really bad,” the boy smiled slightly, a hint of mischief peeking out before slipping back into the depths of blue. “She don't get mad like that all the time, but when she does, she's really scary.” He shivered.
“Do you remember where you live?” She asked in a gentle tone, staying at eye-level with him. “Uh-huh! Follow me!” With that, the little one dashed off, gliding through the air, while with long strides, Shikoba trotted after him in pursuit.
Apple... or pear?
Neither seemed really quite appealing. Several bruises and rotten bits peered out from multiple places along the skin, while a sickly sweet smell, permeated from the roughed up fruit. It was not an uncommon thing, as she had noted since her first day at the Hostel. Still, food was food.
She chose the pear and cut off the rotten bits, then proceeded in attempting to appreciate how the bruises softened the already sweet fruit, and hoped that no ill effects would strike her afterwards.
Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, she noticed a small movement in the pile of discarded bits. A wriggly thing reared its eyeless head, and she fought the urge to squash it with her bare fist... just barely managing to resist slamming her hand or getting as far away from the cursed thing as possible. She felt a sense of revolting disgust for the little creature wash through her stomach. It reminded her of maggots and such unpleasant creatures. After a quick whiff of the bits she had cut off, she pushed them away with a faint grimace, pushing thoughts of the bug from her mind, downed two mugs of water to erase the after-taste of the fruit from her senses, and headed towards her room.
Something that seemed to surprise the other residents, was that she could easily down four to five mugs of water without choking or breaking a sweat.
Her people's gift for storing water in their bodies was something she had always appreciated, for water was a scarce thing in the desert. This however, was not her dry, sandy homeland- this foreign and strange city had water aplenty, which was something they seemed to take for granted. Then again, it was something that they lived with everyday, so perhaps they were not entirely to blame... Shikoba believed, that it was only those such as she, who had lived in a land with little drinkable water, and whom had seen the ill effects of Hai cursed stagnant water, who could truly appreciate Morwen's gift. A person could get sick from still water, more so than even food that was slightly off.
However, here, it seemed that there was only bad food, and the lack of it could have similar ill-effects, and from the impression she had gotten from the locals, they did not seem the type to freely offer aid to an outsider. In addition, she would soon need to consume some sort of a decent meal, not rotten food, preferably one with meat or soup, and she saw no way of that happening in the Safehaven Hostel. The only other problem she had met since her arrival, was a lack of employment.
She had enough to last her through the season, perhaps two, if she was careful with her coins- if she even stuck around for that long, but there was no running around the matter. It would not last forever. Reaching her simple room, Shik flopped onto the bed on which she had spread out her bedroll, and began to mull over her thoughts. Food was not so much of an issue- how hard could it be? This was not the desert. So then- money. Abruptly, she sat up, picked up her packing board, took out her coin purse, and poured the contents onto the plank before her. She separated the gold mizas from the silvers and coppers, placing them in piles of ten. There were seven and thirty piles, and four golden mizas. Repeating the same method for silver and copper mizas, she came up with a total of three hundred and seventy four gold mizas, two silver mizas, and six copper mizas. By estimating her expenses from the previous season, she guessed that she would be out of half of that by the end of the season... but how would she find employment? “I am no Benshiran merchant, nor am I especially talented in anyway,” she muttered in her native tongue. No... that was not necessarily true...
After all, she was of the Abayla line, and she had learned enough of her stories to have been marooned by her tribe, her own family, for telling them to an outsider.
Perhaps she could make a profit off of storytelling- it wouldn't hurt to try, and it would help her shaky, but passable, Common... probably. She would try to tell her stories, ones from her warm, dry homelands, and create a few of her own from the sights she had seen, the people she met along the way, as she had done on the sloop. However, in order to do so, she would need to scout a place, or places, where she could find a willing, or even a reluctant audience for her to entertain. It was time to explore the city.
She did not trust those within the establishment to not trifle with her things, and kept the majority of her most prized possessions within the folds of her clothing- which she had layered to keep out as much of the coldness as she could. 'Warm clothes,' she thought, 'it will be the first time I need them. 'Another thing for her to buy, among others. She grudgingly left some of her coin, rapped in a square yard of linen, at the bottom of her first backpack, and a similar one in her second. She kept twenty gold mizas, along with her smaller mizas in various places on her person, and one of her daggers in her left tunic sleeve. The other, she had carefully wrapped with a third square yard of linen, and had cautiously tucked into her undergarments. She would never carry one without the other, nor would she ever leave these treasured gifts from her father behind. She slung her empty waterskin over her hip, and was ready to head out.
30 Chimes later...
There seemed to be a large crowd up ahead, the sound of laughter and shouted advertisement, just barely reaching her ears. As she followed the noise, she pulled the hood of her cloak down over her head, and finally arrived a plaza filled with wooden booths and waggons, and the salty, fishy scent she associated with dead sea creatures; something she had grown accustomed to over the past few seasons. What lay before her appeared to be a fish market, and a popular one at that. However, at first she could not understand where all of the shrieks of laughter and sounds of instruments came from... Why would there be so much merriment over the catches of the day? It wasn't until she walked down the nearest row of stalls, that she realized the cause for celebration. Mingled throughout the plaza, were entertainers.
Short, small, tall, and round, there was every sort of entertainer you could imagine, at least, to her eyes it seemed so. Her scope of such people was limited to the cons and dancers of Ahnatep, and the storytellers and singers of her tribe. Here, she saw people throwing multiple items into the air and catching them at different times, dancers in costumes she had never seen before, shows of slight of hand card tricks, perhaps even small magics, and many others she could not even understand. All spoke in a tongue that she could just barely grasp. It seemed as though there was a celebration of sorts, perhaps a festival? She could not fathom what for, but it seemed a celebration none of the less.
“Miss.... why are your eyes so dark?”
Shikoba jumped, and looked down, only to see the bright curious eyes of a child, while a shiver at a sudden coldness ran up her spine. It unnerved her that this little one had somehow managed to sneak up on her. She mentally rebuked herself for being so careless as to let even a child sneak up on her; never mind that she had not even heard a single footfall. As Shik looked at his expression, she could tell that he seemed unsure as to whether or not to be suspicious of this stranger- the feeling was mutual.
Glancing around conspiratorial, she turned her attention on to him, and in an almost whisper, said “All the better to keep my secrets, child.” Her face was sombre, except for the faint hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, while her voice contained a certain depth to it, with a tone that seemed as though it was glazed in a rich, warm timber. “Can you see them?”
The small boy cautiously looked into her obsidian black eyes. He stood there quietly for a moment, almost as if he were contemplating something. “No... not really,” he hesitated, pausing. “They just seem... sad.” Her face went expressionless for a spilt tick, while her mind reared back in surprise. 'How did he know?'
Upon further inspection, the child's curious eyes were a brilliant hue of blue, astonishing even, and his head, which came just to her elbow, was crowned with curly, dark locks. In his left fist, he clutched what appeared to be some sort of flag, or perhaps the mast of a toy boat. A quick glance around told her that the boy seemed to be on his own; no one seemed to be searching the crowd with worried eyes. "Did you get... separated from your Ma?” When the boy solemnly nodded his head, the young Chaktawe crouched down to his eye level, and crossed her arms over her knees. "Would you like to look for her?" When her enquiry received a small nod, Shikoba smiled. After having looked in the child's eyes so intently, she had noticed a few things; faintly blurred eyes... and the ground, which she could see through the child.
She lowered her eyes for a moment and gathered herself, before returning to rest her gaze upon the young boy's face. Resting her chin upon the back of her hand, she continued more playfully, “Where did you last see her?” The boy closed his eyes in thought, as if to recall something long forgotten. “I... I can't remember...” he murmured, a frown marring his childish features. “... I remember hearing Ma shouting at someone though. She was really mad. Her... face was red- it only gets like that when I'm really bad,” the boy smiled slightly, a hint of mischief peeking out before slipping back into the depths of blue. “She don't get mad like that all the time, but when she does, she's really scary.” He shivered.
“Do you remember where you live?” She asked in a gentle tone, staying at eye-level with him. “Uh-huh! Follow me!” With that, the little one dashed off, gliding through the air, while with long strides, Shikoba trotted after him in pursuit.
