Timestamp:
Summer 1, 522 AV
It was no secret that Syka was different.
Compared to the other cities Ismahel had visited, the settlement seemed relaxed. Though they were situated in proximity to a boundless jungle, the people were largely unbothered. Yet, for as calm as the people were, there was also work to be done. During the ride over to Syka, the Trader had said as much. With a hearty grin on his face, he recalled the looming threat of eviction if newcomers didn't pull their weight. Simple enough - and fair enough. This rule reminded Ismahel of his own travels, where if one didn't put in their fair share, they didn't eat.
And if there was one thing the sable-skinned man enjoyed, it was a good eat.
Thus, shortly after departing the Trader's vessel, Ismahel took some time to ask about work. He could have easily introduced himself as the son of an established trader. He could have explored whatever commercial opportunities that line of work presented. But, the recent sting of his father's passing yet lingered in his mind. The cold slap of his distraught mother. The blame she placed upon his shoulders. No. He would work and live as far away from that world as he could. Besides, he was much better at patching others up than he was making a deal.
So it was that, after asking about, he was pointed in the direction of one Uta. She was one of the veterans of the settlement, present since its first steps were taken. And, most importantly, she was the expert on all things vegetation in these parts. If ever there was someone to talk about putting his own experience to work, it was her. Ismahel wasted no time making his way over to her home...and when he arrived a low whistle escaped his lips. "Well I'll be..." he muttered to himself, in quiet appreciation of how her home was built so neatly over the divide.
But, there would be time for gawking at the home later. For now, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, gently tapping his knuckles on the doorframe. "Hello?"
.It was no secret that Syka was different.
Compared to the other cities Ismahel had visited, the settlement seemed relaxed. Though they were situated in proximity to a boundless jungle, the people were largely unbothered. Yet, for as calm as the people were, there was also work to be done. During the ride over to Syka, the Trader had said as much. With a hearty grin on his face, he recalled the looming threat of eviction if newcomers didn't pull their weight. Simple enough - and fair enough. This rule reminded Ismahel of his own travels, where if one didn't put in their fair share, they didn't eat.
And if there was one thing the sable-skinned man enjoyed, it was a good eat.
Thus, shortly after departing the Trader's vessel, Ismahel took some time to ask about work. He could have easily introduced himself as the son of an established trader. He could have explored whatever commercial opportunities that line of work presented. But, the recent sting of his father's passing yet lingered in his mind. The cold slap of his distraught mother. The blame she placed upon his shoulders. No. He would work and live as far away from that world as he could. Besides, he was much better at patching others up than he was making a deal.
So it was that, after asking about, he was pointed in the direction of one Uta. She was one of the veterans of the settlement, present since its first steps were taken. And, most importantly, she was the expert on all things vegetation in these parts. If ever there was someone to talk about putting his own experience to work, it was her. Ismahel wasted no time making his way over to her home...and when he arrived a low whistle escaped his lips. "Well I'll be..." he muttered to himself, in quiet appreciation of how her home was built so neatly over the divide.
But, there would be time for gawking at the home later. For now, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, gently tapping his knuckles on the doorframe. "Hello?"
