While Supplies Last (Open)

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This shining population center is considered the jewel of The Sylira Region. Home of the vast majority of Mizahar's population, Syliras is nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley on the shores of the Suvan Sea. [Lore]

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While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Jarek Walten on August 3rd, 2009, 4:43 am

Summer, 509 AV (if you want more specifics, toss me a date I'm open)

A strong steady warm breeze whistled through the city as the sounds of city life bustled into being. People began to open windows, as various workers began to do the various city tasks. Sunlight glistened on the great fortress of Stormhold in the distance. As a few birds nestled into a quiet space between a few homes. Laughter followed more serious social gossip, and slowly the city dusted itself off for another day of work.

The streets outside Stormhold on this particular day seemed to be surprisingly empty. A handful of people walked about. Glancing at various shop keepers and side stores away from the Great Bazaar.

One particular man, in a simple green vest didn't seem to pay much attention to the city life. His gaze focused firmly upon the large fortress in the distance. His tanned skin reflected the warm sun rays as his blue eyes stared forward. He dressed and acted plainly enough, hands in his pockets and gaze upwards.

Yet in the distance, a voice sounded, booming in it's authority,

"Sale, While....Supplies......Last."

In the distance of the small scattering of people a new formation swelled. A horde of faces, with cases and pockets jingling with coin. All of them eager to be the first one to get, whatever it was that suddenly was on sale. Such was the stampede that several small children darted away to avoid being mauled by the shopaholic frenzy.

Jarek kept his gaze firmly fixed on the fortress. His mind thinking back to ideas of his mother, and of the stories she used to tell. He seemed quite oblivious to the mass of people moving towards him, and whether or not he would survive such a stampede only the gods could know.
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Angelabeth Dunkirk on August 6th, 2009, 12:22 am

Angelabeth Dunkirk was one of the many people in Syliras getting ready for another day of work. And she too was lost in thought as she walked down the street.

She was not, however, quite as lost as Jarek -- and certainly not lost enough to miss the oncoming horde of people.

There was a split second where Angelabeth wondered what on earth could be for sale that would attract this many people and whip them up into such a riot-like frenzy. Quickly, however, her survival instinct took over, and she dropped that line of thinking in order to head for cover.

Everyone else seemed to go along with her -- everyone except one clueless-looking fellow who appeared to have lost the use of either his ears or his brain. Or both; they weren't necessarily mutually exclusive. Either way, he was on the quick track to being another casualty on the highway of commerce.

"Hey you! Get out of the street!" She didn't have any real hope that the man would notice, however. What an idiot. As she looked at him, her surprise turned to exasperation. Who was going to clean him off the street once the mob had passed by? And worse, what if the Knights or someone decided they wanted to interview witnesses. She might lose the whole day, trapped in some boring office.

There was an irritated grunt, and then Angelabeth lowered her shoulder and ran right towards the man. She wasn't slowing up -- she was going to try and tackle him, knock him off his feet and onto the side of the street where he wouldn't get trampled and ruin her morning.
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Gossamer on August 6th, 2009, 5:42 pm

There was a famous story that the visitors to Syliras probably wouldn't have known about. In the winter of 502 one of Syliras' most famous ceramics shops burned down. It was a sudden event, full of fire and death, to which no one had ever really gotten to the bottom of. The Varniak Ceramic Works was famous for its unusual petinas, creative firing methods, and mixes of porcelain that were so fine that when fired correctly almost made the pottery look translucent. When the fire took out the kilns, the estate, and showroom, Varniak Pottery became instantly incredibly valuable. There would be no more, for both husband and wife, two apprentices, and possibly a son (though no bones were ever found of his) perished in the fire.

And now one of the biggest collectors of all, Marta Vainsa, had passed on. Her family was holding a huge sale of all her items (starting at triple the actual value) so that other collectors could wander the wares and perhaps bid on that one little piece of Syliras' brief history. Most of the crowd was hoping for a salt shaker or perhaps a single cup and saucer. Some however, with more coin hoped to get a glimpse or a chance to bid on an entire serving set or one of Allistir Varniak's decanters. Regardless, the treasure trove was vast - expansive - and the auction was starting within the hour.

Jarek did seem distracted, so much so that he was holding up the throng much like a massive tree was blocking up a steady stream. Someone jostled him, a forerunner to the true crowd that would soon trample him. And if the young lady from Zeltiva hadn't spotted his oblivion quite when she did, it might have been worse. Her shoulder aimed true, right before the main body of the crowd, and managed to shove him off to the side - mainly because he'd been taken completely by surprise. He was a bit too large, however, for her to tackle. But she'd end up with him, in a tangle of limbs, against the wall of a shop well out of the flow of the throng in a side street that just turned out to be a dead-end alley.
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Jarek Walten on August 6th, 2009, 9:38 pm

Warm smells drifted as bakeries and small pastry shops began to swing open large hinged doors. It drifted just above the smell of the past nights revelry and smells of stale liquor and worn clothing. Birds drifted along the smell as did any other variety of wild life attracted to such sickly sweet delights. Amidst the side street though a new smell arose, the smell of pottery.

A small group of spectators watched as the crowd lunged forward. Some of them with concern, other mere curiosity to see a new comer become street goo. Before the throng of steady feet and moans of desire though could strike, a new face appeared before them. Like a blur it lunged into the man in the way, and the two tumbled like a circus act.
Jarek was by no means a small man. He was not shockingly large, or abnormally so, but farmer life just led to a larger variety of man. As she knocked him the surprise caused him to cough in a mixture of confusion and mere lack of breath. Sunlight glistened momentarily upon, casting a strange silhouette on the odd farmer.

As the throng of people moved past, Jarek did what he could to gather himself after the jolt from the woman who now rest on top of him. He pressed his right arm to the pavement to ease himself up, the tattoo of a serpent pierced by a glistening spear clearly shown. His blue eyes turned to the crowd and then back to the woman,

"Thanks are in order I'm guessing."


Jarek had barely been in the city for any time at all. He didn't know anyone, other than his debt ridden uncle of course. In his first day he had now met someone, and almost been run over. He supposed that was some form of warm city welcome. Though he certainly preferred the country version better.

As he gathered his lungs some more,

"I guess city life makes some people a bit mad at times. "

Before Jarek let himself continue on a purity lecture about patience he caught himself,

"Sorry for rambling miss, name's Jarek."
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Angelabeth Dunkirk on August 7th, 2009, 11:05 am

Angelabeth slowly untangled herself and rose to her feet. She dusted herself off and glanced at the crowd of killer sheep-like shoppers before turning back to Jarek.

"City life's going to make you a bit dead if you don't be more careful," Angelabeth said darkly. Seriously, this guy wasn't going to last another month if he was going to stare at walls while people tried to run him over. She shook her head a bit, her dirty blonde hair momentarily covering her eyes.

She pushed it away and then said, a bit more pleasantly, "I'm Angelabeth Dunkirk. Are you new around here then?" The girl rubbed at her shoulder where she had hit Jarek. That was going to leave a bruise. Good thing she wasn't wearing anything strapless today.

"And," she added out of curiosity, "you don't have any idea what those people wanted, do you? I'm kind of hoping that supplies of whatever it is don't last very long, not if it's going to make it that hard just to walk to work."
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Jarek Walten on August 8th, 2009, 2:31 am

Dust slowly settled where the heard of busy shoppers had once dwelled. Only a scattering of sorted dirty footprints left in the wake of the stampede. The faint jingles of money and coin purses echoed down the cobbled pathway. The sound lifted just about the murmurs of gossip and soft spoken words of curiosity. As the two strangers began inspecting each other, the faint murmurs and giggles of the children who had scattered earlier could be heard. No doubt they young ones found amusement at the silly nature of adult life.

As Jarek stood to his full frame his nature of country life was apparent. The sun kissed skin, and worn clothing did not shout socialite. Yet something about his blue eyes were rather pure, and his speech was slightly better than one might expect. Still he was just naturally a little larger then city men. Something's just grew bigger out in the wide open spaces of the world.

At her comment his eyes cast down the road,

"Well, then I suppose thanks are in order Miss Dunkirk."

He shrugged his shoulders,

"Little in life other then family and faith to get that worked up about. I assumed you'd know what they were after, seeing as your from this area."

Slowly he pointed his right hand, the one bearing the odd tattoo to the fortress,

"I'm just here for that. The knights I mean."
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Angelabeth Dunkirk on August 8th, 2009, 9:59 pm

Angelabeth had a phrase to describe people who thought that faith and family would be enough to see them through any crisis. Unbearably naive was the repeatable version. But, given that the man had thanked her twice for saving him from certain trampledom, she elected to bite her tongue.

"Well, you're welcome," she replied. Then, with a half smile, she added, "But I'm not from this area. I'm from Zeltiva, and I've only just arrived in Syliras. I'm working here as a seamstress and designer." The last bit slipped out without her meaning for it to -- her mother had always emphasized mentioning one's craft at every opportunity.

"Anyway, you're with the Knights?" Well, that made a bit more sense, given that that organization seemed to place a premium on a simplistic view of the world, where most rational people saw things a little less...idealistically. Her attention was momentarily caught by the tattoo. An odd design, not one she recognized as symbolizing anything. But it wasn't polite to ask about someone's tattoos two minutes after meeting them, even if you had just saved their life, and Angelabeth was doing a good enough job at being polite that she'd hate to go and ruin it now.

Which was also the reason that she didn't ask So where did you come from? She'd said where she was from, and he'd probably respond in kind; at any rate, she didn't trust herself to ask the question without sounding sarcastic, so she chose to let it go for the moment.
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Gossamer on August 9th, 2009, 5:38 am

Both conversed quietly not realizing that a dead-end alley off a main street might be somewhat dangerous. In any other city it would hold certain dangers. In Sunberth, they'd both be already dead. In Ravok, they'd be put to work instantly without being given a chance to protest that they already had jobs. But in Syliras, there was little to worry about in terms of crime. The city itself was filled with knights and populated by the relations of knights and those that served them. Crime was extremely rare, though it was that way because of the blood sweat and tears the knights themselves had shed over the years.

Instead of certain death or enslavement, the alley contained one lonely old woman hesitating at its brink, peering out into the crowd hurrying down the street. She turned and gazed at the two as they came tumbling out of the crowd as if the gods themselves had tossed her a cookie.

"Ah! Young people. Listen listen.... I need to get a piece of that pottery! Do you know the only available Varniak Ceramic pieces are now being auctioned off not more than a block away? My old bones can't take that crowd though. But it's always been my fondest wish to go get a piece. I have a fortune here... will you two go bid on something for me? I'm Dotty Parasia - I own the boarding house here. I so wanted a piece to go in my hutch. Oh, say you two will go bid for me!" She said, advancing (with her cane) on the young couple. She hooked the cane in the crook of her arm and rested a hand on each of their shoulders.

"I know you have the strength to negotiate the crowds. I'll make it worth your while. I promise."
She said firmly, her piercing green eyes glittering even though she smelled of peppermint and lye.
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Jarek Walten on August 10th, 2009, 2:57 am

As the crowd moved further in the distance, the air seemed resettle in the busy street.
A fresh breeze of pure air fell upon the street, as it no longer held the muffled diluted smell of city air. Soft sounds slowly crept from the crowd of people. As the two conversed it seemed they were the center of some attention.

Some eyes watched them, while others just gazed onwards at the spectacle ahead. It was a chance at a memory, a chance at a small piece of history.

Jarek kept his upright posture as he let her words roll over him. At her comment of profession and location he inclined his head in a simple nod. His sandy blond hair cast just above his pure blue eyes as he did so. Sunlight cast down playfully on his lanky country built frame.

A small smile remained on his lips as he spoke,

"I'm from these parts, small farm out in the country as it were. Seamstress is a fine trade though, a very fine trade."

At her other comment Jarek let his shoulders sink ever so slightly. His gaze slightly shifting as his feet shuffled a bit awkwardly.

"Not as yet, but I'm hoping to join them."

He had little encounters with the knights, and knew very little about the process of joining them. He had a dream though, as bright in his mind as when he was a child. That he
would one day sit on top of a great warhorse, armor glowing, and sword shimmering in the sunlight. Then, as if the fates himself heard him. A chance for heroism.

As if Yahal himself heard him, a old woman, in need of a strong arm to aid her came forth. It was a chance to prove strength, to prove purity, and to prove most of all that Jarek had what it took to be a knight. Without a word or question Jarek nodded his head,

"No problem Ma'am, we will be happy to help."

It never crossed his mind that she might be up to no good, or that his new companion might not want to help a elder. Jarek did chores for neighbors all the time back on the farm, and de assumed city life was much the same. To top it off, he finally had a chance to prove to the knights he was worthy of wearing the mantle of protector. It seemed the fates were with him.
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Re: While Supplies Last (Open)

Postby Angelabeth Dunkirk on August 10th, 2009, 8:40 pm

Angelabeth was used to Zeltiva, perhaps the only place in Mizahar that could compare to Syliras in safety, and so the possible danger never occurred to her. She stifled a smile at Jarek's answer -- of course he was from a small farm. It was either that, or he was an idiot, after all.

Then she heard the old woman and turned. It seemed as if this whole fuss had been over collectible ceramics (although Angelabeth neither knew nor cared who or what Varniak might have been). She opened her mouth, ready to tell the old woman that she really should have thought about lining up someone to purchase this stuff for her before the riot started, but Jarek had already jumped in. And, wouldn't you know it, he was not only volunteering himself, but her as well. Maybe he should go back and amend his statement to say that the only things worth getting worked up for were family, faith, and helping random old ladies who came out of nowhere to ask favors.

She was just about to start arguing with him when it occurred to her that the old woman had said something about a fortune, owning a boarding house, and making this whole escapade 'worth their while.' Quite what that meant was open to question -- it might be a copper miza and a piece of hackneyed advice. But it was interesting enough that she cut off her objection before it began.

Anyway, Jarek would probably do the hard work, and her curiosity was now up enough. So she just nodded in agreement and waited for the old woman to give them some more instructions, or the money, or whatever else they needed before they went off. And Jarek had better look where he was going this time. She wasn't going to knock him over twice in one day to cover for his inattention.
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