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Artigan

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

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Things that Whir

Postby Minnim on April 14th, 2017, 8:11 pm

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22nd of Spring, 517 AV

It was a shame there weren't many places to sit in the People's Market. It was a wonderful place to observe otherwise.

People from all walks came about, with bright or dull colors, long-laced boots or bare feet, made up faces or jagged hair. The contrast was almost a theme in itself. Minnim loved to watch the people. Sometimes it was about eyeing a new vessel, though he could never kill someone in seriousness. Sometimes it was about scouting for mages who might be wiling to teach Minnim something. But other times, and the majority of times, it was just about observing life.

However fun it was, Minnim's body was old and unused to the great effort that staying on his feet all day took. His feet ached dully and his eyes sagged worse than usual in their sockets. In short, Minnim was worn out.

It took him nearly 10 chimes to find a spot to sit, which is a very long time indeed when you are tired. By the time he had been able to collapse into a chair with a groan, he hardly noticed anyone around him. Even when the woman beside him huffed in irritation at his intrusion, Minnim paid no mind. He merely leaned back and closed his eyes, groaning audibly.

"I'm too old for this shyke." He told no one in particular.

With that, the rest of the tables' occupants rose and left the area, whispering amongst themselves in a disgruntled tone.

Good. Now I can be alone. Maybe rest for a tick...
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Minnim
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Things that Whir

Postby Artigan Crowley on April 14th, 2017, 10:27 pm

“You’d be surprised, really. Seems like something that should be common.”

“I’d say so! The first person to buy salt today, really?”

“Aye, that’s the case. Some people just don’t mind shyke food, I suppose.”

“Not here, my friend. Give me three pounds if the day’s been that dry for you.”

“Hah!” The merchant shook his head as he laughed. “Strange fellow, you are. But I ain’t complaining. That’ll be four silver, eight copper.”

Artigan fished the coins out of his pocket and handed them over, receiving a three-pound bag of salt in return. At his side, Druva sensed that they were getting ready to leave and stood, her tail wagging in anticipation.

“Don’t eat it all at once,” the merchant advised with a chuckle.

“I’ll do my best, but no promises,” Artigan shot back.

“Cheeky bastard. Get outta here.”

Artigan left the salt merchant behind, flipping open his notebook to cross salt off his list––making the list of salt, honey and apples complete. Each were accounted for in his backpack, which theoretically meant he had no more business in the People’s Market.

But Rhysol’s breath, the market was alive today, and Druva was enjoying the air immensely. Thorin had let him off early for lack of projects, and so it wasn’t as if he was expected anywhere else. If they were to leave, they would inevitably go home to a cramped apartment with nothing entertaining at all to do except sleep.

A lunch outdoors, then. It would give him a chance to watch the ravosalas, which he’d been meaning to do since his last trip to shore.

Artigan doubled back briefly to buy a loaf of bread and hunk of cheese, then made his way toward the edge of the market where he could watch the canals. He knew for a fact that there were a few tables to be found there, where hobby-gamblers would gather late in the day to play cards and dice.

Artigan arrived at his destination at the exact moment someone else did. Even from a few yards away, the young gadgeteer could see that all the tables were occupied in some degree or another, but didn’t have to wait long for an opening––before his eyes, an old man took up one of the last remaining chairs available, said something to his neighbors, and made the whole rest of the table rise simultaneously to find another place to sit.

Artigan grinned at the serendipity, pulling Druva’s leash toward the nearly-empty table. The man didn’t look nearly as disagreeable as the people he’d flushed out, and besides, Artigan just had to know what he’d said to them.

“Hello, sir!” Artigan said as he sat down opposite the old man, tying his dog’s leash to one leg of the chair. “I’m not sure what magic words you used to get this table, but I wish I had it myself. Mind if I join you for lunch? I suppose it’s a pointless question since I’ve already sat down, but it feels polite to ask all the same. I’ve bread and cheese to share if you feel peckish, and a bit of honey to spread if that’s your taste.”

debit-1sm for 1pt honey
-4.8sm for 3lbs salt
-1gm for 1lb dried apples
-2cm for loaf of bread
-1sm for hunk of cheese
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Artigan Crowley
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Things that Whir

Postby Minnim on May 19th, 2017, 4:28 pm

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Minnim opened one eye, peering at his newest bother. The man prattled on as if he didn't care who listened, instead talking for his own benefit. He was a typical youth, in Minnim's eyes.

Sadly, he had been practicing his Hypnotism just the night before, and felt that perhaps it was best not to use it today. So, he was stuck with the old fashioned method of communication.

"The magic words?" Minnim laughed breathlessly. The irony was not wasted on the mage. "There's no magic to it, son. Quite the opposite. No one wants to sit around someone who smells like death. Especially not while they're eating." He pointed a crooked finger at the food the man offered in demonstration.

"In fact, I'm surprised you've sat down at all. Must be very tired, hmm?" Or stupid. "Maybe you could use something sweet for your energy. I know they sell excellent honey-candies down the way that'll really perk you up. I could get you one."

The offer was mostly an attempt to get away, but it was genuine nonetheless. Minnim didn't eat much as it was generally a waste of time, but he did love the taste of sweets. Honey, sugar, and syrups all sated that feeling of nothingness that living without prupose often created, if only for a moment.

"Or, I think I heard of a- Shyke! What's that thing doing here?" Minnim nearly jumped out of his seat as soon as he noticed the dog sniffling at the air under the table. Generally, animals did not take well to Nuit, and so the Nuit reacted in part. Of course, pets were less dangerous to the undead than wild animals, but the alarm Minnim felt was the same.

"Are you allowed to bring that here?" He asked, examining the dog with a suspicious but increasingly curious look. "I mean, by Rhysol, isn't it a health hazard? Look, it's feet must be filthy, and that fur...all these people eating..." Minnim shivered in disgust, folding his hands onto his lap away from the dog's reach."Maybe we should wait on the candies until you get that home."
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Minnim
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Things that Whir

Postby Artigan Crowley on June 1st, 2017, 5:45 pm

His new companion didn’t react immediately. The old man opened a single eye to regard Artigan for a moment, then pointed a crooked finger at him.

Smell? Artigan hadn’t noticed it sitting down, but… wait. Yes, he could actually smell something. Something old and dusty, and just a tad bit moldy. Although it vaguely disgusted him, Artigan was also intrigued; was this man simply against bathing, or was the odor a cultivated scheme to remain unbothered?

The young man didn’t quite get the chance to ask it, because the stranger began suggesting sweets from up the market – right before yelping at the sight of Druva.

“What, her?” Artigan asked, bemused. “You smell odd. She’s curious. Here, Druva.” He tugged on the leash and brought her closer to his side, where she wouldn’t be tempted to stick her nose where is clearly wasn’t wanted.

“Her feet?” Artigan laughed. “Of course her feet are dirty. We’re outside. Your feet are dirty. My feet are dirty. She’s walked where I have walked, but her feet are no dirtier than yours or mine. If you’re worried about her fur getting in your food, maybe don’t wipe your food on her back. She’s trained; she won’t jump into your business. Isn’t that right, Druva?”

Artigan pulled her head into his lap, where he scratched her head and ears lovingly. Her tail began wagging and she closed her eyes contentedly, far more interested in affection than an odd smell.

“There,” the young gadgeteer said. “I’ll keep her over here and she won’t get into that food you don’t have. I promise.”

Looking down at her fondly, Artigan’s thought began to wander to the past.

“She’s good, this one. I’d have more if I had the space, but you know Ravok. Barely space for the people. Sometimes I wonder if I’d have made a good veterinarian if gadgeteering hadn’t found me first, but who knows? I trust Rhysol that I’m on the right path, and gears and metal aren’t so bad. Isn’t that right, girl?”

Druva looked up at his face, happy to be talked to directly, and nosed his hand for more attention.

“So,” Artigan commented. “This ‘smell of death’ of yours, is it deliberate or are you just morally against hygiene?”
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Artigan Crowley
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