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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

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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Old Soul
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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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