Open Roleplay:Deity's Grip; A Storyteller's Gambit

[engelbert]

The day was fair, though cloudy, and people had flocked into the streets on this busy trade day. Traders and merchants could be heard shouting from every direction; cries of ‘bargains’ and ‘quality goods’ ringing through the air.

It was on these crowded streets of Deity’s Grip that Engelbert had decided to earn his way for the day. He had set himself a small area of space beside the tavern named ‘The Pig’s Shackle’ and a small gathering of people had stopped to watch his antics. The tavern itself had been carefully chosen by Engelbert and it was no mere coincidence that he had chosen this place. The building was set well away from the shipping area of the port and so there were less fish traders in the area. Because of this it seemed much cleaner than those frequented by the sailors that journeyed daily to and from the port especially due to the wonderfully scented air from the herb stalls. The tavern owners had even gone as far as to whitewash the outer walls.

Before him there was a strip of cloth roughly a yard in length lying on the cobbled street. It was made of different squares of colour with a picture embroidered in the center. The picture was simple a large spiral that was about a hands width in diameter with space in the middle for what appeared to be a Pegasus. The embroidering was all in white and stood out starkly from the darker colours of the cloth.

Engelbert looked out towards the small gathering and gave a sly wink as he further prepared himself. He removed the light hooded cloak that he had been wearing for warmth and placed it on the ground. A gasp escaped the throat of a young girl in the crowd as the clothing he had been concealing was now fully in view. The dark linen trousers and dark tan boots he wore were nothing special, but the tunic that swaithed his upper-half was quite something. It was made from a variety of different coloured silks striped vertically. Though some of the colours clashed violently with his head of flame-red hair, the effect it gave was able to stop yet more passers by in their tracks.

Engelbert turned and flamboyantly bowed showing that, despite his old age of roughly 50 years, he was still lithe enough to impress a crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, then after taking note of the youngsters in the crowd of roughly 20 people, “and children of all ages. I have come from lands far from here; lands of grief and loss and lands of love and loyalty.”

He paused to add dramatic effect before continuing. His voice carried well, an effect heightened by the fact that he had previously bribed the nearest traders into keeping their voices down when he began.

“I come here to share with you a tale of wonder. Unfortunately I am a poor soul and I have spent what little I have to get here to entertain you my dear companions. Won’t any of you buy an old man a drink so that he may wet his throat and begin his tale?”

Children anxiously tugged at their father’s sleeves at this point. The scene made Engelbert smile. Before long one pestered soul stepped forward and nodded.

“Aye Friend, I’ll spare you some coin,” the gentlemen said in a gruff voice. He disappeared for a moment into the tavern and returned shortly with a tin mug of ale.

“Thankyou kindly Sir,” Engelbert thanked him. He took a long draught of the liquid and grinned, “May Aeiseth bless your soul for all eternity.”

“Now… For my tale…”

Engelbert then begin his story and told of a young Elven Maiden that had been stolen by a griffon. Said maiden was then rescued by a young Elf that had always loved her and, as fairytales such as these usually go, they fell in love, and lived happily ever after. When he finished he was met with a wave of applause and many of the children ran forth with copper coins which they gingerly placed onto the strip of cloth.
Engelbert watched, his face wearing a benevolent smile as he thanked everyone that stepped forward.

[Aux-ash]

There was no wonder why high boots had been suggested, almost a necessity considering the filth, mud and sewage covering the cobbles. The humans did not seem to care about it though, nor did they seem to mind the stink. Perhaps their sense of smell was too poor to notice?

The city was truly alien, not only were it filthy but the streets were covered in rocks. It was not a pleasant experience to walk across them with feet unused to it. The fundaments of the buildings appeared to be made out of rock as well before shifting into dead wood higher up. Endless rows of them too, all sticking together. Finding ones way proved not to be the easiest of tasks.

Phy'cuenye had been walking for the majority of the day, trying to find the blacksmith, only to find himself getting lost and confused by the human city. He was certain he had been in that part before, the signs on the shops seemed very familiar. This was certainly the last time he helped a friend pick up goods in a human city.

With an annoyed sigh he leaned on a wall trying to decide which route to try out next. If he walked straight ahead and then left perhaps? Or should he try the right road?
While in the middle of his thoughts he started to overhear the storyteller sitting around the corner.
The tall elf took a few steps around the corner and peered at the man, listening to the story. Hopefully the hood would conceal the scars and old wounds so that he would not have to endure peering eyes and the comments of children.

[Valalerin]

A peculiar scent wafted through the air at that moment... It turned a few heads as it was quite overpowering, but at the same time confusing... It had an aroma similar to freshly cut grass, but also like cherries. Attention soon turned to an average looking man forcing his way through the large crowd of people, but he wasn’t entirely average.
He was carrying a woven basket, covered with a dainty piece of cotton cloth. It was quite the contrast to the man himself, he seemed fairly masculine. Black hair kept short with frequent visits to the barbers, and a rugged beard that lacked the precision of his hair. He was wearing a dark green linen shirt that almost looked too small for him, and the colour had faded somewhat on the back and around the armpits... His trousers were of the same dark green, but they seemed in fairly good condition bar the scratches and loose ends.
His boots were a sight... Thick, black, leather boots. Big enough to fit a pair of guinea pigs in with room to spare, caked in a thick layer of drying mud. The right boot looked bigger than the left one... Copper, or perhaps bronze, buckles held them tight to his feet - They were quite clearly made for walking through some nasty terrain.
As he forced his way through the crowd one of the onlookers was struck in the eye by the hilt of a sword, the one across his back. It looked like a narrow broadsword, a scabbard made of wood bound together with scraps of leather. But, man quite clearly ignored the inconvenience he was causing and continued to force his way through the crowd carrying his woven basket, his dainty cloth smelling of sweet flora and a wooden implement that looked like an arms-length ‘L’...

Finally he stopped but a few feet from the old storyteller.
“Bugger...” he muttered to himself, though he didn’t seem to hide that he said it. His face was in plain view, he was dressed with a purpose, and the purpose was apparently to go foraging for whatever was in his fragile little basket... Leather straps were around each of his knees keeping his trousers tight to him, the gloves on his hands were made of thick tanned leather. People finally grasped who he was. A herb gatherer... A job for people hardier than most would think. Fighting through an overgrown forest against all manner of wildlife and fauna searching for a specific plant so as to race home and sell it fresh...

“Well... Old man...” he muttered, giving a fairly hostile stare to the gentleman who had finished his story.
“It seems you’ve stumbled across my usual gambit...” he tugged on a leather strap going over his shoulder to keep his sword in place, then he grasped the strange wooden L and positioned it under his arm, holding it against his side.
“Nevermind... But just so you know, whatever you’re selling can’t beat what I’m selling” he grinned, a slight look of mischief in his eye. He took a few steps across the path and stood at the corner of the bar before sitting down and placing his L on the floor next to him. With a crowd gathering to find what this peculiar scent was he slowly nudged the basket forwards, people leaning in to see what it was...

When he unveiled the fruits of his labour many seemed underwhelmed, but a select few gasped loudly. They were odd looking plants... Like straight bananas without the skin. They were held ever so gently by a highly padded inside to this little woven basket. These little plants were fresh and firm... And they were also incredibly fragile... Not to mention a vital ingredient in virtually every beauty product sold. Facial cream, wart cream, foot cream, hair cream, nose cream... These plants were held as miracles for the skin.

“My wares do not come cheap, fellows, eight silver coins each!” he announced to the crowd, pulling the basket close to himself and leaning back against the corner of the tavern. Several people lunged forward upon hearing this and huddled around him, fumbling through their coin bags and purses to buy the perfectly formed wonders before they were all gone.
As the crowd were shouting absurd haggles and a mass of praise the man turned to look at the storyteller, grinning cheekily in a manner whereas he might as well have wandered up to him and laughed at him. But this was Boris... And Boris was a clever gatherer. A clever gatherer indeed.

[engelbert]

Engelbert watched as the disheveled stranger approached with his basket. He had been hoping to continue with an Ode he had written about the lost Elven Princess but it would seem that poetry would have to wait.
His assumption was proved correct by the man's challenging words and hostile expression. He wasn't foolish enough to rise and challenge an armed man with only children between them though. Nor would he ever be so foolish as to challenge a clearly armed man when he was unarmed himself.
Engelbert gave a wan smile as the crowd dispersed, driven away either by the pushing crowd or the knowledge that no further entertainment could be had with such a racket going on in the background. He resigned himself to gathering up his cloth with today's gathering and set himself to counting it. It didn't take long nor did it amount to much and he was thankful that he wouldn't have to pay his way for the evening.
Engelbert gave the rude gentleman that had interrupted one last disdainful stare before turning to walk away. He was stopped though by a pair of small children. A young blonde boy that seemed to be about the age of 7 and a younger brunette girl that hid shyly behind him.
"Is it true he saved her?" the young lad chirped and Engelbert's expression softened. He gave a wry chuckle and stooped to retrieve his cloak from the floor beside him.
"Of course Boy. Where would we be without heroes?" Engelbert replied as he fastened the clasp about his neck. He had to raise his voice almost to a shout so that he could be heard above the crowd as some particularly loud bids were made.

[Aux-ash]

Phy'cuenye had been listening with interest for quite some time when the stranger had appeared and started with his demands. That the humans interest in the poems had shifted faster than a griffon pouncing its prey had been astounding, that histories of old quickly drowned under the weight of commersialism. They were indeed a odd people, some were intruging and stirred curiosity. Like the elder with the stories. While others seemed utterly dull, like most of the audience who had given up as soon as something new had entered their sphere of perception.

The tall elf stopped leaning towards the wall and brushed off some dust from his cloak. Carefully eyeing the moving crowd, choosing the best path before plunging into the river of humans moving across the streets. With a decisive step he started to move out, through the crowd, trying to avoid stepping on anyone but still maintaining his chosen heading.

Aproaching the elder he started to speak, he knew enough about the human languages to speak without trouble. Albeit in a peculiar way and with a heavy accent.. Hopefully the man would have traveled far enough that this would not hinder them from understanding each others.

I call humbly upon your attention, you who have travelled many paths.
I overheard the stories you told and it intruiged me. Might I inquire if you have ever encountered a scald commited to the Vushen'ai. I believe I noticed a resemblance between your stories and the third song.

Phy'cuenye was keeping his eye fixed on the man, the hood was almost blocking his vision but he had no intent of brushing it aside. It probably made his old wound attract much less attention and that was soemthign he was grateful of.

[engelbert]

Engelbert turned as a polite voice made itself heard to the side of him. He raised an eyebrow questioningly which melted away after the question was asked by the stranger. He must obviously be Elven, that much was clear by his accent, but Engelbert was unable to place the exact origin of that accent. He had too little knowledge of their lands.

"Alas Friend, my tales were picked up mostly in the lands of Duke Stronghelm across the seas. I have spent very little time in the wondrous cities of Eshent'ur," he replied before hesitating for a moment. "Nor those of Nerek'thaler," he concluded quietly.

The Elf was an odd one it seems and Engelbert could not help but wonder the reasoning of his secrecy. It was not so cool a day that wrapping up in such a way was necessary. Perhaps the Elf was merely concerned about his appearance. Engelbert had spent enough time in trade towns to notice the distinct attraction between human women and the handsome Elven visitors. Regardless of whether this feeling of attraction was returned by the unfortunate fellows.

"If it suits you though Sir, i could share a few more of my tales?" he asked, perking up at the thought of company.

[Aux-ash]

The offer was a intriguing one, to share in a number of stories was defiantly a good way to spend some time. Unfortunately time was not some he had in large amounts at the moment.

I would be delighted in sharing a fair few stories with you. Unfortunately I came here with a errand I have yet to complete, I was merely trying to find my way when I overheard your story.

Phy'cuenye eyed the man and then spoke again

But it seems I experience disorientation when trying to travel across the city. Perhaps you could aid me in finding the blacksmith known as Herrich? After which we could share those stories.

[Valalerin]

The boom of interest about the man’s goods had finally died down – He had sold out. And he had made quite the sum of money. He joyfully poured the mound of gold and silver into his basket and folded the cloth over it. Looking around for an inn he noticed one across the road, The Vile Flagon. It seemed as vile as the name would imply, the walls were covered with fungi, and the roof was sliding gradually off its support… Even the door looked like it might fall off if it were to be opened.
Grimacing at the thought of staying in such a rotten inn despite his money he turned to the old man he had seen earlier… He was old, he must’ve lived here for a while, he should know where a good inn is. Although he did push him aside… Nevermind.

“Hey, bard” he called, rising to his feet with all his belongings stuffed in the basket. He took a few dishevelled steps toward the elderly man, dodging a rushing Anja carrying a small wicker box, he gave a nervous smile. Glancing at the Elf he shrugged off the stranger as just that and outstretched a hand toward the storyteller,
“No hard feelings about earlier, it’s not be all and end all, is it?”
Realising he was still wearing his fruit-stained gloves he quickly withdrew his hand and took them off, stuffing them in his basket revealing quite a sum… Enough to buy a copper sword. He fumbled around in the basket for a while before extending his hand once again to the elderly man.
His hands seemed fairly coarse, but that is no surprise considering the work he must go through picking so many plants. Gloves are perhaps not helping either; no ‘miracle fruit’ can make his hands softer. Still, better a rough hand than a slimy hand…

[engelbert]

Engelbert was about to reply to the mysterious Elf when the ungracious herb seller once more made his presence known.
Engelbert sighed inwardly at this arrogant show of reconciliation though outwardly his face was void of emotion. It would take more than a feigned apology to gain his respect and he was intent on showing that he thought so.

Engelbert glanced at the gloveless, outstretched hand then back to the stranger's face. Without reaching out to return the handshake he merely uttered the single word, "Indeed." His tone was flinty and lacked any form of warmth.

Turning back to the Elf, Engelbert forced a rueful smile. "I know not of this blacksmith, but i know a man who will," he answered.

[Aux-ash]

There were a number of things Phy'cuenye did not enjoy, one of them was being interrupted and then not apologized to. The herb salesman was defiantly making sure to find new ways to annoy him, and he was very successful. He seemed unaware though, or possibly too arrogant to realize the repercussions of his actions.
Some more modest or shy individuals might shrug it off, but he was most certainly not going to simply ignore being viewed as a lesser creature. Glaring at the herb salesman he hissed a mild insult.

T´ciov'ah'na!

If the herb salesman knew any elven at all he would know that an apology was demanded. If not, Phy'cuenye could at least be amused over the man trying and failing to understand.

The elf turned his gaze back to the man and smirked as he shrugged the arrogant human off. After such a display it would not matter if a apology was presented.
Once his fellow conversationalist returned the attention to himself he nodded.
I would be very grateful if you were to present me to this man. Once done I am sure we could enjoy each other's collected knowledge and stories

[Zachariah]

The door of the Pig's Shackle opened quietly, and two men stepped out. One in a black robe, hood pulled up so only his pale, smirking mouth could be seen. In his hands he clutched a beaten, possibly waterlogged book with faded gold lettering on the cover and spine, now illegible. Behind him was a tall, gaunt man in a brown robe. He had no hood, so his short brown hair and fair amount of stubble could be seen bordering his firm expression. The pair walked clear of the doorway and began to speak in a hushed manner, the black-robed fellow often motioning to his book as he spoke.

"Alright," Said the brown-robed man, speaking audibly for some odd reason. "I'll buy it, I'll buy it. But your price..." The black-robed man chuckled. "The price is fair, sir. Zachariah never swindles his customers, just his suppliers." The brown-robed man sighed. "Alright, give it to me." The black-robed man handed the brown-robed one the book, who in turn dropped a few gleaming coins into the black-robed man's pale, waiting hand.
The brown robed man walked back into the inn, leaving Zachariah to count his spoils before dropping them in his leather pouch.

He was worried he would be recognized, given his hands had the large, black crisscrossing rectangles that the rest of his body did, but he'd had experience in close calls and awkward escapes. He turned his attention to a crowd, along with a few interesting-looking fellows, near him. "Hmm... an elf?" He muttered to himself. "Interesting."

[Valalerin]

The benign smile the man held on his face slowly slipped into a disappointed look of a man who was just denied kindness. Withdrawing his hand he overturned it to reveal that he held a gold coin in it, and was intending on handing it to the elderly man in apology.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover, bard…” he muttered, his face showed that he was evidently annoyed by how he couldn’t be cleverly kind. Then the Elf muttered something incoherent… He merely looked at him with a raised eyebrow and shrugged, then the two resumed conversation… Blatantly ignoring him.

“If you do not mind, fellows, I came here to ask a fairly specific question” he said with a raised voice, he clearly was not fond of the idea of being passed over. In fact, the very thought of being brushed aside offended him.
“Now then, are you going to show compassion for a fellow follower of the Duke, or will you throw me aside like some worthless stone?” he folded his arms, dropping the gold into his wicker basket, and gave a rather harsh glare. He looked beyond the bard and noticed a herb stand selling the same produce he was just selling, but for twice the price and half the quality. At first he gave a light laugh then, realizing he could’ve made much more money, frowned and cursed under his breath.

“Money-grabbing mongrels… Fair prices don’t cost people more than a gold for a damned fruit” he muttered to himself, staring furiously at the market stand.

[Zachariah]

Zachariah chuckled once more at hearing this from someone who appeared to be a merchant. "I've never had anyone get that way about prices with me..." He muttered to himself, finding that he was muttering to himself more often than usual that day. "Of course, nobody else really sells what I do." He expected, any moment, that the man to whom he had just sold that odd demonology-type book would come out with a band of ruffians to find and slay him.
Then again, he considered, perhaps the book was legitimate. He hadn't taken much time in reading it, and it looked generally legitimate from what he had seen. A hand went to his satchel, shaking it slightly to hear the satisfying jingle of coins. He'd always said you don't get money from selling fruits and cloth, you get money from selling what people with money want. And, of course, it helps to be the only one to sell it, since you dictate the price.

[engelbert]

Engelbert's opinion was unchanged by the show of gold.
"One cannot buy respect Young Man. Perhaps one day you'll learn that. Arrogance of a man's situation is uncalled for, as is trying to wash over the matter with a mere show of wealth," he told the merchant, "If you have a question then you had best ask it quickly Stranger. That, or walk and talk."
His tone had not yet warmed but he contained himself well. Experience had taught him well and he knew not to show too much emotion with those he disagreed with.
Engelbert gave a perfunctory nod in the direction of the elf before smiling a little.
"The man i spoke of lives no more than 5 minutes from here," he said, both to the Elf and the merchant.

[Valalerin]

The man’s look turned quick from one of confusion to a glare.
“Old man, you clearly are new to these parts, but around here friendly competition is classed as respect – As is offering someone some money without stipulation. Clearly you’re not from around here, so you are of no use to me. Good day” he spoke punctually and with a harsh tone. With clenched fists he whipped around and made his way toward a mysterious black-robed man stood outside the local tavern.
“Excuse me sir, I wouldn’t suppose you’re from around these parts?” he plunged his free hand into a pocket in his trousers and gave a light smile, it was only common courtesy.
“I asked that old bard over there but he seems to be going senile... I don’t suppose you’d know where…” he trailed off mid sentence and took his hand out of his pocket and to his chin, contemplating just what he should do…

A smirk slowly slipped across his face. He had lots of money… Why spend it all on a nice place to stay when he could buy something much more useful?
“Another scythe would be nice…” he quietly whispered to himself, gently rubbing the unkempt mess of his beard.
“I don’t suppose you’d know where the blacksmiths like to sell their goods around here?” he asked finally, the smirk washing away into a more benevolent smile, his hand moving to gently pat the wicker basket containing his glorious income. In Deity’s Grip, the rich live well.