• Solo • Bazaar Encounter

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Neronin
Posts: 411
Joined: Tue Jan 10, 2017 4:34 pm
Race: Human
Profession: Mage
Renown: 210
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Wealth Tier: Tier 5

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Bazaar Encounter

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716th Arc, 39th Trial of Zi'da
The Outerperimeter


The Bazaar seemed a perfect place to observe humanity in all it's glory. Though the premise was humble, those who strut through the place's winding streets and stalls walked with anything but humility. Neronin found the mix of the downtrodden and privileged, the young and the old, the smart and the ambitious, one of the best places to observe the spectrum he had to work with. He knew, being a self-aware sort of man, that he fell somewhere within that spectrum. The Etzosi often wandered the place trying to define the exact place in which he belonged.

He was less boisterous than that fellow. This woman carried herself with less grace. The child atop that barrel was probably at least as keen an observer, Neronin saw the two purses he already had in his hands and gathered his protectively in his hand. It was not out of some need to validate himself. No, he did not feel the need to validate himself to anyone. It was more an exercise in understanding his limitations. Pride was the weapon of the warrior, but realism was the weapon of the tactician. He always sought realism, as thin a veil of delusion between his mind and the world.

As Neronin walked amongst the stalls and small shops, weaving through the bustling crowds, he noticed something different as well. There was a decidedly palpable tension in the Bazaar. Soldiers were about as common in Etzos as rats. This had been a fact of life for as long as Neronin could remember. But here there was almost a tension between them. He saw two groups, the Army and the Black Guard both patrolling the Bazaar. As the city was the domain of the Black Guard and the surrounding area was, traditionally, the domain of whichever element of the Army was in residence, the Bazaar was somewhere in between. It was a grey area between two factions who dealt mostly in absolutes. That brought with it an energy that Neronin could feel.

Members of these two groups eyed each other, seizing the other up in a way that Neronin had grown all to familiar with growing up at least partially on the streets of Etzos. It was a predatory look. Neronin did not want to be in the space between two such predators, but he doubted they would descend to violence. So he stayed and paced his way through the stalls.

The necromancer stopped at a cloth merchant. Boeing a practical man who sought durability and longevity he immediately moved his attention to her selection of wools. He was hardly the avid shopper, frugality being a survival tactic he had developed early on. But clothing was one thing you could not pass up, if the opportunity arose. He moved through the selection of thick woolen overcoats and the arrayed shirts beneath. He had a coat already, and one was certainly enough for someone of his means. the mage eventually decided to purchase two black woolen shirts and one un-dyed woolen shirt.

He had just retrieved from his belt the purse in which he kept his modest spending coin when he felt an impact on his back. The blow thrust him into the piles of clothes and he felt his purse topple. Neronin snarled in indignation as he rounded on the perpetrator.

Purchase
ItemModifierCost
Black Woolen Shirt x.5 - black dye, x2.2 - wool, x2.7 - total(8 SN x 2.7) 2 GN 1 SN 6 CN
Black Woolen Shirt x.5 - black dye, x2.2 - wool, x2.7 - total(8 SN x 2.7) 2 GN 1 SN 6 CN
Un-dyed Woolen Shirt x2.2 - wool, x2.2 - total (8 SN x 2.2) 1 GN 7 SN 6 CN
Total - 6 GN 1 SN 8 CN
[/color]
word count: 678
User avatar
Neronin
Posts: 411
Joined: Tue Jan 10, 2017 4:34 pm
Race: Human
Profession: Mage
Renown: 210
Character Sheet
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Wealth Tier: Tier 5

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Bazaar Encounter

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Three hard looking men in armor and Army regalia. Only the nearest deemed to look back at Neronin, and that was probably due more to his training than any real concern over a threat of retaliation. "Watch where you stand, boy." He rumbled, his tone antagonizing in it's confidence, enraging in its humor. Neronin watched him with a withering look, wishing more than anything that he could turn the man into a creature of his will.

Neronin turned to the cloth merchant, pale with rage. She eyed him apprehensively. Something about his eerie pallor and the clearly defined anger etched into his face. She quickly held out a silent hand, more than ready to end the transaction. Neronin collected a handful of cousins from within the recesses of cloth, he wasn't sure if it was all of it, but his anger was a haze. It kept him from thinking clearly in the moment. He thrust a handful of coins into her hand and snatched up the shirts. There was nothing he could realistically do, but his anger refused to let him abide such a slight. His lack of ability festered in him as he dogged the soldiers' footsteps.

He was a civilian and unarmed. There was no means by which he could exact any sort of vengeance upon them, but he followed still. The frustration with his own helplessness keeping any logical planning at bay. Neronin simply kept them in sight, hatefully watching their every swaggering step.

Eventually they bought some dried meats and a bottle of some dark liquor from a street vendor. Neronin ignored the vendor, who appealed to him by waving a bit of dried pork in his face, and followed the three down a narrow gap between two shops. They came out on a semi deserted gap between the row of shops they had left and a large stable. It was an area where shopkeepers could store some of their excess supplies when they had no room to display them on the busy boulevard. The soldiers were the only occupants besides a lethargic donkey and two goats. Neronin watched them carefully from where he crouched between two crates of clay bowls protected by bundles of straw.

He was just wondering what the hell he would do when a voice behind him made him jump.

"Hey, what are you doing creeping around back here? Theft is a crime, you know."

Neronin turned in horror, his heart faltering with a wild beat upon his ribs. His eyes caught upon two young, flinty eyed militia of the Black Guard. They bore the unmistakable signs of Etzosi commoners who found a better fortune in the city guard. They did not yet have boots that fit, the toes cut open to let their dirty phalanges breath. They both carried knives and spears that had clearly been repaired before. Neither seemed older than he. But age did not equate experience in Etzos. Both carried themselves with the subtle arrogance of the streets. He had grown up watching such figures stroll down the dark twilit ways of the city as if they owned the place. Where a noble may have an arrogance of blood, those who made the alleys and dives their home had an arrogance of the bloodied. These two may not have seen any battles, but Neronin did not doubt that they had seen their fair share of conflict.

He was in a bad place, stuck between blades. The soldiers had noticed the commotion and were now hurriedly making their way over. Their hands flew to their swords. Hard eyes told Neronin that these three were at least willing to kill. His situation had deteriorated fast. He knew the soldiers held no sympathy for him. Even now they might have recognized him. His only chance was to appeal to the Black Guard in hopes they would come to his defense. His chances, while woefully slim, were bolstered by the conflict between the two groups.
word count: 672
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