Twelfth
01-23-08, 08:28 PM
`I'd been to the marketplace a few times before with my father but the sheer size of The Bazaar is utterly...well, daunting, I guess, is the word I'd use. I've only come here for one thing but I've been sidetracked constantly. Apothecaries, armories, butcher shops, road side carts, and even some stores that sold things I couldn't puzzle out. The sheer variety has been one part of the problem, but another has been the people. At least twice in the two hours I've been stuck here the crowd moving down the street stopped and packed so tight I could barely breathe. The reason, I'd heard, was stray cattle, but a handful of times I felt someone's hand go for my wallet. If I could have gotten my sword, I have made made sure they'd have begun to consider honest work. It's a decidedly different world from the tranquil cold of Salvar...`
Tyr tapped the tip of his pen several times against the sheaf of paper he held in his hand, blotting the period that had marked the end of his thought in an uneven black splatter. The brick wall of a printer's shop pressed against his back, and the crowd that he had begun to develop something of a disdain for milled around him, carrying bundles of this or that in their arms. Fiddling with his pen, he stared blankly across the street for a few moments, lost in thought. He was fairly sure the armory he'd finally come across in his meanderings had what he wanted, but he supposed the only way to make sure was to go in and ask. After visiting seven of them and getting the same answer, his patience was starting to wear thin.
Stowing away the pad and pen, the swordsmen grunted as he pushed off the wall and walked forward towards the crowd, stretching his stiff legs. A shoulders thumped into his, and he pushed back with equal force. He'd learned some time ago the only way to deal with these people was to be about as ignorant as them. Before he reached the shop, his feet had been stepped on three times, and he found himself thankful for the steel toes in his boots.
"I'm uh, looking for a polearm," Tyr announced when he was finally inside the shop, glancing around nervously. The trip into the Bazaar had frazzled his nerves, and it was showing in his tired face.
"More specifically, a trident. I've only got two hundred gold pieces on me, though."
Tyr tapped the tip of his pen several times against the sheaf of paper he held in his hand, blotting the period that had marked the end of his thought in an uneven black splatter. The brick wall of a printer's shop pressed against his back, and the crowd that he had begun to develop something of a disdain for milled around him, carrying bundles of this or that in their arms. Fiddling with his pen, he stared blankly across the street for a few moments, lost in thought. He was fairly sure the armory he'd finally come across in his meanderings had what he wanted, but he supposed the only way to make sure was to go in and ask. After visiting seven of them and getting the same answer, his patience was starting to wear thin.
Stowing away the pad and pen, the swordsmen grunted as he pushed off the wall and walked forward towards the crowd, stretching his stiff legs. A shoulders thumped into his, and he pushed back with equal force. He'd learned some time ago the only way to deal with these people was to be about as ignorant as them. Before he reached the shop, his feet had been stepped on three times, and he found himself thankful for the steel toes in his boots.
"I'm uh, looking for a polearm," Tyr announced when he was finally inside the shop, glancing around nervously. The trip into the Bazaar had frazzled his nerves, and it was showing in his tired face.
"More specifically, a trident. I've only got two hundred gold pieces on me, though."