Tangled Threads

Soltaevar Velca seeks the truth. [CLOSED]

Fellsgard is the foundation of Khy'eras' history and through reconstruction, it is now a vibrant and lively city. People reside here due to mild climate, opportunities, and safety and stability. Adventures often start from Fellsgard. Read more...
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

“Are you sure you want to press on?” Verlas said, as the sky began to dim. “We could make camp and head in early in the morning.”

“No offense, but I’d rather sleep off the ground tonight,”Sol replied, urging his horse to lengthen his stride. “There’s stables for the horses and somewhere we can grab a bite, yes?”

Verlas yawned and nodded. “Yes, alright. Let’s try to reach the fireflies soon. I don’t want to deal with the undead if I don’t have to.” She pushed her mount into a faster pace and led Sol to the city.

The sun had just slipped down into darkness as they reached the light of the fireflies. Sol thought he heard a shaky grunt behind him, but he ignored it except for pushing his horse a bit. A voice rang out with a command; Verlas answered in kind. Sol’s brain took a moment to catch up to hear and translate the Elvish. Verlas had answered the sentry’s call, and then added, {hello, brother} at the end.

A lithe, muscular elven man dropped to the ground in front of them. Verlas swung down and embraced him tightly but quickly. She spoke rapidly, Sol’s brain refusing to translate, until she said, “and this is Soltaevar Velca, who hired me,” holding out a hand in his direction.

The man nodded, and made a slight gesture of welcome. Sol returned the nod and slid off his horse to walk through the gates. Riding into town didn’t seem to be the done thing as a local, he guessed. The two walked to the stables and settled their horses in empty stalls. “We’ll settle up later,” yawned Verlas. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” Sol allowed, following Verlas up a series of steps to the aerial city. The sparkle of a passing Fae in the night lit his vision occasionally. His stomach lurched a bit, as it always did encountering beings for whom magic was as much a part of them as breathing. He tried to ignore the clenching, empty feeling. Verlas took him across several bridges and up another few stairs.

“Here we are,” Verlas said, gesturing at a collection of tables. A young Fae with purple-blue hair and raspberry colored wings flitted aimlessly around a counter at the far side. “Can we get a watch chef?” Verlas called to her. The Fae nodded and flew off. “Someone will be by soon and we can eat before we sleep.”

Sol nodded and sat on a stool pulled up to the table. He flopped down ungracefully and laid his forearms on the table. “Do you think I’d need to change into nicer clothes before I show up to Rem - Rembina Mélamar?” he mumbled.

Verlas snorted. “Not if you show them your coin purse first.” Sol grunted and laid his head on his forearms. Verlas yawned widely and stretched her arms out. Sol tried not to let his eyes rest on her breasts - but for a person who claimed not to be womanly, she certainly had some nice curves.

The fae from before flitted back, a glimmer of raspberry wings, with a stout Kerasoka woman in tow. “Two of you, then?” she asked in a gentle voice.

“Yes please. Neither of us are picky, we just need food after traveling,” Verlas answered for both of them. The woman nodded and walked to the kitchen area while gathering ingredients on the way. Soon the sound of cooking food sizzling in the heat reached Sol’s ears. He watched the woman move about the kitchen, not wanting to miss the food.

A light snore came from Verlas’s direction. She’d dozed off, her head propped on her hand. Sol watched her hand waver slightly and was torn between waking her so that she didn’t slam her face into the table and letting her get the sleep she obviously needed. He heard the cook approaching and stood to take the plates from her. “Thank you,” he said, using the Elvish he so rarely spoke anymore. She nodded and walked back to the kitchen to clean up.

Sol put his hand gently on Verlas’s shoulder. “Hey, food’s here,” he said, a touch quieter than his usual voice. He shook her shoulder gently and repeated himself when she didn’t wake.

Verlas’s head came up with a sharp inhale. “Wha-? Oh, food,” she said, a bit groggily. Sol slid one of the plates in front of her and sat down to eat his own. Something that involved eggs, mushrooms, vegetables he wasn’t sure he recognized, and something that tasted like meat combined to make the dish. He appreciated the cook making it tasty as well as filling, and he quickly finished the plate. Verlas was a little slower, but she too gobbled up the food. Sol took her plate with his back to the kitchen.

“Thank you, again,” he said, handing the cook the plates.

She blinked. “You’re not from around here are you?”

Sol shook his head. “No. I live in Fellsgard -” he began, but the woman waved his answer away.

“No, where are you from, your hometown?” she stared at him.

Sol sighed. “Órlbelle. But it’s been a very long time since I lived there. I was a child.”

She nodded. “That explains the accent. Who’s your family?”

Sol started to feel a bit irritated; why was the woman poking into his background so? “I’ve ties to House Velca,” he hedged. “Please excuse me, I want to make sure my companion reaches her home safely.” He turned away and back to Verlas.

“Hey, let’s get you home now,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Verlas nodded sleepily. “Do you think you can tell me where you live?”

“Uh-huh,” Verlas yawned, her eyes drooping. “It’sa tree with white lines. Mom painted it, years ‘go,” she said. She pushed herself mostly upright. “Four rings around. Go east.”

Sol sighed and gently laid his hand on her forearm. “Okay. I’ll look and you tell me if it’s the right one,” he said, guiding her out of the tables and on to the main walkways again. He began heading east, keeping Verlas close in case she dozed off again.

After several minutes of walking, Sol thought he spotted a tree with four horizontal lines in the distance. He pressed Verlas’s hand. “Is that it there?” He pointed to the tree. Verlas looked and gave him an exaggerated nod. He kept them moving until they’d come to a blue door set into the structure built around and in the tree.

“Verlas?” he said. She leaned on him, her head drooping. He sighed and knocked lightly on the door. An older Kerasoka woman opened it after a moment, squinting suspiciously at Sol when she saw Verlas beside him.

“Sorry to wake you. Is this Verlas’s home?” he asked, forcing his brain to work in Elvish.

The woman’s face relaxed a touch, although it held no softness for Sol. “It is, and I am her mother. Who are you?”

“I hired Verlas to guide me from Verdant Row; we kept a tough pace the whole way. We ate after arriving, and then, well, she’s rather sleepy,” Sol explained apologetically. “I’m Soltaevar Velca, by the way.”

Verlas woke herself up slightly. “Mom?” she said, sleepily. “What’re you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t fall out of a tree,” the older woman responded with a slight smile. “Come on then, let’s get you to bed.” Verlas mumbled something that sounded like assent and shuffled inside.

Sol gave the woman - Verlas’s mother - a tired smile. “I’ll come by tomorrow, or she can come to the inn, whichever is easier, so I can give her the rest of her pay. Good night,” he said turning and heading toward the inn. He heard the door shut behind him and shrugged mentally.
Word count: 1349
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Resting his head in the nest of pillows, Soltaevar thanked Ixaziel and all the idols for letting coin be the one true language that worked everywhere. He’d turned up at the inn late last night, in dirty clothes from travel, but as soon as the staff realized his coin pouch was anything but paltry, they’d whisked him to a large room with an attached bath.

He’d shucked all his clothes, given himself a once-over with a washcloth and collapsed into bed. Hadn’t even bothered putting on fresh smallclothes, he noticed as he shifted under the covers. Yawning, he turned back into his pillows and dozed off.

His sleep was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mister Velca?” the attendant called.

Sol grunted. “Give me a moment,” he called, forcing himself out of his nice soft nest of covers and pillows and dragging his pack out into the open. He flung things out of his way until he found a pair of smallclothes, then hunted for a shirt and pants that weren’t dirty.

Stumbling to the door, he found the attendant looking a bit guilty. “There’s a Miss Verlas at the desk waiting for you,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh, yes. My hired guide,” he said. He ran a hand over his face. Probably look like shit, he thought grumpily. “Please let Miss Verlas know I’ll be down momentarily.” The attendant nodded and left.

Sol ducked back into his room, scrounging for a comb to make his hair look slightly less like an angry bird’s nest and splashing water on his face. Deeming himself presentable enough to see Verlas, he pulled on his boots and headed downstairs.

“I’m not leaving,” he heard Verlas say, in an irritated tone. Coming into the room, he saw the attendant facing Verlas, her arms crossed and expression indignant.

“Morning, Verlas. How are you?” Sol said, raising his eyebrow as he took in the tension between the two women. “Come, let’s talk over some tea,” he said, reaching across and taking Verlas’s hand to tuck in his arm. He found some seats out of the way and signaled a bellhop to get them a different attendant.

“What was that about?” Sol said, stifling a yawn. He tilted his head in the direction of the woman who’d been arguing with Verlas.

“Thinks she’s better than me,” Verlas huffed. “Not like all of us can get a job with the rich tourists.” Realizing what she’d said, her eyes went wide. “I mean, not that you’re one of them, wait, not a tourist -”

Sol chuckled, holding up a hand. “I know what you mean. Some of the clientele here would drown in a good storm.” Verlas snorted, failing to suppress a laugh. “Some people are rich because of an accident of birth, and some I think are just rich by accident,” he said with a sideways grin. Verlas chuckled at that as a waiter turned up.

“Full breakfast with tea, please. Verlas, what do you want?” Sol asked, turning to her.

She turned her gaze away. “Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry-” she said, as Sol interrupted.

“Make that two breakfasts, please.” The waiter nodded and hurried off.

“That’s not necessary, you know,” Verlas said, her cheeks pink. “And I hope that’s not coming out of my pay.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sol said, sitting back in his chair. “I’m hungry and I’m not terribly fond of eating alone. I’m hoping you’ll humor me and join me for breakfast.” Verlas eyed him a bit warily before nodding.

“Mom said you brought me home last night. Thanks, by the way,” she said, leaning to one side. “I forgot how sleepy I get after I’ve eaten a big meal.”

“It wasn’t a problem. Besides, now I know who to ask for some of that marvelous saddle-sore cream,” he grinned. Verlas blushed slightly.

"I'll ask what she might want to trade," Verlas said, thinking.

"Spices are almost always something I can trade, although if it's something unusual, it may take me longer to get," Sol suggested. His eyes brightened as he saw the waiter approaching with two plates.

"For you, sir, and the lady," the waiter said quietly as he deposited their plates on the table in front of them. "Your tea is on its way." Sol nodded and surveyed the plate. Eggs and vegetables, mostly, with what looked like a few cuts of wild game.

"Oh, deer! Nice, I was hoping they might have some," Verlas said as she looked at her plate. "It's really only just the season for them." She stabbed a bite off her plate as the tea arrived. Sol poured cups for both of them, nudging hers over when he was finished.

"Ah, I should settle up." Sol reached into his pocket and pulled out a small coin purse. "We agreed on two-twenty five, I think?" Verlas nodded, her mouth full. He slid the small bag to her. "That should cover it, I think." He'd put four silver in the bag, counting on the etiquette that said counting money in public was a bit vulgar. Hopefully Verlas wouldn't notice the extra coin until later.

"In addition, I'll have to get back to the station at some point. Do you think you'd be willing to put up with me again?" Sol asked, sipping from his tea cup.

"Sure thing - boss," she said with a wink. As they ate, Sol started to consider something. Mistfire Trading had to send out representatives and couriers to Ninraih fairly frequently. He hadn't thought about it before, but who were his agents using as guides? Maybe it would be better to see about keeping Verlas and her brother as official guides, and find a friend or two they could trust to join them. He'd have to contact the accountants for the current costs, the agents about their needs, and talk to Verlas herself about the whole idea.

“Hello, boss, anyone home?” Verlas waved her hand in front of Sol’s face. He blinked, startled.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about some business matters.” Trying to be nonchalant, he took a few bites of food. “If I needed to contact you, what’s the best way?” he asked.

“Letter, probably. Just put Verlas Canrindër, East Ajteire, and it should get to me,” Verlas replied, taking a swig of tea.

“That’s - ‘four-rings’ is it?” Sol furrowed his brow. His elvish had gotten rusty in some places; he didn’t speak it often, especially not with his mother gone, and despite having needed it more recently, there were still patches that needed to be dusted off.

“Yep, because of the house. Easy enough for people to associate with the family. We’ve lived there as long as I can remember.” Verlas scooped the last bite of food from her plate. “You don’t speak Elvish much, do you?”

“No, not since my mother passed away some years ago. In Fellsgard it’s easier to keep to Common, since most people speak it, even the elves there.” He grimaced slightly. “I’ve been finding I’ve needed it more of late; I might have to find others to speak with just to keep it fresh.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Verlas said, holding her teacup in both hands. She’d propped her elbows on the table, relaxed. “There’s probably a tavern or something you can pop into.”

“Good idea.” Sol patted his mouth with the napkin, making sure no errant crumbs of food or drops of tea remained. “It’s been wonderful to work with you Verlas, and I’ll see you soon, I hope. I’m heading to the southern part of town; will you be going that way as well?” He stood up from the table.

“No, I’m headed over to the north. My brother said there might be some people looking for a guide there,” she said with a smile. “With any luck, I’ll be able to have a short turn around on both ends.”

“Oh - that reminds me. You’ll have to settle up with the stables,” he said and handed her a quarter silver. “I hope that’s enough. If not, leave a message at the desk here for me, and I’ll make sure I take it to your mother.” Verlas nodded and waved as she headed off.

Sol watched her go. He hoped she’d stay safe and that he could arrange the necessary things to give her the opportunity of a more stable income. She’d done an excellent job keeping him safe, giving him information to make his journey easier, and being a cheerful person to be around. Part of him wondered too - if, as he and Dash suspected, Ksenia was his daughter, who had helped her meet Dash and given her the opportunity to build and refine her skills? He wanted to give another person’s daughter an opportunity as well.

Heading to the south, Sol checked his notes. His first visit would be to a group of farmers with a central meeting point in the city proper. They had several tree related crops and he hoped the meeting would prove beneficial to all.
Word count: 1563
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar returned Rembina Mélamar just before sundown. His first stop was to a collection of growers on the edge of town. The farmers, who all specialized in citrus fruits, were surprised at his appearance. They’d quickly arranged a tour for him, leading him through and above and around their groves, so that he could see the growing and the produce of what his company imported.

The complex of bridges, storehouses, groves, and offices was expansive and he was fascinated to see their work. Some of the growers led him into the groves, with fruit still on the trees. He’d been handed an orange, juicy-sweet, and ate it with the sticky juice running down his chin as his guides grinned. The foreman of the team had clapped him on the back, pleased that the ‘big boss’ was more grounded than he’d been painted.

Despite the generosity of his trading partners, Sol was irritated; he had walked much more than he was accustomed to do. His feet and calves were sore, still not wholly recovered from the four days of riding he’d just finished. His plans for the night involved finding food, a hot bath, and sleep. Maybe a few letters. He’d sent a messenger to the trading group he planned to visit tomorrow, to warn them of his coming. Sending letters to the remaining handful would probably be wise.

As he walked in the front door, the reception clerk waived him over. “Mr. Velca, we have a delivery for you.” He handed over a worn fabric bag that clinked slightly as it was moved.

“Thank you,” Sol said, collecting the bag. He could venture a guess as to its originator, and its contents. Once in his own room, he set the bag on his bed and took off his boots. Deciding the shirt and trousers were probably a lost cause, he stripped them off as well before attending to the bag.

Unpicking the drawstring, Sol turned the bag over and three small jars fell out. He checked the bag and found a bit of paper caught inside. ‘You’re too generous, Mr. Velca - Mom insisted I bring you these before I left. Hope to be back in eight or nine days, so be ready by then! - Verlas’

Sol picked up one of the jars and turned it in his hand. More of the saddle-sore cream Verlas had given him, just as he’d asked about buying. As well as the cream had worked, giving Verlas four silver for her fee and the jars seemed a pittance. Idly, he wondered if the cream would work on sore muscles and decided it couldn’t hurt to try. He put Verlas’s note on the table next to his bed and dug out fresh smallclothes and his robe. When he went to find food, he’d have to ask if there was a laundry around, whether service or facilities. Otherwise, he’d be out of clothing after tomorrow.

He drew a hot bath and sank into it gratefully, groaning as the water eased his tired muscles. After the bath started to grow cold, he pulled himself out, reluctantly, and dried off. He rubbed a bit of the cream into the backs of his calves, which were still tight, before getting dressed.

Realizing that he’d have to leave the room for food, he cursed himself slightly, and dressed in tomorrow’s clothes. He’d just have to avoid spilling food on himself, or accept that he’d be wearing stained clothing. He stopped by the front desk, hoping for answers to both laundry and food. “Will there be dinner served in the inn?” he asked the reception clerk.

The middle-aged human man pushed his glasses up on his nose. “We only serve breakfast. All other meals will need to be taken elsewhere.”

Sol grimaced slightly. “I understand. Does the inn offer laundry service? Or access to the facilities to do so?”

Looking shocked at the suggestion that a guest might wash their own clothes, the reception clerk reached down for a large drawstring canvas bag emblazoned “laundry” and handed it to Sol. “The housekeepers can take care of your clothing. Simply place it in the bag and they will collect it. Generally they will be able to return the items the next day.” He hesitated, then continued, “Their price is five copper per piece.”

“That’s more than acceptable. Thank you for your help.” Sol took the bag back to his room and began loading it with clothes. He counted around twenty pieces - just under a silver - but he needed clean clothes, desperately. He’d probably need their services again before he trekked back to Ninraih Station. Shuffling the bag to the center of the room, he left it and locked his door behind him.

“Please let the housekeepers know they will have clothing to pick up from my room,” he informed the reception clerk. The man nodded and jotted down a note. “Also, where would you recommend for a bite to eat?"

The clerk thought for a moment. “Most restaurants have decent food, but if you’re looking for a bit of local color, I’d suggest the Preamble. It’s mostly a bar with some light fare, but there’s usually live entertainment and the atmosphere is delightful.”

“I see - which part of the city is it?” Sol asked. He didn’t care if he ordered their entire menu as long as the food was good and filled him up eventually.

“It’s on the Western edge of the city. Popular with travelers, too, as it’s one of the first places they find.” The reception clerk gave him a practiced smile. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Velca?”

Realizing he was being dismissed, Sol forced a small polite smile across his lips. “No, that will do. Thank you.” He stepped out the door and let the warm evening air bathe his face before he turned to the west. Surely, if it was a popular destination, he’d be able to find it easily.
Word count: 1023
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NPC
Character
I could be anybody!
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01
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19 / 19 MP
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by NPC »

By the time Soltaevar reached The Preamble on the other end of the city, the sun was lingering in its descent, casting its last bit of warm rays through the trees of Ajteire. Despite a quickly approaching winter, the jungle city kept a relatively cool, comfortable temperature which allowed The Preamble to have mostly open seating year-round. Unless it rained, then people would usually scatter to find cover.

Fireflies were flitting around customers situated at tables who were all talking casually while drinking teas and snacking on the restaurant's lighter fare or the special of the day. In a corner of The Preamble positioned under a grand, twisted tree with umbrella-like leaves was a three-piece band of bards - one with a lute, another with a pan flute, and the third with a violin. Although it was noisy due to the chatter and music, together it was all a rather lively and soothing hum.

Seeing Soltaevar waiting to enter by The Preamble's arched vine-like trellis, a Fae waitress scurried over and with a smile, escorted the tall elf to a table with two seats. After he was seated, the waitress handed Soltaevar a parchment menu with two columns. In the left column, there was a lengthy list of teas, coffees, wines, and other specialty drinks while the right side of the menu showcased a selection of snacks like cheeses, fresh fruit, biscuits, and salads. Though much of the food could be ordered together, the server told Soltaevar they had a special that was more filling on its own in comparison to their everyday a-la-carte items.

Delighted that Soltaevar had ordered the special, the Fae flitted off (letting her wings do most of the work) to put in the order with their chef. Before bringing the main course, an herbal tea with orange, cranberry, and honey was set down on Soltaevar's table along with a white wine in a stemless glass that the waitress explained would complement the food well. As Soltaevar would let his tea seep, the Fae went off to check on other customers until the order was ready.

Upon returning a second time, the Fae waitress set a bowl down on Soltaevar's table. It was a soup with a mushroom broth that had wild rice, diced mushrooms, spinach, and chopped tomatoes. The only thing mildly heavy about the vegetarian soup was the fact that it did contain a sprinkling of shredded cheese on top (a flavor resembling aged parmesan). On the side, Soltaevar was also given a plate with a bit of crusty rosemary bread. With a slight bow, the waitress departed, but let Soltaevar know that should he need anything, he merely had to raise his hand or fingers to get her attention.
Word count: 456
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar’s stomach growled as the waitress set down the steaming bowl of soup in front of him. All vegetarian, of course; he should have realized that Rembina Mélamar would cater to its more eastern clientele with the meat from this morning. Regardless, the soup had chunks of mushroom, spinach and tomato with fresh shredded cheese and it smelled delicious.

Barely hearing the waitress as she departed, Sol took a taste of the soup. He could have groaned in pleasure. The cook knew their way around an herb garden, that was certain. The earthy taste of the mushrooms - probably the stock - paired well with the flavors of herbs, some of which he couldn’t place. After several spoonfuls, the presence of the rosemary bread came to his attention. He ripped off a chunk and dipped it into the soup - perfection.

Sighing softly, Sol thought it was probably for the best that he was out in public and had to follow the ‘company manners’ his mother had drilled into him from the time he was a small child. If he’d been home, or if he hadn’t been rigorously taught, he would have let himself moan about how good the soup tasted - although he put a small part down to how hungry he was. Sipping more soup, he wondered if he could inveigle the recipe from the cook and see about getting his housekeeper to duplicate it.

He’d completely forgotten about the wine until the waitress stopped to check on him again. She had asked his opinion of the pairing, and he’d had to shamefacedly admit he hadn’t remembered the wine at all. She laughed, a bell-like sound, and reminded him he need only ask for anything he wanted before she zipped off. Picking up the wine glass, he held it, swirling the liquid slightly to release the aroma before trying a sip of the wine after the soup. It was quite good, though he tended to favor reds more than whites.

Happily, he finished the soup and bread, wiping the last of the dregs from his bowl with his last chunk of bread. Probably not the best manners, but it was too damn delicious to leave any. His tea had cooled down to drinkable, and he settled in his seat to enjoy it before he headed back to the inn for the night. He took the opportunity to people-watch; the trio of performers played to a small crowd of rapt listeners while others sat and chatted. A family sat near the edge of the crowd, one of the parents holding a sleeping child over their shoulder. Sol felt his stomach drop a little and decided to leave.

He dropped a quarter silver on the table. It was a generous tip, to be sure, but he’d felt the meal and the service worth it. He waved to the waitress and let her know he was going before stepping out onto the paths.

Sol made his way back to Rembina Mélamar with only one wrong turn - ’practically a miracle in the maze of bridges and paths and trees’, he thought. He sat at the desk in the room and tossed off a handful of quick letters to the companies Mistfire had as trading partners, letting them know he was unexpectedly in town and would like to meet if that was convenient. He stacked them all to hand to the front desk to deliver.

Playing with the pen in his fingers, he debated writing one to Dash. After all, he’d left hurriedly and he had said he’d come by Dash’s shop for measurements, not to mention Armus’s measurements for the cat regalia. In the end, he wrote a short note, letting Dash know that he planned to be in Ajteire for the next week and a half, and that he likely wouldn’t be back until that Friday. At the last minute he jotted down a postscript, asking for the name Dash had mentioned at dinner several nights ago. Maybe he could write the man himself and ask what he knew about Ksenia, in the chance that she’d told him more than Dash. A quick note to his staff to let them know his plans was added into the bundle and Sol dropped them off to assurances that the local messages at least would be delivered first thing in the morning.

Once in his own room, he stripped off his clothing and tossed it over the back of the desk chair to air out. ’Ajteire was too hot for any sort of nightclothes’, he decided lazily, and crawled under the covers. When he lay still, though, his mind decided to race with a million thoughts, until it had started to concoct more and more ridiculously elaborate stories. Sol grumbled, told his mind to shut up, and pulled the covers over his head until he finally fell asleep.
Word count: 831
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar devoured his breakfast at Rembina Mélamar while looking over the letters that had already come for him. Both sent regrets for that day, while inviting him to visit on other weekdays. Sol shrugged and waited on the other two contacts to answer. If he didn’t have any visits today he could always pitch in with Ajteire’s ever-growing lists of tasks.

He got up from the table and started to leave the inn. The reception clerk called, “Sir, you have two letters.” He took them and quickly opened them and found his answer. No one was available today; work it was then.

“Thank you. Where would I find the work coordinators?”

The clerk looked taken aback before stuttering, “C-center of town, sir. Look for the big plaza in the air, about five or six buildings up there.” Sol nodded and set off. By dint of asking a few people as he went, it didn’t take him horribly long to find the building housing the work coordinators.

There were only two people ahead of him, so Sol was able to talk to one of the coordinators fairly quickly. “I’m just another pair of hands, really,” he told the coordinator who asked for his preferences. “Where do you need help?”

The Fae coordinator pored over a book that listed ongoing projects. Sol tried not to fidget as her wings fluttered in concentration. Fae exuded magic practically by breathing and their presence almost always made him feel vaguely achy. “There’s some rebuilding going on in the southeast - bad storm a few weeks ago took out a few buildings and bridges. Could go there if you’re willing to swing a hammer.”

“As long as they have loaners,” he said with a grin he didn’t quite feel. The coordinator nodded and wrote the location on a slip of paper for him. “Thanks,” he said, taking the paper hastily and heading out.

At the site, there were a number of other Kerasoka - much tanner and more work-roughened - and Fae flitting about. Sol found the foreman and introduced himself as a willing pair of hands to do whatever was needed. The foreman eyed him warily. “Do you have any real physical work experience?” he asked, staring at Sol’s pale skin and hands.

“A bit. Sailed some when I was younger. A bit of carpentry every now and then,” he replied, thinking of all of the arbors, trellises, and fences he helped build and maintain for Dash. Sometimes he missed the simplicity of life on a ship - all your duties marked out for you and a set of skills that constantly demanded adaptability within their scope.

The foreman grunted. “For now, pick up debris on the ground. See if there’s anything salvageable.” Sol nodded and turned away to the steps and bridges leading down. His lips twitched in anger; he wasn’t used to being so summarily dismissed, but he had to admit that he didn’t exactly strike an imposing figure. As he tromped down the steps, he wished the idea of rigging had caught on more in Ajteire.

With a group of younger Fae, Sol swept the ground, looking for any useful bits of material or belongings. He scuffed his feet as he walked, hoping to turn up the dirt a bit in case anything had gotten buried. Most of the wood was too weathered and shattered to be of any use; they piled the pieces to the side to add to the city’s firewood stores. Sol found a string of chunky wooden beads, strung on sturdy cord, buried under one pile of wood. He stuck them in his pocket to give to the foreman later.

After they’d crossed the area twice, the foreman called a halt. They’d managed to find a pitifully small pile of salvageable wood and the foreman stared at it with some concern. “Found these too, but I don’t think they’ll help with the repairs,” Sol said, holding out the beads.

The foreman looked at the necklace, frowned absentmindedly, and then suddenly looked past Sol. “No, not like-” he half-shouted as he rushed to catch a falling board before it clobbered someone. Sol stepped up and grabbed the board in mid-air.

Sol looked up and squinted at the ropes that had been tied haphazardly to lift the wood. “That - that’s going to kill someone,” he muttered. He tugged lightly at the rope that had been meant to hold the board that had just tumbled down and the rope fell to the ground. With a frown, Sol turned to the foreman. “I can fix this. Give me a moment and some rope. Otherwise, someone will get hurt,” he said with a touch of sternness to his features.

“You’re the one said you was a sailor? Have at, then. Can’t be worse than what they’ve done up there,” the foreman said, looking up at the handful of frightened faces that looked off the platform above. Sol nodded, coiled the fallen rope and threw it over his shoulder before making his way up the stairs. If he had to go up and down much more, he would be making a rope ladder at the least.

At the platform, Sol sighed and wrinkled his brow at the confused tangle of ropes, pulleys, and eyes. “Have any of you actually done this before?” A shared look around convinced him that the amount of experience in the group was low at best. “Right.” Surveying the area, he found a nearby branch that should serve as a spar well enough. It wasn’t much higher than the platform - maybe an elf’s height more - but it extended away at an angle, and was thick enough he felt comfortable climbing on it.

Sol caught a nearby branch and pulled himself up onto the tree, edging over to his target. He looped a short piece of rope around the branch, threaded on a pulley, and tied it securely. Then he set up the pulley with an eye in the center loop. Humming to himself, he swung back to the platform and set up two eyes to allow those on the platform to pull the load up themselves. The group on the platform was staring openly at him now. “Don’t suppose there’s a ladder in all this?” he asked, nudging the rope with his foot.

“Is that what this is?” A fae woman lifted a tangle of rope that was fortunately still recognizable as a rope ladder. Sol blessed whatever idols or eidolons might be listening and lashed it down on the platform beams a good distance from the pulley setup. He slid another coil of rope over his shoulder.

“ ‘Ware below!” he called out, checking the ground and heaving the ladder down. As the ropes straightened, he grabbed the ladder and climbed down swiftly. Jumping down the last few feet, he made his way over to the foreman. “Next load to go up, then?” Sol asked.

“These boards here, and a bunch of what-nots,” The foreman gestured. Sol took his rope, tied the bundle of boards in a reasonable group and threaded the miscellaneous objects on the rope, wrapping them around the bundle itself. He fed the rope around the center ties, planning to tie them on the eye of the pulley with a knot that would release quickly.

“Lower the center,” Sol called up to the platform. “Get the rope ends closer to that pulley - there you go,” he said, reaching and catching the eye on the rope. “Stop, hold tight,” he called. He tied the bundle to the eye, making sure it was balanced and snug. “Now pull! Steady, together, steady -” he coached the rope pullers. The bundle wobbled slightly, but made it to the platform safely. “Hold there,” he called, and climbed the rope ladder. ‘Getting slow,’ he thought to himself.

Sol grabbed the end of the bundle and helped guide it over to the platform. Seeing the rope handlers at loose ends, he took each of the ropes to the side and tied off the ends to the short railing on that edge of the platform. He tugged the end of the bundle’s knot and it fell apart, leaving the bundle’s contents in a neat pile. “How did you do that?” asked one of the volunteers, a young fae man.

“It’s a quick-release knot. I tied it so you only have to pull one end and it comes undone,” Sol explained. He slid the rope from under the boards and began to feed it back through the eye to demonstrate.

“No, no - the whole rope ladder thing and setting up a lift and tying everything together, how did you learn that?” the fae asked, gesturing around him.

“Oh.” Sol frowned. “I’ve spent time on ships and learned a few things,” he said, not looking directly at the man. “Knots and all are useful to know. Bundles of things, you just tie them around the middle, wrap them a few times, and they stay together well enough.”

“That doesn’t explain the ladder,” the man said folding his arms over his chest.

“That. Yeah,” Sol rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I’m getting slow.” He unknotted the small things on the rope and set them down. “Is there anything that needs to go down?”

Several hours passed before Sol was able to teach the current group of volunteers how to use the pulley system best. Several more loads and trips up and down the rope ladder before the group seemed to have the process instilled in their brains. Tired, Sol reported to the foreman, who thanked him and asked how long he’d be in Ajteire - in case there were more projects needing assistance.

Truthfully, Sol was thinking very hard about finding another guide and not waiting for Verlas, but he’d given his word. The foreman seemed to accept Sol’s answer that he’d be busy most of his time in Ajteire that remained. As he made his way back toward his inn, Sol grimaced at the soreness in his muscles. He was getting soft again, and he wondered if the business could be convinced to run without him for a few months.

He snagged a sandwich from a small food stand and ate it while walking. The idea of falling face-first into his bed sounded like an excellent plan. At least he should have clean clothes for tomorrow. He mumbled a greeting to the reception clerk as he passed and executed his plan as soon as he’d cleaned the grime off himself.
Word count: 1797
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar panted quietly as his guide led him up to the top of the lookout tower. Although it was maintained by the two companies that met at the foot of the base, it was considered communal property in Ajteire, as so many structures were. The fruit farmer group and the nut farmer group split the costs and time of the tower, and gained a view over the majority of their orchards. Today’s visit had been to the nut collective; a number of nuts had become more popular over the past few decades in Fellsgard.

His guide was a Kerasoka-Fae, who Sol could have sworn had wings despite her protests to the contrary. There was no other explanation for the way she flitted to the top of the stairs so easily. “I promise, the view is worth the climb,” she said, patting Sol on the shoulder.

Sol grumbled under his breath before taking a swig of water from the bottle she handed him. He wasn’t sure why climbing stairs was taking it out of him but he didn’t like it. Definitely looking into a ‘vacation’ once he got back. ‘Nothing like the discipline of sailing to whip you into shape,’ he thought. The guide took the bottle and tucked it into a pouch hanging on her belt.

“Only two more landings to go,” she said cheerfully. They were already high enough that a fall would break your neck - if you were lucky. Sol tromped after her, barely registering how the trees thinned out as they climbed higher. “Here we are,” she said, stepping out onto a platform.

The platform had a roof and a small enclosure big enough for two hammocks inside. A railing spanned the outside of the platform and a telescope pointed off each corner. Ajteire and her environs spread out like rolling green and brown clouds before him, stretching to the horizon.

Sol looked around, both relieved to have reached the end of the stairs and slightly awed by the sight of trees stretching on in a vast carpet around him. Turning, he saw a small pointed shape in the distance - another tower, his guide informed him, when he asked. Apparently Ajteire had a fairly cohesive network of towers around the city, both in the city proper and on the outskirts.

He leaned against the railing, looking out over the trees that made up the nut orchard. Their different colors indicated the varieties they sheltered - almonds, hazelnuts, macadamias, pine nuts. The merchant in him wanted to figure the profit from each crop and calculate the eventual income, but the part of him that led him to the bardic arts simply stopped and appreciated the tapestry of color.

He wandered around the platform, looking through the telescopes. He caught sight of a hawk diving at one point, though he lost the bird when he swung the telescope too far in his excitement. There was a kind of suspended peacefulness on the platform, a sense of being out of time and place.

The winter sun - even in Ajteire, winter days were shorter, though the temperature rarely dropped much - had begun to set, gilding all the trees it touched. His guide shifted from foot to foot impatiently. With a last look, Sol began to follow her down the intermitable stairs.

As he left the nut farmers, they gave him a sack of freshly roasted nuts to enjoy ‘later’, though he suspected most of their patrons barely made it home before emptying the bag. He allowed himself a handful; their delicious flavor reinforced just why they’d become so popular. Tying the bag closed tightly, he promised himself he wouldn’t eat any more until after dinner.

Sol set the empty bag down on the table at the restaurant that he’d found. He wasn’t sure exactly what they did to the nuts to make them so delicious but he was going to find out. Whatever it was, he felt almost certain that the method - applied properly - could be used on a variety of foodstuffs with similarly tasty results. While of course he was thinking about his company, his more immediate concern was his own stomach and those of his friends.

The waiter came over to take his order. “Eggplant parmesan, and a glass of the house red,” Sol said, handing the menu to the waiter, who nodded and headed back to the kitchen. Though the nuts had been filling, he really needed a proper meal. Lunch had been rushed, and he knew he’d fall into a pattern of eating odd bits at odd times if he didn’t stick to some semblance of a schedule.

He glanced around the restaurant, watching the various groups as they socialized around him. There were couples enjoying dinner together, friends meeting up, and families celebrating. One group appeared to have multiple generations - probably a human family, he considered. Humans lived much shorter lives, but they all seemed to be determined to cram as much impact as they could into their shorter years. He sighed and quietly drummed his fingertips on the tabletop.

As the waiter set his plate down, Sol considered the impact of a highly agrarian and foraged diet on the town’s culinary offerings. Meat was a rarity; much more common to see vegetables and fruit as the focus of the meal, and even eggs and dairy weren’t nearly as available as in Fellsgard. He felt an odd sensation, like the itch of a healing burn, race across his back. He turned; a fae diner behind him was showing their companion some magic spell or summons. Turning back to his dinner, Sol tried to ignore the discomfort. After all, magic was accepted in Ajteire, and his own history wouldn’t change that.

He ate more quickly than he might otherwise, wanting to get away from the source of the magic. He paid the bill and headed back to the inn, trying to twitch his shoulders to lessen the vague discomfort. Once back in his own room, he gave in to the impulse and scratched every part of his back he could reach. The housekeepers had left a stack of cleaned clothes on top of the chest in his room and he gratefully took fresh clothing with him on the way to the bath.

There was a variety of bath additives on the shelves; he found oils, scrubs, and lotions of all kinds. Taking down a packet marked as ‘soothing’ he dumped the contents into the bathwater beginning to fill the tub. It looked like oatmeal, he concluded on further examination, and he hoped that it worked.

Baths were one of the few things he really missed on a ship, he mused as he sank into the water, sliding down until the water almost touched his nose. Terribly relaxing, but far too wasteful of water and time shipboard. Idly he wondered what Rembina Mélamar did with their bathwater. He’d found a way to redirect most of his household’s waste water into a marshy area in the garden that thrived on the added water.

Finding the bath growing cool, Sol let the water drain while he dried off. He had five more days until he could head back to Ninraih Station, and several more contacts to see. He sighed and stretched. The irritation had mostly disappeared, and he crawled into bed, more comfortable than he had been before, at least.
Word count: 1252
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Soltaevar groaned as he tromped over the walkways. The suppliers he was meeting with today were on the far outskirts of Ajteire. They were near the river fork, which was distant enough from the city center that there were few people in the area. Sol didn’t mind the walk; what he minded was getting up early and being blinded by the rising sun.

He’d been muttering about the rudeness of being up with the sun as he heard a groan followed by a sharp crack. Suddenly, the wood he expected under his feet wasn’t there. Pulling his foot from the hole in the rope bridge, Sol scrambled forward, clutching the hand ropes with every step.

The creaking of the ropes told Sol exactly what he didn’t want to hear - the rope was under a large amount of strain. He tried to move quickly, hoping to get across. With a loud snap, one side of the bridge dipped, its foot boards tipping drunkenly. Sol went to his knees, searching for a hold with his toes in the boards while he clung to the hand ropes.

Finding a bit of purchase, he climbed up the swaying remains of the bridge. The remaining ropes groaned and creaked, but held. Sol climbed up the boards and rope - easier than some of the rigging he’d had to endure, he thought - until he reached the platform. As he stepped on to the flat surface, the pressure of his step caused one of the other ropes to give way, the bridge completely unusable now.

Looking back, he saw the drop and raised his brows. Easily far enough to break a neck. He shook out his limbs, feeling the jitters of adrenaline run throughout his body. Sighing, he checked his directions again, and kept walking.

Reaching the spot that housed some of the farm’s offices, Sol paused and looked around. He didn’t see anyone else around and he hoped he hadn’t crawled out of his comfortable bed for nothing. Approaching the door of a wooden building, he found a few people inside, preparing for the day.

“Morning,” he said by way of greeting. He spoke to the fae sitting nearest the door. “I’m supposed to meet - Longifolia?” he read, squinting at the letter.

“Ah, you’re Mister Velca, then.” The fae stood and gestured for him to follow. “Come this way please,” she said, leading him further into the building. “I trust you found your way without issue?”

“I did, but I’m afraid one of the bridges has collapsed on the route,” Sol replied. The fae looked shocked, putting her hands to her face. “If you’ll kindly tell me where I should report the matter, I’ll take care of that after our visit.”

“I’m so sorry, the bridges are normally inspected - I can’t imagine what could have caused -” she stammered.

Sol shrugged. “It happens. Older ropes, less regular use and regular stress, weather, fewer oils from hands - there’s numerous ways ropes can fail,” he said with a sideways smile to let her know he wasn’t angry.

She swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “Let me get you some tea and then we can carry on.” Ducking into a side room, she presented Sol with a steaming mug of herbal tea. “All from what we grow here, of course,” she said with a smile that was returning to her professional demeanor. Sol smiled and took the mug as she led him to a group of people that were introduced as the heads of their particular herb.

After numerous speeches from all the management, Sol finally got out into the fields among the workers. The health of the business relied more on those who toiled in the fields, and he quietly hated the role of high and mighty boss that so many people seemed to expect of him. He roamed the fields, talking, listening, and watching as the hands worked.

Dressing more for function than fashion helped the workers feel slightly more at ease with him, and he heard several comments about one head or another’s treatment of their workers. The company paid well, but some of the managers weren’t used to getting their hands dirty and their inexperience had cost time and plants. Sol frowned and considered what directions to give as he made his way back to the office building.

“You want the managers to be in the fields?” Longifolia asked incredulously. “But how will they be able to do their work if they’re away from the office?”

Sol suppressed a sigh. “It’s come to my attention that some of the managers are not familiar with the usual processes in the field, and that inexperience has cost you. It’s in everyone’s best interest to have at least a fundamental knowledge of the actions taken, from seed to shipping.”

The majority of the complaints he’d heard stemmed from ignorant demands that either wouldn’t work, or would greatly increase the amount of time required. He hoped that forcing the managers to actively participate in the fields would increase efficiency and camaraderie - although if they were malicious, they could just as easily destroy their sections.

He left Longifolia’s office with a growling stomach. It was early afternoon, but there’d been no lunch from the company. He’d have to find a way back to Ajteire proper and get some food. Not for the first time he envied the fae their wings.

With the bridge down, the best option was likely to go down to ground level, make his way to the next large platform, and then climb up to the usual arboreal levels. The underbrush in Ajteire gave Sol an odd feeling, of being watched, combined with the usual unease that significant amounts of background magic gave him. There wasn’t much else in the way of options, so he took the stairs down.

Grumbling as he picked his way through, Sol tromped over to the next large platform, using the paths above him as a guide to avoid losing his way. Walking among the bushes took him considerably longer than he wanted, and by the time he was on the platforms again, he was hungry and disgruntled.

He saw the sign for a small cafe and ducked into the opening, tucked behind the trunk of an enormous tree. A red-headed fae greeted him as he entered. “Do you have - heartier fare than pastries and muffins?” he asked her as she stood behind the counter.

“We mostly only have bread and pastry,” she said apologetically. “However, there’s a restaurant downstairs in the market that serves soup and a cart that sells skewers of roasted meat that’s quite good. My friend brought me one the other day and it was delicious.”

Sol nodded tiredly and turned to leave. “Thanks for the suggestions,” he said, almost as an afterthought. At least the market the Fae had spoken of wasn’t that much further down. He spotted the soup place right away, but the meat had sounded more filling. Wandering around, he came to the cart at last.

As Sol handed over coin for the meat, he remarked, “The Fae at the cafe up there recommended your food.”

“Ah! Yes, the green-haired one has been here several times. Makes good bread too. I’m surprised it’s not sold at the cafe more,” the cook said, tucking two skewers of meat into a large folded leaf. “Careful, they’re still hot.”

“This was a redhead,” Sol commented. “She said her friend had given her some and that it was very good.” He took the meat the cook offered, feeling some of the heat even through the thick leaf wrapper.

The cook smiled. “Always nice to hear a compliment. I bet they work together, then. I hope you enjoy.” Sol nodded and headed over to a nearby bench to eat. As good as the meat smelled, he didn’t want to lose any by dropping it carelessly.

With the first bite of meat, the spices exploded in his mouth. Sol had to struggle not to shove several pieces into his mouth at once in an effort to lose himself in the flavor. He lost the battle to not moan softly in appreciation, though. The cook clearly had a practiced hand at seasoning the meat to perfection.

After the first few juicy bites, Sol stood up. The skewers weren’t as full and would be easy to handle walking back to his room. He intended to eat every single bit of meat left - and possibly even lick the skewers - before settling in for the night. His mother would have despaired of him, he thought, amused, as he caught an errant bit of meat with his tongue.

The skewers distracted him enough that he made two wrong turns on the way back, although he almost didn’t care. The sun hadn’t set yet anyway and people were still out. Getting back to the correct path was much easier with verbal directions and being able to see, he mused, as the front of Rembina Mélamar came into view.

He opened the door and walked through the lobby. The desk attendant smiled brightly at him and he gave a vague smile in return as he headed to his room. A hot bath was in order, and then maybe a bit of writing - trying to note the spices in that meat - before bed.
Word count: 1605
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
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Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

Another early morning, Soltaevar thought to himself. He rather liked the breakfast that Rembina Mélamar offered and this was the second day in a row he’d been up too early to partake. Checking the directions he’d been sent, Sol turned south toward the tea farms. They were technically outside the city proper, but only just.

Making his way across platforms, over bridges, and taking stairs as needed, Sol watched the city begin to greet the day. Fae flitted about, eschewing the stairs for their more efficient means of travel. A mix of humans, Kerasokans, Fae, and the occasional dwarf or Ue’drahc peopled the paths as Sol continued.

He passed by a shop, doors and windows open wide, and felt the telltale tingle of magic being used. Clenching and opening his hand, Sol tried to stave off the sense of - emptiness he felt around open magic use. It was almost a physical ache.

The openness of Ajteiran society toward magic was one of the reasons he rarely came to the city, unpleasant memories aside. He held no animosity toward magic or its users, as so many of the people he dealt with in Fellsgard did. Simply, being around magic in the open reminded him of all that he had lost that horrible day.

Though Kerasokans made up a large portion of Ajteire’s population, their lack of magic didn’t seem to be occasion to tamp down on the use of magic; far from it. A market Sol passed had a stall doing a brisk business in what looked like rings, bracelets, and other trinkets that were enchanted with various spells. He had one himself - rarely used - for detecting cheats. The enchantment was strong enough that he could trigger it easily - and it left him with a feeling not quite unlike having smashed his ulnar nerve fiercely.

Had Bhelest not stripped the Kerasokans of their abilities-. Sol shook his head. Wondering ‘what if’ and ‘what could have been’ were fruitless endeavors, and usually ended with Sol dragging as many of his cats as he could on to his lap for snuggling while drinking the first bottle of wine he laid hands on.

While Fellsgard’s animosity toward magic made it easier for Sol to go about the city comfortably, he considered that perhaps banning magic had made things less bright. Ajteire exploded with variety in people and goods; their enchanted and ensorcelled objects covered a plethora of categories.

As the people began to thin out, Sol re-checked his directions. Almost there. He came across two more large platforms before seeing the sign he’d been looking for. Knocking on the door to the small building on the right, he waited to speak to the tea farms’ administrators.
Word count: 464
User avatar
Soltaevar Velca
Character
Head of Mistfire Trading Company, Fellsgard, Tviyr; Cat slave; and Turco of House Velca.
Level
05
72 / 72 HP
51 / 51 MP
0p / 0g / 1s / 10c
Race: Kerasoka
Class: Bard
Posts: 56
Joined: November 9th, 2019, 7:57 pm
Has thanked: 2 times
Been thanked: 1 time

Re: Tangled Threads

Post by Soltaevar Velca »

After a few hours of conferring with the tea farmers, Soltaevar headed to the spice gardens. The farms here near Ajteire grew a few types that flourished in the humid climate; the collective also had land in Tviyr, north and east of Verdant Row near the mountains. Fortunately the tastes of Tviyrians ran more toward the teas that grew there, but a fair number preferred the tea from Ajteire, and vice versa.

Due to the issues in moving cargo from Verdant Row to Ajteire, they had been working with other groups to find solutions to the perilous trek. As a merchant, he agreed that the lack of an overland route was frustrating, but magic-less and untutored as he was, he knew of no way to permanently stop the forest’s constant encroachment upon any made track. Ships, while useful, often ran into storms. Ajteire wasn’t equipped with the best of docking spaces, being more riparian rather than coastal.

As he walked, Sol munched on a sandwich the tea farmers had given him, along with a canteen of nicely fragrant tea - their tea leaves with local herbs that had been blended by one of the cafes in east Ajteire. One of the workers had said, “Go by there for a cuppa and pastry. They have a chef that’s practically a wizard at baking. They do the tea blends too. Heard they started offering the blends for purchase and near had a riot with people trying to sign up for orders.” The worker had chuckled and handed the filled canteen to Sol.

His footfalls seemed louder in this section of Ajteire, with few other people around. According to the letter he'd received, the spice gardens were more to the west, near a stream that branched off one of the Ordinuad's distributaries. He’d heard the gardens had worked out a series of irrigation canals, reservoirs, and drainage to grow a variety of spices in different conditions. Supposedly their greenhouses were a sight to behold.

Approaching the main building, Sol was surprised as a younger Fae came toward him. “Mister Velca, I presume?” The purple-haired man held out a hand, his gold-colored wings flapping behind him.

Sol took the offered hand. “Yes, I believe I had an afternoon appointment with Alnus.” The Fae nodded and led Sol to a smaller building off to the side that the Kerasokan had thought was simply some sort of out building.

“I’m Alnus - and I’m afraid you were about to walk into our equipment building and our experimental greenhouse,” the Fae said with a sly smile. “There’s not much reason to have a fancy office here, so we just have the records and things here.” He opened a door to a snug office, lined with shelves of ledgers.

“Understandable, and probably serves you better anyway,” Sol said after a brief glance around the room. “I’d rather see what you’re actually doing than simply sitting in a room talking in vague generalities.” Alnus’ face brightened at that, and he grabbed a canteen from a peg on the back of the door.

“Well then, Mister Velca, let me show you around,” Alnus said. “Obviously, office here, and space for people to leave their belongings through that door.” He pointed at a plain wooden door in the corner. Heading back outside, he began walking toward the areas to the east, Sol following half a step behind.

“Most everyone has headed back after lunch, so they’ll be on hand for any specific questions. We’ve been working on creating specific microclimates in order to grow a wider variety of spices - both in greenhouses, where greater specificity is needed, and in the fields themselves, with companion planting.”

Alnus pointed to a grove of trees some distance off. “Cinnamon and nutmeg both require sun and Ajteire’s humidity. We’re trying to find which plants may benefit the trees and thrive in the partial sun - even if they aren’t commercially viable, though we do try that first.”

“I assume you’re exploring herbs and edible flowers as well as spice-producing plants,” Sol commented. Alnus nodded.

“Also vegetables, bush fruits, and even ornamental flowers, as long as they won’t adversely affect the main crop. After all, ornamental flowers are still valuable from an aesthetic and a trading standpoint as decoration.” He waved to a Kerasokan and a Fae working in the trees, both of them tanned from their outdoor work.

Turning to a building on their left, Alnus led Sol over to what became apparent was a greenhouse. “We have a bit of a different approach to greenhouses here - out of necessity,” he explained. Pushing open the door, Sol noticed shrubs growing from mounds that looked to be made partly from rocks.

As he went further into the greenhouse, the telltale prickle of magic tickled Sol’s senses. “We’ve worked with elementals and a number of mages to create a device that pulls the water from the air, which is why it’s so dry in here,” Alnus explained, pointing at large structures along one wall. “The water is collected in a reservoir outside the building, and used for other areas.”

Sol pointed at a stone structure that snaked along one row. “Is that-”

“Rosemary, yes. Similar growing conditions, and we’re trying to see if there’s any beneficial effects for the juniper.” Alnus gestured at the plants.

Sol frowned. “Why not just import juniper from Tviyr or the Irtuen Reaches? Their climate is more suitable for juniper and the like.”

Alnus crossed his arms over his chest. “Transport issues. With the forest - shipments come late or not at all, and as the main importers, we’re the ones people come to when they’re looking and then when they’re looking for someone to complain to.” He shook his head. “Honestly, we found that trying to modify an enclosed area wasn’t much worse than trying to get in regular shipments financially after you consider the cost of goodwill and having to pay porters to bring in individual horse-loads. We mostly only supply those kinds of spice to Ajteire.”

Sol nodded slowly. “I see. I didn’t realize the inefficiencies were truly that bad. I knew of them, but I hadn’t received reports that the impacts were causing issues on this scale.”

Alnus sighed resignedly and explained, “Since it was mostly a local supply issue, we - I and the other managers - decided not to bother Mistfire on a higher level. Some benefit has come from this anyway - the mages have been able to use their research on these issues to apply in other areas as well.” He led Sol out of the first greenhouse.

“Next greenhouse deals with experimental growing conditions - ginger and cardamom are much easier to grow when you’re not having to dig them out of the dirt,” Alnus said, walking with an easy stride. Sol considered their experiments, and realized that over the past three decades that the spice gardens had become one of the most profitable areas, known for their quality. Their experiments were paying off, and he reminded himself to consult with them more often.

-

As he left the last greenhouse, the sky had begun to darken. The sun set in Ajteire in brilliant, intense oranges and reds - much unlike the paler shades in Fellsgard. Everything seemed gilded in the setting sun.

Sol turned to the east to head back to his hotel. Away from the sun, a velvet darkness was easing across the sky. A spark of light caught his eye. Surely it was too early for the stars just yet?

The light flitted in front of his face, dancing off toward the perimeter of Ajteire. He stood, watching its progress. A cloud of more glimmering lights rose slowly from the brush around Ajteire, streaming languorously out from the city.

Fireflies - the fantastic, ludicrous, successful line of defense against the undead that had protected Ajteire and its inhabitants for years. He blinked, staring at the little insects. So innocuous and harmless, he thought, but vital to Ajteire’s fight against the undead and the darkness of the forest.

Struck by a sudden impulse, Sol followed the fireflies as far as he could. He sat on the edge of the last platform, legs dangling as the fireflies moved in patterns known only to themselves - and perhaps their enchanters. How did one go about enchanting fireflies anyway? How did they keep a constant force around such a large area?

Crossing his arms, he studied the distant flickers of light weaving their protection in the air. If an insect could be enchanted, without the benefit of a mind, what else could, he mused. Maybe the insects were bred for docility to make them easier to handle - or would they be chosen based on the brightness of their light?

Sol laughed at himself. If he started asking these questions to the city organizers, they’d probably think he was either foolish or dangerous. Neither was a position he wanted to hold. Someone must take care of the insects, and refresh the enchantments periodically. Scrambling to his feet, he considered the logistics of such a thing as he ambled toward his hotel.
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