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Post by bellasuem on May 27, 2017 21:28:25 GMT -6
Marea Mare / Traveling Merchant / War-Forged
The raw smell of the ocean air was something Marea would never get used to. The wide open expanse of white-capped waves was awe-inspiring, there was no denying that, but the coast could never hope to claim the place in her heart that the mountains held. The brisk, pine-laden scent of home was always in the back of her mind, though she dearly loved to travel. But it was true; the Black Market wasn't her favorite haunt in Onea, but it was a necessary one. There were treasures here that simply could not be found anywhere else, no matter how hard you looked or how many connections you had at your disposal.
It was also the place you came to sell items that wouldn't go over so well elsewhere. Her last trip in Aodh had been a lucrative one, almost too lucrative. As circumstance had it, a stolen ornamental sword had made its way into her possession. She hadn't stolen it herself, of course, but she had traded a pretty sum for it. The danger and the price she had paid for the piece were mollified by the value of the item once it crossed the Aodhian border. It nearly doubled, and she was looking to pass it off onto its next owner as soon as possible, since it certainly wouldn't be practical to haul the thing back to Skeldr.
It had been a long venture, almost a month and a half, and Marea was beginning to itch for home. Valore was an exhilarating city; diversions and fascinating sights were aplenty, and not one moment of her time there had gone to waste, but the city became stifling after a while. Personal space could barely cling to existence in a place like Valore, and Marea had had enough of the constant bustle. The act of traveling from destination to destination was what truly called to her. The dense forests and rolling plains that stood between you and the next city held more value to her than any gilded blade ever could. She was on her own more often than not, with nothing but nature to keep her company, and that was how she preferred it most if the time. She could find other horses whenever she pleased; there would never be a shortage of those, but adventure was more elusive than one might think.
Therefore, as much as she missed her cabin in Skeldr, the subtle milling of equines throughout the market had her full attention. Sunken Hoof Bay was an adventure in itself, as this was not a crowd that afforded a merchant the pleasure of day dreaming idly behind their stall, lest they return to reality to find all their wares had been spirited away by deft hooves.
WC: 465
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Post by disturbedcoyote on May 28, 2017 21:39:17 GMT -6
Barun
War-Forged | Raider
The morning had brought light that pierced the edges of the curtain drawn across his window. That bright light caught on particles and danced in the shifting air. In the golden shine of morning, Barun found himself with a body to either side of him. He couldn’t quite remember how he wound up with two ladies in his bed but it didn’t matter. What did was they were there and Barun had no mind to let them stay for pillow talk. He, not that kind. With a large muzzle, he shoved one then the other roughly. “Get out.” He growled through a thick rasp that was both deep and heavy. The mares huffed and drug themselves to their hooves.
For a moment. Barun remained, the scarred body content to sleep the day away. But if he remembered correctly, and he did, he was in the market for a new blade. The old one chipped from nicking bone and stained red with blood. A well balanced, sharp piece of steel is what he needed and he knew just where to go looking. Even if it mean hauling himself from his spot in the bed he had fallen asleep in. He pushed himself upward, first to his front legs then his hind limbs then slipped from his bed. A thought pushed the curtains back and he squinted in the morning light, carrying a bottle of rum to himself with another thought and downed a long, hearty gulp. Another one followed and with a slow sigh he dressed as bed he could in worn armor. He would need to purchase that at some point in the near future as well.
Without a word to anyone he left his room and made his way down the stairs and out into the morning. He winced, tightening his gaze but his step was confident and stare fierce. Wild as it was, it was dangerous. And he was a dangerous stallion. He worked hard to be able to say that. A snort left his lips as he began to make his way along the coast into the little hovel of sorts where the black market sold its wares. He knew it was his best option for finding a blade. He would put a dent in his coin purse but he sure as hell wouldn’t walk away without a good, sharp and balanced blade.
The dimmed lightly of the small alcove caused him to need to pause to adjust to the light. A moment later he stepped forward and began to look over the few options he had. From a distance, his eyes spotted the ornate blade and like a moth to a flame, he moved towards it, looking it over slowly, carefully, lifting it with his mind to rest it. Silence as snapped it through the air to test the weight. “Not a bad blade.” He muttered and turned his head towards the mare manning the shop. “How much do you want for it?” The thick rasp was a low boom as he let himself turn his attention to her as he settled the blade back on the table. The fierce eyes drilled her with the same dangerous and bold gaze that he offered all others. Despite gender, he knew he needed to take a stance that he looked to haggle and wouldn’t pay too much for it
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POST: 1
WORD COUNT: 561
we row beneath the black flag
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Post by bellasuem on May 29, 2017 21:28:12 GMT -6
Marea Mare / Traveling Merchant / War-Forged
Sharp green eyes watched the scarred stallion as he drifted over to her stall from amongst the crowd. He paid her no mind initially, instead he went straight for the Aodhian blade, and that was all the better in Marea's opinion. The sooner that thing was sold, the sooner she could depart this back water town and get back to her beloved mountains. If she could get it sold before the sun set, then she could get whatever rest the rowdy taverns on the bay offered and depart at first light for home the next day. But Marea was beginning to count her eggs before they hatched. She turned her attention back to the dun stallion.
As soon as the sword was lifted off her table it became apparent that he wasn't interested in the weapon solely because of its eye-catching looks. The way he tested it, it was obvious he was looking for a deadly weapon, not an ornate decoration to be hung upon a wall, left to simply collect dust and look pretty. In all honesty, that's what Marea had expected the blade's fate to be - one of ornament, but if this stallion was so inclined it seemed that the blade would have a life collecting blood rather than dust.
When the question on price was delivered, she knew that she had him. One way or another, at one price or another, she had found her buyer. She returned his piercing gaze with a flat one of her own. Nearly every equine in this place thought that they could intimidate their way to a cheaper price. Her glance flitted to the sword and then back to the prospective buyer, weighing her chances but not letting her countenance change from anything but reserved and unreadable. "Oh yes, not a bad blade at all," she agreed, mirroring his own words, "You'll find nothing but the finest in my shop," she continued, using the opportunity of small talk to size the stallion up a bit more. "You're clearly a stallion of refined taste," she observed. At least in weapons, she thought to herself dryly. The smell of cheap booze had followed her potential customer to her stall.
"To start, I want gold for it," she began, choosing to keep her options open, "Not silver or coppers." She had finally cut to the chase, but she didn't want to throw out a price that was so far out of the stallion's price range that he stormed off and left her to haul the stolen blade back to Skeldr, but she also didn't want to give the damn thing away, not after all the trouble it took to get her hooves on it in the first place.
WC: 461
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Post by disturbedcoyote on Jun 7, 2017 19:26:51 GMT -6
Barun
War-Forged | Raider
A blade should never be a wasted thing. It was crafted for use. Ornamentation or not it was meant to sing through the air and rend flesh from bone. Any true Raider knew the value of a weapon. Just because it has some fine jewels across it did not make it useless. It might actually make it more useful. A blade like that served as a distraction to his combatants. And distractions meant advantages. He might very well be an honored Raider but he was a pirate and scallywag. He took advantages where he could find them because he knew they could mean the difference between life and death.
Some shiny gold hilt did not change any of that. It never would. But that did not mean he could not admire the shine or that it held value beyond just use. It was a merely a simple honest fact in the mind of the pirate that the blade was meant for more than its maker intended. It found its way here and thus he saw no reason not to give it a life worth living. But he would fight for every piece of gold it was worth. Simply because while the blade was fine as silk it did not mean he would pay more than she was worth. He might have more coin in his pocket than most but he would not waste his gold.
She echoed his words and then spoke the words all said when he stepped into this hovel. It was almost a custom to speak those words. And why wouldn’t it be? Any merchant knew fine wares meant more coin and quality often brought customers back. But Barun had never been one to loyaly shop a single merchant. Not when he could find fine pieces everywhere across this world. The seas saw him in many ports and that brought other opportunities besides the black market. He used them where he could. His gaze did not falter when she spoke of refined taste or hinted at her price. He did not flinch. Truly, the blade was worth gold. But did not mean he would pour it out of his purse like water from a waterskin.
It was simple enough to say he was weighing his options with the silence that settled over them. The thick, heavy, weight was shouldered expertly. Never once did the silence betray him nor did his face turn against him. The fierce stare pierced through the air like a blade could flesh and he looked back at the blade, regarding it for a moment before turning back to her with a slow glance. “50 Gold pieces.” He stated the words as plain as day. They were dry, deep and rolling with that boom of a rasp. He watched her with piercing blues, nothing more said. He was gauging her reaction.
50 was a fair price and it was more than she might have gotten from someone with the intention to hang it on a wall. A blade meant more to Barun than it did them. To put it simply it seemed a fair deal in his mind but he would gauge her reaction before he forked over more. It was a fine art, haggling. And he was skilled in it. But first you needed a basis as to what the merchant was looking for and you couldn’t get that without throwing numbers into the open air. With the same fierce stare, he waited. Waited and watched.
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POST: 2
WORD COUNT: 583
we row beneath the black flag
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