“4 krones,” Dax said in his firm, husky voice, “I wonʼt pay any higher than that.” The large, tanned man stood about 6ft, with a mess of black hair on his head. Despite working indoors, his hands were permanently calloused from growing up on a farm. He stood in front of a make-shift spice stand that was set up on the main street. He was arguing with the
seller, as usual.
“This salt is from the Laryn Sea! Do you know how far that is?! Itʼs worth at least 9 krones and thatʼs a bargain! Donʼt try to swindle me!” replied the traveling merchant in a a screeching voice, his thick accent slurring the words together like jade beads.
Dax had owned the local tavern for the past 6 years. He spoke surprisingly well and was unusually educated for a simple owner. And as the clever man that he was, he of course knew that the Laryn Sea was far and he of course knew that the merchant was also a pig.
“Listen, BʼRotheir, I know that salt isnʼt from the Laryn Sea, so stop trying to fool me you swine. Salt from the Laryn Sea is white with pink facets, this is just plain white!” He fingered the spice, “Now letʼs
say… I wonʼt go around telling people youʼre swindling sod and donʼt deserve a single coin, and you give me that Ferrid salt for 3 krones,” Dax slammed his hand down on the counter, smirking wildly at the bewildered merchant.
“Wha-what, I-I donʼt know what youʼre talking about!” BʼRotheir tried to argue, but it was in vain; Dax knew he was going to get the deal just as much as the seller. BʼRotheir reluctantly made the sale, cursing the man underneath his breath.
Dax left the stand, smiling to himself. Immediately, he was lost in the cacophony of the immense crowd. Stands lined the dusty main road and side streets; it was the one time of the year where hundreds of merchants gathered in the small town of Forlin. The merchants were on their way to the river town Maask, and Forlin just happened to be on the way. People flocked from neighboring villages and far off locations, for it also was the one time of year where shop owners, inn keepers, farmers, sorcerers and the likes could get uncommon supplies for their needs.
The sun was set high, greeting people with sweltering heat. It was the second to last day of the annual event. Dax stopped and stood at the center of town, observing the people gathered. No matter how many times the seasoned man had seen this event, it still seemed unusual. The normally recluse sorcerers from the mountains were out running
amok muttering gibberish to themselves; farm children happily played in the streets, awed by the spectacle; tradesmen screamed at each other about arguments as old as the Goddess Lasheiah herself; and street performers begged for coin. All sorts of people who normally didnʼt associate with each other were drawn together by the great String of Fate itself.
The quiet Forlin was transformed into a bustling center, and Dax just snickered to himself.
seller, as usual.
“This salt is from the Laryn Sea! Do you know how far that is?! Itʼs worth at least 9 krones and thatʼs a bargain! Donʼt try to swindle me!” replied the traveling merchant in a a screeching voice, his thick accent slurring the words together like jade beads.
Dax had owned the local tavern for the past 6 years. He spoke surprisingly well and was unusually educated for a simple owner. And as the clever man that he was, he of course knew that the Laryn Sea was far and he of course knew that the merchant was also a pig.
“Listen, BʼRotheir, I know that salt isnʼt from the Laryn Sea, so stop trying to fool me you swine. Salt from the Laryn Sea is white with pink facets, this is just plain white!” He fingered the spice, “Now letʼs
say… I wonʼt go around telling people youʼre swindling sod and donʼt deserve a single coin, and you give me that Ferrid salt for 3 krones,” Dax slammed his hand down on the counter, smirking wildly at the bewildered merchant.
“Wha-what, I-I donʼt know what youʼre talking about!” BʼRotheir tried to argue, but it was in vain; Dax knew he was going to get the deal just as much as the seller. BʼRotheir reluctantly made the sale, cursing the man underneath his breath.
Dax left the stand, smiling to himself. Immediately, he was lost in the cacophony of the immense crowd. Stands lined the dusty main road and side streets; it was the one time of the year where hundreds of merchants gathered in the small town of Forlin. The merchants were on their way to the river town Maask, and Forlin just happened to be on the way. People flocked from neighboring villages and far off locations, for it also was the one time of year where shop owners, inn keepers, farmers, sorcerers and the likes could get uncommon supplies for their needs.
The sun was set high, greeting people with sweltering heat. It was the second to last day of the annual event. Dax stopped and stood at the center of town, observing the people gathered. No matter how many times the seasoned man had seen this event, it still seemed unusual. The normally recluse sorcerers from the mountains were out running
amok muttering gibberish to themselves; farm children happily played in the streets, awed by the spectacle; tradesmen screamed at each other about arguments as old as the Goddess Lasheiah herself; and street performers begged for coin. All sorts of people who normally didnʼt associate with each other were drawn together by the great String of Fate itself.
The quiet Forlin was transformed into a bustling center, and Dax just snickered to himself.