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Conjuring Chaos
- Thread starter Proficiently Awkward
- Start date
Proficiently Awkward
Professional Cynic
A riot of color spilled out over the drab, cobbled avenue. During much of the week, the street lacked decoration - there were only the tattered awnings and hastily swept shop-fronts to beckon customers inside. Yet, market day brought with it a certain decorum and cause for celebration. Decorations and bright baubles were scattered about each stall in an effort to gather patrons and boost sales. Signs painted in vivid hues showcased goods and their prices. Awnings draped in richly colored silk streamers lent shade to each stall, lining the narrow street with an iridescent light as the sun’s rays filtered through the sheer fabric. Barkers littered the avenue, filling the close space with a clamorous din. Though it might have seemed a load of hullabaloo, it was worth the fuss to the shopkeepers. True enough, one good market day could outdo a week’s worth of sales. Anything could be had, here -from a fresh-baked bun to a rare, magical tome. If one knew where to look. After all, the space was so packed end to end with wagons and lean-to’s that there was barely room to squeeze through the crowd; it was a bit of a battle to make it to the hawker of one’s choice.
Stall after stall of pungent spices and powdered incense kept a body from choking on the briny, acridly aromatic breezes that typically whipped up from the nearby dock. It overwhelmed the senses, all the different aromas hanging high in the air; baking bread, fish – both salted and fresh, cloying perfumes, sweat. Yet all, somehow, managed to mingle together in an oddly pleasant cocktail. Music, too, wafted in on the spring winds. String quartets and other singular performers peppered the crowded street, playing a penny a song to those who passed by. Market day in full swing was more a festival than a mere day to shop or sell, and the fact showed on every smiling face in attendance.
Save one.
A painted sort of indifference knitted Alrik’s brow as he jostled his way down the avenue. The wizard was not having an easy time of it. Though tall, the man was reed-thin and a feather-weight. Bigger bodies fought against him in the human current and Alrik found himself getting tossed about a good deal. It was always this way on market day. Everyone was out to buy and sell and get the best deal – common curtesy got thrown out the window. Clutching a leather satchel tight against his side to make the journey easier, the man slipped underneath the awning of a vendor’s stall. Out of the pouring crowd, the wizard grunted and rubbed a hand through a tousled mess of red hair. Even out in the cool of the morning, Alrik could feel sweat pooling against his scalp.
Amid the vibrantly colored wardrobes worn by the market-goers, Alric looked a bit drab. Only the shock of blood-red hair made him even remotely noticeable. Though well-tailored, the wizard’s clothing was more subtly colored. After all, gold thread and rich velveteen fabrics cost a good deal of money. Alrik’s thigh length jacket was worn loose – a style not quite customary but quite popular among neighboring countries. His lean, rawboned frame only made the pale green fabric look baggier. The stiff collar and sleeves were shot with soft grey patterns, embroidered into the cloth. The long sleeved silk shirt underneath was a pale shade of dove grey, nearly purple, with silver cufflinks. His breeches were a complementing, very dark grey.
Alrik peered out from under the shop awning almost skeptically. Why he’d even decided to venture out that morning was beyond him. It always ended the same way – by dragging his aching bones hastily back to his own modest shop and spending the better half of the day recouping. And yet, for once, Alrik had coin burning a hole in his pocket. Despite his shop’s less than frequented location, he had made enough in sales that he needed to restock. And the idea of eating something more than day-old bread…of buying something decent to fill his belly… well. The market it was. Waiting for the crowd to die down, Alrik settled mossy eyes on the wares offered up by the stall at his right.
Meticulously measure up piles of various powders were laid out neatly in wooden bowls, tiny silver scoops juxtaposed in each. Nearby lay a silver scale, left out by the shopkeep for potential customers to measure out their goods. Willow bark. Datura. Hyssop. Nightshade. Alrik adjusted his small-framed glasses gently as he read the tiny scripted signs laid in front of each bowl.
Stall after stall of pungent spices and powdered incense kept a body from choking on the briny, acridly aromatic breezes that typically whipped up from the nearby dock. It overwhelmed the senses, all the different aromas hanging high in the air; baking bread, fish – both salted and fresh, cloying perfumes, sweat. Yet all, somehow, managed to mingle together in an oddly pleasant cocktail. Music, too, wafted in on the spring winds. String quartets and other singular performers peppered the crowded street, playing a penny a song to those who passed by. Market day in full swing was more a festival than a mere day to shop or sell, and the fact showed on every smiling face in attendance.
Save one.
A painted sort of indifference knitted Alrik’s brow as he jostled his way down the avenue. The wizard was not having an easy time of it. Though tall, the man was reed-thin and a feather-weight. Bigger bodies fought against him in the human current and Alrik found himself getting tossed about a good deal. It was always this way on market day. Everyone was out to buy and sell and get the best deal – common curtesy got thrown out the window. Clutching a leather satchel tight against his side to make the journey easier, the man slipped underneath the awning of a vendor’s stall. Out of the pouring crowd, the wizard grunted and rubbed a hand through a tousled mess of red hair. Even out in the cool of the morning, Alrik could feel sweat pooling against his scalp.
Amid the vibrantly colored wardrobes worn by the market-goers, Alric looked a bit drab. Only the shock of blood-red hair made him even remotely noticeable. Though well-tailored, the wizard’s clothing was more subtly colored. After all, gold thread and rich velveteen fabrics cost a good deal of money. Alrik’s thigh length jacket was worn loose – a style not quite customary but quite popular among neighboring countries. His lean, rawboned frame only made the pale green fabric look baggier. The stiff collar and sleeves were shot with soft grey patterns, embroidered into the cloth. The long sleeved silk shirt underneath was a pale shade of dove grey, nearly purple, with silver cufflinks. His breeches were a complementing, very dark grey.
Alrik peered out from under the shop awning almost skeptically. Why he’d even decided to venture out that morning was beyond him. It always ended the same way – by dragging his aching bones hastily back to his own modest shop and spending the better half of the day recouping. And yet, for once, Alrik had coin burning a hole in his pocket. Despite his shop’s less than frequented location, he had made enough in sales that he needed to restock. And the idea of eating something more than day-old bread…of buying something decent to fill his belly… well. The market it was. Waiting for the crowd to die down, Alrik settled mossy eyes on the wares offered up by the stall at his right.
Meticulously measure up piles of various powders were laid out neatly in wooden bowls, tiny silver scoops juxtaposed in each. Nearby lay a silver scale, left out by the shopkeep for potential customers to measure out their goods. Willow bark. Datura. Hyssop. Nightshade. Alrik adjusted his small-framed glasses gently as he read the tiny scripted signs laid in front of each bowl.
