Venturing into the Rookeries, Chryil 23nd, Late MT

[Lir Calysta Markby]

It was a lot later in the day than Lir expected but it was getting hotter despite the dome's shelter.

While much of the City's institutions and public buildings were located under one of the three major domes dominating the center of Sabata, there were several more smaller domes that surrounded these...and two if these domes were known throughout Sabata simply as The Rookeries. Narrow, closed-in, winding streets were stifled by a dense collection of tall, bare buildings made in the most humble style, buildings that most often had two or three levels upon them despite their tiny size. The narrow slits of the dome visible above were frequently broken by boards or planks placed over the ground streets below to ease the traffic of moving bodies, a second level of traffic on the second floor of all buildings and, in some areas, the third as well. Upon entering the twin-domed borough, one was left with the impression that they had just entered a dense maze of tiny houses and a few unlicensed shops instead of a proper community of the working class.

The strong press of bodies all around...as well as above and sometimes below...gave off the powerful odour of humanity tempered only just by the dry, arid airs. The Rookeries seldom experienced a merciful breeze, so the scent lingered upon the air and followed wherever one went within. But there were also the smells of roasting lamb, boiling soups, and fragrant flowers...for while the Rookeries were overcrowded and dense, they were the home to literally thousands of the city's families, families that lived literally door-to-door with their immediate neighbors.

Of course, legend has it that there are buildings in the Rookeries that can be found only by those shown the way. That can't be too far from truth, as no ten paces in the Rookeries can be taken in a straight line. For the casual visitor, a guide is traditionally the custom...and young boys and girls waited at the entrance at all marks of the day to provide just this service for a minor fee.

Gods the smell.. Was the first thought in the woman's mind as she adjusted her senses to the new surroundings. If she had thought that the Market was bad with all its myriad of scents, fragrances and such assaulting her senses, this was absolutely mind-altering. The smell seemed to have settled in everything making it impossible to get away from it. Instinctively, she wrapped the scarf to cover her mouth and nose. If it was possible, she would try to avoid the people milling around being reminded of her own home. I thought nothing could smell worse than men at sea for weeks or even months.

She purposely tried to give off an aura of power to see who's curiosity she could stir. The boys and girls at the entrance waited to paw money in their grubby little hands and she wondered why exactly Brann was interested in the place. "You will owe me a day in the baths after this." She growled softly close to Brann's ear so only he could hear. He probably would take that the wrong way, but she did not want this stink to stay permanently on her.

Lir wondered if Brann would 'buy' a guide or just decide to explore but at the same time, the healer felt uneasy of the labyrinth that may not let them out if they venture in too deeply by themselves.

[Brann]

Was there a wrong way to take it? Not to Brann there wasn't, and Lir's growling whisper was enough to firmly plant a wide grin on his angular face.

"As though I didn't already have that in mind?" he quipped back, clearly amused by the opening the healer had provided. "You cut me to the quick, m'lady. Truly."

Standing near the entrance to this most interesting of boroughs, Brann planted hands on hips and surveyed the cramped squalor that twisted away from them in all directions. With the eye of a practiced climber he surveyed the upper levels of the tenements, noting the numerous handholds, bridges and ladders that would make hide and seek in the Rookeries a bonafide three-dimensional nightmare. Easy to lose tails here, but perhaps even easier to lose oneself.

The achadhiel realized Lir had covered her face against the smell of the warrens, and while the slightest of wrinkles formed on the bridge of his nose in sympathy, Brann fought against the urge to do the same in favour of meeting the locals on as close their own level as possible. Speaking of which, if he wanted to look around and gather some information about this place, he was going to need a local to assist. Otherwise he and Lir would end up lost for a month.

Catching the eye of one of the street urchins hovering nearby, the ebon-haired achadhiel waved his head to call the youngster over. "What's the rate for a guide this morningtide?" he called out, eyes narrowing shrewdly as he awaited the answer.

[Grant]

During the day, the rookeries were almost hospitable. The lighting was at least adequate...many of the catacombs of buildings cast around in disarray were empty with their occupants out working...and the occasional group of very, very close neighbors could be seen leaning out windows and over catwalks to share some piece of gossip or another. It might have seemed like any other street in an over-crowded city, save for the sheer height of the narrow, winding streets.

For the children hale and strong enough, work could be found at the Tannery...the Looms...the Vats...any of the local industries that employed (and frequently lost) laborers during the course of the working day. But those jobs were far from endless, and for those that could not acquire such a position, their lot in life was reduced to base thuggery, petty theft, or street guide. The last was a time-honored tradition of street urchins the world over, and here in the Rookeries, they had a near monopoly on all tourism to the boroughs...a monopoly born of the utter complexity of the living maze around them, a maze they had learned from birth.

Sadly, even this business was hotly contested. No sooner had Lir and Brann come into sight when the children guarding the entrance to the Rookeries erupted into a sudden, violent struggle for the proposed business of the next, newest visitors. Shouting, a few well-placed kicks, a thrown rock, and a well-placed trip resulted in one small boy emerging from the rest, a crafty little man that darted forward like some kind of natural athlete to skid to a halt before the pair and knuckle his brow in a fashion mindful of a sailor. "Kal'esse, visitors. This one will take you where your heart desires for the price of two banner," he proclaimed boldly. Glancing from Lir to Brann and back, he quickly added "...apiece," proof that he was indeed a veteran of the trade.

And like any veteran, the young entrepreneur wasn't about to give his clients time to consider the proposed cost. "Do my honored masters wish to visit the House of the Cursed as well? Many have come to see this place in but a day. I know it well, if this is your wish."

[Brann]

Brann crossed his arms and favoured the urchin with a mildly challenging look and then hmmph'd at the lad's moxie.

"Kal'esse, young guidesman," replied the achadhiel, imitating the boy's accent as best he could on what he assumed was the local greeting. "I think two for the both of us is enough, but I'll make it three at the end if you do a good job."

"As for the House of the Cursed, all in good time. I would prefer to start with a general introduction as we walk along what passes for the main thoroughfares of the Rookeries." Brann was mainly interested in seeing the place firsthand, and getting the opportunity to ask a local about who controlled the warrens, where you would go for "work", and where you wouldn't go even if your mother's life depended on it. The dark-haired thief figured the Rookeries would provide a safe retreat from the rest of the city should trouble threaten, but only if one knew how to live safely within the warrens. "You can be sure I will be full of questions as we go," Brann smirked, before turning to Lir.

"Is there anything in particular you wish to see here?" he asked the healer. "I'm in no rush, so please speak to your heart's content."

[Lir Calysta Markby]

A violet eye peered at the cheeky boy that had fought off the other and worked his way into the foreigners' services. A stony expression sat on her face as she continued to scrutinize the situation. Why are we here? Was the only real question at the moment, but she just shrugged.

"I have no idea where to start, a full tour would be fine of this place would be fine." She didn't trust the little bugger that was going to escort them, but what other choice would there have been? Her instincts reacted and wanted her to be cautious and she agreed. A possible ambush, robbery...

Lir indicated that she was ready. All the awhile she stepped with caution as she kept her senses attuned to her surroundings.

[Grant]

The boy was a bit...put out, and Brann could recognize his expression easily. He appeared almost as if someone had asked him to give a tour of a forest, or perhaps to showcase a pile of rocks. "It is...all like this, master," he began tentatively, waving at the tall, narrow shacks behind him. "All of it. There is a well, of course...at the center, like all boroughs...but there is...nothing more to see, for those who keep their homes here do not invite strange visitors easily nor will they be in when there is work to be done at the manufactories. There will be merchants trading along the lowest paths, from here to the well..." he motioned behind him "...but you need no help from me to visit them."

"This one offers you both his deepest apologies, but if you do not know what you seek, then he cannot help you for your price." Like any clever businessman, the boy wasn't about to accept a contract if he didn't believe he could keep the bargain. He certainly wouldn't accept one that might draw away too much of his day with little to show for it. "This one would advise you to explore this place on your own, and you will soon see that it is all alike, and all of it is alike to what you see here."

Of course, the truth of that claim might be debatable...though one thing was certain. The buildings did look shockingly similar and uniform, though placed at jumbled, odd angles such that it left Brann and Lir feeling as though they faced a great maze. And what was more, it appeared as though the entire borough was built on the ground first, and only then were the second floors added over the top...and a third after that. This left the upper levels somewhat mismatched and crooked compared to the foundation buildings beneath.

Despite the complexity, only one path descended into the gloomy Rookery, with a few branches visible a dozen yards in before the path angled a bit to block any further inspection.

[Brann]

Brann sighed slightly, but tried to control the frustration in his voice and expression. Either the lad didn't understand what was being asked, or he chose not to understand. Perhaps the price was too low - Brann had no idea how much daily coin these urchins could make guiding people through the Rookeries - but that was a separate negotiable. This was almost outright refusal. Still, the achadhiel was not willing to let things go quite so easily.

"Perhaps I am being a little too obscure," he admitted to the lad, "for after all, I am new to Sabata and do not know the subtleties of conversation here yet. Let me put things a different way."

"The borough has plenty of streets full of tenements like these," Brann began, waving an arm at the start of the cramped housing just beyond the trio. "But, in addition to a well at the centre, it must also have other important landmarks and establishments. A tavern or two where one would go for help with 'special' tasks, a boarding house without questions, the headquarters of the unofficial ruler of the Rookeries. There must be areas where the city guard fears to tread, and where even natives of the Rookeries stay clear. A place with the best food, the cheapest wine, the prettiest girls." Brann paused without taking his eyes from the urchin, considering Lir for a flicker before hoping the healer took no offence.

"I cannot spell it out any clearer without a megaphone, lad," the achadhiel concluded. "Now, can you help with this, or do I need to see someone else?"

[Lir Calysta Markby]

If Lir was experiencing any amusement at Brann's abilities it was not revealed on the woman's face. It did nothing to argue with children especially street smart ones.

The violet eye assessed the child and then gave a look to Brann to stop negotiations. "I think we are wasting our time with this one. I do not believe he knows a thing about this place. We'll find another...and maybe give him or her a reward for their knowledge."

Her words were meant to sting the child's ego. If he claims to be as good as he said he was he would try his best to prove it or not care enough to know what the reward was. Either way pushing a child was not the thing to do, it was like most people, make it seem like it is their idea and just run along with it.

It was odd that Brann was asking for all of the unsavory locations of this place, but by the smell alone it was probably rare that any true law hit this place. He sort of reminded her a bit of her friend Ony which suddenly made her smile remembering how the two had met.

"We should go Brann, we should should someone that actually knows this place as if it was the back of their hand." Her voice was a purr but with a slight edge of caution, a dare as she waited to see if the little boy would rudely pipe in or just let them go to find someone else.

Lir wouldn't tell him that she would probably put more money down after this little excursion but why put down a chunk of money to get nothing in return.

It was also the same reason why she had qualms of trying the food, wine or even consider touching a 'pretty' more like 'over-used' and 'diseased' girl in this place. It was not that Lir had always lived in wealth, but she has been on both sides of the coin and did not like to dwell in unsavory places if she didn't have to.

Her thoughts made Lir wonder exactly who Brann was and what he was looking for. Could he be trusted? They had met separately, but he had a strange happy go lucky attitude and even randomly smiled when there wasn't really anything to smile about.

[Grant]

Oh! All at once, the young man understood Brann's needs. He seeks a place that should not be found, he realized. There was no genuine ruler of the Rookeries...nothing better than a few small-time thugs, the best such poverty could attract...but there was a place that might interest him. Glancing back and forth from Brann to Lir, the boy nodded emphatically. "Ah, I see, I see. You seek a place that cannot be so easily found!"

The only difficulty was determining why. The warren in the heart of the Rookeries was ideal, but it was far from unknown. Boss Harkhebi often visited...Harkhebi was from the Rookeries himself...but he turned a blind eye to anyone and anything seen within. After all, the high and mighty of the Great Domes hardly knew or cared what happened among the meek here in the Rooks. So long as they appeared to work their shifts, they could do whatever they liked. But that would do little good for his clients if they hoped to become lost. There was no place in the city that Boss Harkhebi could not find...even here in the Rookeries.

"There is a place visited only by locals...it has no name, but it is perhaps what you seek. I will take you there. It is near the hovel once inhabited by old Illaid when she lived. And there is a floor. Come...come..." he beckoned, motioning towards the pair as he strolled forward down the narrow, winding passage and through the curious, twilight gloom of the Rookeries during midday.

A few heartbeats later...

Not forty paces...and no more...and the pair could see the well of the southern Rookery ahead. Curiously, the area around the well was void of catwalks, bridges, and ladders, as they were replaced by a gargantuan network of clotheslines. From a distance, they gave the strange impression of some massive spider web, with large, thick ropes...clearly "acquired" from the hawser of some luckless galleon...forming the center, while numerous smaller lines spread out from these on simple block-and-pin pulleys. From these hung clothes of all nature, from simple shirts and breeches to larger cloaks and the strange, shapeless garments typical for the desert.

"This is the well," came the guide's piping voice. "Perhaps you would care to stop for a moment? It is a very popular place, as you can see..."

And indeed it was. Housewives, elderly, and children alike all crowded around upon the street, upon balconies, and even around the well. They were no doubt there for the cleaning...water was drawn up and poured into waiting pots at an impressive rate...but this industrious orgy of cleaning was little more than a pretense for the real purpose of all these people. It was instantly clear that they came for gossip.

A thousand voices murmuring a thousand conversations bounced around the strange clearing...a cleaning not unlike an opening in a forest...combining into a static, wild roar unlike anything either had heard before. The smells of roasting chickens could be detected upon the air along with the strangely pleasant scent of jasmine, jojoba oil, and the pungent assault of lye. It took Lir hardly a moment to evaluate the place as far more clean than one might expect from the warren of tightly-packed homes...the air was decent and refreshingly moist...but that could have been a trick of the hanging, drying laundry.

The roasting chickens came from a home nearest the well. Several windows facing the well were open, and a few people inside did a brisk business in short beer, jojoba juice, and food...chicken prepared upon curious, little, wooden, sticks.

[Brann]

Brann quirked an eyebrow at their young guide, not so sure from the puzzling description he gave that the lad truly did understand what he was after. But the achadhiel was happy to moving at last, and so he decided to trust the urchin to show he and Lir something of use. With a "here we go" shrug to the healer, Brann paced along behind the youth with watchful eyes and open ears.

Even as alert as he was, Brann was mildly surprised as they emerged into the impromptu square around the well, if one could call it that. The sudden exposure to open air and the clean smell of fresh laundry made the space seem twice as large as reality, and even the throngs of people couldn't lessen the effect. The noise though, hundreds of small conversations all competing for the same space, rivalled the din in the marketplace he and Lir had visited the day before. Only here, Brann wagered, the information passed was much more personal in nature.

While he soaked up the sights, smells and sounds of the gathering place he paid particular attention to the dress and behaviour of the locals. He had little doubt the appearance of he and Lir had been noted by tens of people already, and if he wanted to use the Rookeries as a place to find anonymity and certain avenues of business he would need to adopt the local mannerisms effectively enough to hide from casual glances.

As he took it all in, he remarked to his companion, "At least we know where to come to get our clothes done."

[Grant]

"There is another well that looks as this one," interjected the young guide with a negligent wave towards the strangely vertical web of lines. "So long as there is sunlight, you will find much activity here..."

The young man was distracted for a moment, his eyes turning towards a line of five people marching into the well square from a street off to Brann's right. All five were dressed in long, hooded cloaks of spotted, poorly-dyed wool, and they marched with the sombre silence of holy men (though it was rather clear to see that at least one of them was in fact a woman). As the "priests" entered the square, the dull rumble of conversation and chat fell away and died entirely as the locals turned to consider the column with mixtures of unease, distaste, or mistrust.

"They are new. Priests, perhaps? They are disciples of Naveh, I think? I cannot remember. It is a temple near the caravanserai. They often visit the rookeries. It is not unknown. Every season brings a new great God to Sabata, and all Gods infect the rookeries first," remarked the boy, though even his voice began to fade as the solemn column drew near, intent to pass them by.

[Lir Calysta Markby]

It was amazing how fast the boy processed the events of the moment. She held back the smile as the boy guided them away from the sink towards a narrow, winding passage. Lir did her best to map the area in her head.

She heard the boy talk about the well and the activity that seemed to bubble up by one of these places. A meeting area for the residents of this quaint little place.

The place that they had entered was far cleaner and much more habitable. The smells were so much more pleasant and bearable.

A small smirk managed to creep through at Brann's comment. Always joking, always light-hearted. In a way it was endearing, but Lir would work hard at not ever letting him now that.

When the sun is out, people are out, but she could see why everyone would lock themselves in their houses at night. Even people that knew this area like the back of their hand.

A brow raised as she looked towards the ones that looked even more out of place than she and Brann. She could almost taste the unease, distaste or mistrust from the people around her and it was directed towards the disciples of Naveh. Interesting...I wonder what god they are peddling.

Lir never spoke as the boy finished his remark and the five were starting to pass. She was obviously tense not having a great deal of good experiences with religious fanatics like the so-called captain of two ships ago that was a hard and insane Dominicus follower.

She made her posture to remain casual but alert. Following the cues of the other inhabitants, the boy's as well as Brann's. Do they believe to convert these people and if that is true why are they just walking by them in such a manner?

[Brann]

Infect the Rookeries, thought Brann, rolling their guide's words over in his head. What a curious, and likely accurate, way to think of religion. Not that Brann would ever consider his intermittent "grateful/hateful" relationship with the Twins as an infection. His was a personal relationship, unfettered by notions of rites and rituals of observance. There was no organization to feed and obey in his model of godly respect, merely a stream of events that led him to alternately praise or curse the involvement of Ithrainne and Kryn in his life.

"I would imagine the desert could drive a man to all sorts of divine worship, if only salvation from a dry dusty death could be found," he pointed out, perhaps a little more loudly than he intended. The line of clerics was close now, and showing no promise of slowing as they paraded through the square. "The hammer of the sun would make many choices possible, wouldn't you think?" he asked more softly, to complete his point.

The priests themselves drew his close inspection as they neared, for it had just occurred to the dark-haired achadhiel that here was another way to pass through the Rookeries without being troubled. It was hardly unobtrusive, but at the same time not one of the scores of people gathered around the well had approached or interfered with the procession. If Brann needed to pass through the warrens without delay, disguising himself as a priest might be just the thing.

Accordingly, he cast a critical eye over their garb, the spotted wool, the type of footwear they sported, any obvious equipment of accessories that completed the ensemble. He bent his head slightly to look inside the hoods of the marchers, in case they decorated their faces in some special way. If he missed something so obvious it would be a dead giveaway, as in he would be dead. Perhaps without realizing it Brann took a step or two closer to the line to better observe them, and in doing so risked drawing their attention, the attention that no one else in the entire square sought out.

[Grant]

"I'oh'know," came the murmured, classic reply from the boy, a clear testament that he wasn't attending to much of anything. The "priests"...if such a word truly described them...might have been monks for all the wealth they displayed, their feets clad in rope blocks (if at all) and their tattered robes cinched with small cuts of finger rope. As they passed, two of the six proved to be women (both aged and moving with some difficulty) while three were unremarkable men. While their hoods obscured their features, for a very brief moment one of them glanced at the boy guide long enough to reveal a poorly-kept beard over a strange tattoo freshly placed over his left cheek.

Soon enough, laughter and conversation began again, most of which must necessarily be about the newest little cult making itself known. Lir had placed herself well enough in the little borough to realize that while it might be somewhat difficult to find someone within, it would be nearly impossible to get lost...for the borough was tiny. Not forty paces in, and they had encountered the center of the little dome...and so not forty paces beyond, and they would no doubt come out the other side. This made the dome...one of two that made up the rookeries...perhaps smaller than some buildings in the more opulent cities of the world, and definitely smaller than the bonds of World's Mouth or the Imperial Trade Guild yards of the Citadel. The curious lattice dome construction above her head made it virtually impossible to lose her direction as well: The sun cast it's shadows, and while sunlight seldom struck the hardened ground at the bottom of these slums, the dome was always visible if one peered directly up.

Having casually disregarded the strange procession, the boy motioned off to the right. "The other well is down that lane, though you must twist to the left to reach it. But what you seek is just ahead..." beckoned the little guide, motioning across the tiny central plaza and into another alley exiting off the opposite side.

Regardless of the teaming masses of people within, it was not lost on either Brann or Lir just how poor these people truly were. Goods were being traded all around them, but never once had either of them seen so much as a single metal coin in circulation. It was very possible that the Rookeries were somewhat safe even during the night, for there seemed to be precious little here worth taking.

Nothing, that is, save for what the two travelers brought with them.

[Brann]

Having inspected the rather sad excuses for priests, if that was what they truly were, as the procession had carried on past Brann now returned his attention to their guide. He felt reasonably confident he could approximate a similar attire if need be, although the abject poverty the disguise might cause more problems than it solved. Footwear in particular could be an issue, he thought, for Brann was far from trusting something other than his leather boots. But in the dark of night perhaps he could skip that detail. No one would come too close to a priest anyway, if this display had been typical.

The achadhiel nodded his head at their guide's commentary on the other well, and then motioned across the plaza to where the youngster would lead them. "Shall we continue on then?" he asked, glancing to Lir. "With my companion's agreement, of course?"

[Lir Calysta Markby]

The violet eye followed the priests as they departed and then back towards Brann listening to his request.

"Yes, please..." She replied as well as nodded her agreement to her companion's request and looked about one last time to set an impression of this place with a well in her mind.

[Grant]

Another forty paces would indeed bring the pair through the southern half of the Rookeries entirely...and out towards the Wind Wall to the West, a structure that could be heard long before it could be seen. While the winds weren't particularly stronger or weaker to produce such a noise, the curious, rounded shape of the walls coupled with the hot, blasting turri blowing perpetually out of the West produced a dull, filling gasp that was largely unmistakeable.

Moreover, it could not be missed that there was no dome overhead. The edge of the domes could be seen almost thirty feet above...thirty feet supported by the curious columns of pink stone that the local stone masons poured into molds as if they were baking cakes. Once set and hardened, these pillars were vast, strong, and could easily support the stress of the rising constructions upon their shoulders. The nearest pillars to Brann and Lir were no exception...save that the dome they supported was far smaller than most.

It was here, between both rookeries and the Wind Wall, that a curious market had sprung to life, a market made of ramshackle booths, rickety tables, or spread blankets amid the rising sand drifts that leaned against the interior of the protective wall. A little "square" in the shape of a diamond was the focus of this activity, a diamond flanked on two sides by the backs of buildings (though one might have argued that these "backs" were now "fronts") and on the other two by the massive banks of sand that piled up within the wall itself, forming an almost natural boundary near which the more transient merchants set up their own shops. Most curious of all was the ground itself...for this portion of the city had been built directly over ancient ruins, and the broken, colored tiles of that civilization could still be seen. How the tiles had managed to survive the blasting sands was a mystery, but what the sands had left untouched, the stomping feet of a thousand locals easily broke as they went about their business.

And that business was barter. Once again, no metal coin could be seen...but trade thrived even here, in the depths of the Rookeries. Most surprising of all was the nature of the traders, many of whom were natives. Spreading out their goods upon blankets or rugs laying in the sand, they traded in the currency of tarnished metal, uncut stones, chickens, goats, sheep, pelts, bone, modest produce, weapons, and various other trinkets, either decorative or of some mysterious use. More interesting than this was the large, wide ladder that stood against the Wind Wall where two arcs joined...a ladder that must necessarily ease passage into and out of the city from this curious little market.

"This place is not well known," chirped their guide, though his voice was easily lost among the thrum of the locals added to the wail of the winds whipping over the walls. "It is here you can refresh yourselves...there..." the boy pointed towards one of the many buildings that enclosed the diamond plaza, a building that had no back wall at all. It might have been a taproom save that it was primarily outside, with a roof reaching a short distance past the bar. "Is this what you seek?"

[Brann]

Brann took in the little market with a practiced sweep of his eye, holding a hand to shield his gaze from the suddenly bright sunshine. In the direct light of day the heat was even more oppressive, and the dark-haired achadhiel wondered how anyone could manage crossing the sands to the west under such conditions.

When their guide mentioned this market area was largely unknown the rogue nodded his understanding. That was something at least, although the area had a very transient feel to it. Brann wondered how stable the arrangements were, and whether the same merchants were here day after day or whether it was left to chance who might be present on any given visit.

The main thing Brann noticed about the "taproom", if one wanted to be generous in describing the building, was the presence of a roof and therefore shade. Even a burn in the direct sun of this sand-strewn market was enough to convince him that a stop at the place was worthwhile.

"Why don't we find out?" he said to both Lir and their guide, leading the way across the curiously coloured tile fragments buried within the sand. Along the way he decided to ask how permanent the residents of the market were.

"Do these people all disappear come eveningtide?" he asked their hired urchin. "Or is there something more permanent to this market than there appears? Would I find the same vendors here come tomorrow, or next week?"

[Lir Calysta Markby]

Lir was not entirely sure about this soujourn or what Brann was after. Her own violet eye swept the market as they headed towards the place that the little boy indicated. The healer kept her eye open for anything different than what they had seen previously in the Great Market.

With half an ear, the woman listened to Brann's questions as well as the guide's own answers. She continued to remain silent as she scanned the people present seeing if something caught her eye.

Particularly, she tried to figure out what people valued. When an exchange between buyer and seller is made she tried to see what was being bargained or exchanged while still being casual in this bustling little market.

Were there precious metals, gems, food, water, all things that may seem quite precious out here, especially water.

[Grant]

"I cannot tell," replied the urchin with a slight shrug. "Perhaps it is not unlike the Great Market? They will close in the dark marks of the night, but they open again before sunrise. The travelling merchants seldom stay for long, but there are those here that will remain...such as Illaid's here..." the guide gestured towards the curious open tavern. However, the urchin made no move to join the pair. "This one has never been so wealthy to need such knowledge."


The place commonly called Illaids was no shop or tavern at all. To be called a tavern required a franchise from the local Bakers' Guild...and if such a franchise were to be offered, it would most likely not be used in the Rookeries. Instead, this place was merely a home...but a home put to good use. So long as few asked questions and no official business was conducted, the place could remain open as nothing more than a local resident that allowed for numerous 'guests'.


And guests they had. The building was (not surprisingly) three floors...but the ground floor was little more than pillars and supports, with all but the front walls gone. While there were several small tables and chairs placed in the cool shade beneath the building above, the foundation of the building was dominated by a great bar surrounding a brick kiln oven, a coal-burning comboose, and stacks of kegs, sacks, and crates that presumably held food for their 'guests'. The place already had several patrons...and they were all seated at the massive bar with their backs towards the open market.


As they moved, Lir had plentyexamineto examinine the trades taking place, though it was difficult to place value when all exchanges appeared to be in barter. Weapons, horseshoes, and tools...all items of refined metal...appeared to be shockingly valuable, while minerals, foodstuffs, spices, pelts, and oils appeared to be the common currency. This could hardly be considered a surprise...Sabata was a strong producer and exporter of such things...but unlike the Great Markets under the greater domes, the goods exchanged here were of a more rudimentary or crude design. Salts were not corned...tools were of crude iron...pelts were only just cured...and medicines and spices were brought in bales or bushels, as they would be just after harvest. It reminded her of a farmer's market more than anything else.


"This one will now take his leave," bowed the little man. "He must find new customers, or his sick mother and four sisters will starve. May the light bless you, sirrah...madam..."

[Brann]

"Very well," replied Brann, as he deftly slipped the agreed upon coins into the urchin's hands. "You assistance was appreciated." The achadhiel didn't offer anything more, for his thoughts were actually that the lad could have been a great deal more use. Maybe it was the cultural distance between them, but the boy had seemed to stubbornly ignore any sense of what Brann was really after. With a glance toward Illaids, he hoped those inside would be more helpful.

After sending the guide scurrying off, Brann turned back to the bar and crossed the remaining distance until he felt the blessed shade envelop his sweating body. Reveling for a burn in the relative coolness, he let his dark eyes play about the cantina in an attempt to size up both the place and its patrons. After that he looked for an opening at the bar and made his way there.

Once he had the bartender's attention Brann was planning to ask about a drink to cool himself off further, and then about who might be the boss in the Rookeries. The achadhiel was still worried about stepping on toes, and he wanted to smooth that path before it caused him trouble. And he figured what an eight-year old boy didn't know, surely these grown men would.

[Lir Calysta Markby]

The healer just watched the exchange between boy and man. She wondered again what Brann was after and why he seemed to be looking for trouble. Of course, in a place like that one couldn't prove themselves if nothing happened.

Even now, Lir kept up her guard. Foreigners in an unknown land without a guard. This will be interesting. Yes, she wants to find her fortune and be able to be anywhere in the world. The very idea of even destroying her father seemed appealing, but right now she just wanted to explore the world. Right now she was at the doorstep of the world and just awaiting entry.

Brann started heading towards the bar and she followed quietly observing any of the patrons as well as the one in charge of the establishment. For right now she would wait to see what her companion was up to. If needed she would step in but until then being a second pair of eyes didn't seem so bad.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Archived without skilling.