The downtown district was too much for Symphony to bear. Used to the peaceful and leisurely life of the countryside, even a few minutes of being amongst the hustle and bustle of the downtown district in the afternoon made him feel sick. But he pressed on, determined to find some sort of clue as to what his mother had meant when she had circled this city on the world map he received.
He realised that exploring the city without a place to live would be hard. He had never been in a city before, though, and had no idea where to look. Unfamiliar signs lined the street and Symphony tried to make sense of them, but he had no idea what an 'inn' was. He wondered it was some kind of city thing - somewhere that city people liked to go - or if it was simply his own incompetence with words that was the problem here. Everywhere he looked, new and confusing words caught his eye, and he tried to work out their meaning from the pictures associated with them. He had previously thought that moving into a city like Marn would be easy, although the more he thought about it, the more he realised the thought had no solid basis at all.
His train of reflective thought was broken by a strange man in torn clothing who looked to be poorer than the other people walking about the child squatting next to him on the side of the street, in the same state as the man. Symphony wondered what the man was doing, squatting by the side of the street holding a bowl. There were a 1/4 bishani in the bowl, which suddenly made Symphony think about his own future - he himself only had a few bishani on him, and that man made it seem like an impossibly trivial amount.
The man shook his bowl at Symphony and muttered a few words. Symphony still wasn't too confident with whatever language the people of Marn spoke, he had a basic understanding of it but that was all. While furiously trying to convert from language to language in his head, Symphony asked the man what he wanted.
"C'n ya spare a little money f'r a poor man and 'is child? I w's wounded by one o' those guardsmen, an' now I'm in const'nt pain, plus I've b'n reduced to beggin'."
Symphony understood enough of what was said to piece together the main points, despite the challenge presented by the slurred speech. Based on what he knew to be right, Symphony asked the man about his injury and whether he could help.
"I d'nno if you c'n 'elp me. 's a bad wound, it won' go 'way easily... P'rhaps if you c'n get that guy o'er there to 'elp... He owns that place down th' road."
Symphony processed the beggar's words and nodded before approaching the man he had pointed to. Suddenly realising that he didn't even know what the man did and how he could help, he spoke anyway, although hesitantly.
"Y-you own... 'th-that place down the r-road'?"
A Humble Apothecary
Re: A Humble Apothecary
((OOC: Any visions of demons and the voices in his head are caused by his schizophrenia and can not be seen or heard by others))
As it turned out the town, more like a village, that Talion had been so drawn to had been nothing more than a tiny, dirty village built by humans.The simple-minded people tended to their everyday routines while occasionally casting a glance in his direction just to let him know that he was unwelcome here. Not something uncommon though, Talion had found many such villages since he had left home that he was not welcome in. Even the village he had once called home was not welcoming to him.
With a sigh of disappointment, Talion's hand slipped within the small pouch on his belt that protected his precious pipe. As he lovingly caressed the pipe with his thumb and forefinger; his mind wandered to the decreasing amout of 'Ksh templa (name of his drug, translates as the evil magic) he had left. On the island, the fern like herb was easy enough to come by, but here in the harsh lands of the North it was all but unheard of.
"You are weak, living your life by the call of a drug. To let a plant decide your actions is a sign of just how pitiful you really are." Master's words stung with the awful truth. The ghostly cloaked figure that had been keeping him company glared at him with those ever judging eyes that glowed like the stars. Master was not pleased with him; he needed to ignore it for now, if he didn't get more of the herb soon the withdrawals would return and with them the torment of Master's countless minions that find pleasure in torturing him.
Speaking with the locals had proven to be a challenge in itself. It took far longer than it should have for him to learn that no one in this miserably little village could be of any help. A traveling merchant was the one to finally tell him that he needed to travel to the larger neighboring city of Marn to find a merchant who traded in foreign plants. As it happened this man, a fur trader, was headed there himself and Talion decided to tag along.
The trader who at first had seemed all too friendly to offer himself as a guide soon changed his attitude. Talion could tell the man was irritated by the slow pace they set but what could the man expect, he was a cripple after all.
"Go ahead make excuses for yourself, it changes nothing. Your frail body slows us down." Master, who had been quiet since they had left town, walked just behind the trader with his cloak drawn tightly around him so as to hide his ghostly body. Not that the trader had seemed to notice, he had ignored the Master since their meeting.
Along the way Talion took to conversing with the Master. An occasional glance over the shoulder from the trader brought a smile to the corner of Talion's mouth; the simple-minded man had resorted to eavesdropping rather than join in on conversation. A short curse and such could be heard coming from the trader every now and then, something about a crazy kid and getting locked up. Talion brushed this off as the odd ramblings of an old man.
By the time they had reached the city of Marn, the trader had been all too willing to part ways with Talion and his Master. After pointing out the Downtown Business District to Talion, the trader had disappeared into the crowd of people. With another thought of his pipe, Talion continued down the street looking for someone who would prove to be of any help in his quest to acquire more drugs.
As it turned out the town, more like a village, that Talion had been so drawn to had been nothing more than a tiny, dirty village built by humans.The simple-minded people tended to their everyday routines while occasionally casting a glance in his direction just to let him know that he was unwelcome here. Not something uncommon though, Talion had found many such villages since he had left home that he was not welcome in. Even the village he had once called home was not welcoming to him.
With a sigh of disappointment, Talion's hand slipped within the small pouch on his belt that protected his precious pipe. As he lovingly caressed the pipe with his thumb and forefinger; his mind wandered to the decreasing amout of 'Ksh templa (name of his drug, translates as the evil magic) he had left. On the island, the fern like herb was easy enough to come by, but here in the harsh lands of the North it was all but unheard of.
"You are weak, living your life by the call of a drug. To let a plant decide your actions is a sign of just how pitiful you really are." Master's words stung with the awful truth. The ghostly cloaked figure that had been keeping him company glared at him with those ever judging eyes that glowed like the stars. Master was not pleased with him; he needed to ignore it for now, if he didn't get more of the herb soon the withdrawals would return and with them the torment of Master's countless minions that find pleasure in torturing him.
Speaking with the locals had proven to be a challenge in itself. It took far longer than it should have for him to learn that no one in this miserably little village could be of any help. A traveling merchant was the one to finally tell him that he needed to travel to the larger neighboring city of Marn to find a merchant who traded in foreign plants. As it happened this man, a fur trader, was headed there himself and Talion decided to tag along.
The trader who at first had seemed all too friendly to offer himself as a guide soon changed his attitude. Talion could tell the man was irritated by the slow pace they set but what could the man expect, he was a cripple after all.
"Go ahead make excuses for yourself, it changes nothing. Your frail body slows us down." Master, who had been quiet since they had left town, walked just behind the trader with his cloak drawn tightly around him so as to hide his ghostly body. Not that the trader had seemed to notice, he had ignored the Master since their meeting.
Along the way Talion took to conversing with the Master. An occasional glance over the shoulder from the trader brought a smile to the corner of Talion's mouth; the simple-minded man had resorted to eavesdropping rather than join in on conversation. A short curse and such could be heard coming from the trader every now and then, something about a crazy kid and getting locked up. Talion brushed this off as the odd ramblings of an old man.
By the time they had reached the city of Marn, the trader had been all too willing to part ways with Talion and his Master. After pointing out the Downtown Business District to Talion, the trader had disappeared into the crowd of people. With another thought of his pipe, Talion continued down the street looking for someone who would prove to be of any help in his quest to acquire more drugs.
Re: A Humble Apothecary
Orban does not enjoy his life. He has lived in Marn for years now, enough to know that most things never change, and it is still an incessant bother to him that they won’t. If there were any glimmer of hope of returning to his old life, perhaps his daily routines would have been filled with some sense of purpose. As things stand, there is no proverbial ‘light’ at the end of the tunnel, and as time wears on the prospect of spending the entire 20 years of his exile in a place like Marn is one that seems closer to becoming a dreaded reality.
Of course, despite Orban’s problems, life has a stubborn propensity to keep going, and Orban knows that one thing he cannot afford is to fall behind. He has realised the need to blend in as much as he can, make friends or allies where possible, and always keep a steady guard up. His life, quite literally, depends on this, but he has found from an early stage that blending in requires effort, making friends considerably more effort, and constantly keeping his guard up has almost driven him insane.
The one facet of his life in Marn that keeps Orban sane is his work, and he is more than a little proud of the apothecary he has built from his own efforts. It is a humble affair, with a shopfront no wider than 6 metres; a wall of worn, faded stone broken only by a single window and a solid oak door. He chose to purchase this particular store for both security and the line of work which was to be carried out within, as the fire resistance of the stone building protects against alchemical accidents as well as assassins.
Upon first glance, the interior of Orban’s store seems no less spartan than the exterior. The lower level consists of a storefront and a crafting room, while three basic bedrooms occupy the upper level. As Orban usually keeps only the most common potions and makes the rest to order, the actual ‘shop’ that most customers see upon entering is a relatively small space occupied by a counter, a few chairs for patrons awaiting service, and some sparsely stocked shelves jutting from what seems to be the back wall.
Where Orban spends most of his time, however, is in the much larger ‘crafting room’, accessed through a door behind the counter. Here Orban keeps a myriad assortment of equipment for use in his concoctions – vials, bottles, and other containers are stored in the large cupboard hugging one corner of the room, while the other corners are occupied by three iron cauldrons, designed to heat simultaneously or individually to differing temperatures as required. The large furnace that covers half of the ‘true’ back wall of the store is used for cooking both potions and meals, and a long processing table fills much of the left wall, holding instruments of varying shapes and sizes used in the preparation of raw material ingredients. As a way to store his ever-growing collection of ingredients, Orban has also installed shelves that run across the remaining wall space of the crafting room – these are filled not only with jars, pots, and urns containing assorted materials, but includes a section dedicated to tomes and scrolls useful to Orban in his profession. Finally, there are two plain tables with two chairs apiece situated in the centre of the room, used for anything from extra workspace to serving meals.
Of course, despite Orban’s problems, life has a stubborn propensity to keep going, and Orban knows that one thing he cannot afford is to fall behind. He has realised the need to blend in as much as he can, make friends or allies where possible, and always keep a steady guard up. His life, quite literally, depends on this, but he has found from an early stage that blending in requires effort, making friends considerably more effort, and constantly keeping his guard up has almost driven him insane.
The one facet of his life in Marn that keeps Orban sane is his work, and he is more than a little proud of the apothecary he has built from his own efforts. It is a humble affair, with a shopfront no wider than 6 metres; a wall of worn, faded stone broken only by a single window and a solid oak door. He chose to purchase this particular store for both security and the line of work which was to be carried out within, as the fire resistance of the stone building protects against alchemical accidents as well as assassins.
Upon first glance, the interior of Orban’s store seems no less spartan than the exterior. The lower level consists of a storefront and a crafting room, while three basic bedrooms occupy the upper level. As Orban usually keeps only the most common potions and makes the rest to order, the actual ‘shop’ that most customers see upon entering is a relatively small space occupied by a counter, a few chairs for patrons awaiting service, and some sparsely stocked shelves jutting from what seems to be the back wall.
Where Orban spends most of his time, however, is in the much larger ‘crafting room’, accessed through a door behind the counter. Here Orban keeps a myriad assortment of equipment for use in his concoctions – vials, bottles, and other containers are stored in the large cupboard hugging one corner of the room, while the other corners are occupied by three iron cauldrons, designed to heat simultaneously or individually to differing temperatures as required. The large furnace that covers half of the ‘true’ back wall of the store is used for cooking both potions and meals, and a long processing table fills much of the left wall, holding instruments of varying shapes and sizes used in the preparation of raw material ingredients. As a way to store his ever-growing collection of ingredients, Orban has also installed shelves that run across the remaining wall space of the crafting room – these are filled not only with jars, pots, and urns containing assorted materials, but includes a section dedicated to tomes and scrolls useful to Orban in his profession. Finally, there are two plain tables with two chairs apiece situated in the centre of the room, used for anything from extra workspace to serving meals.
Re: A Humble Apothecary
Orban awoke in a cold sweat. He had been dreaming again. Jini had been returning to his dreams of late, but they were always dark and frustrating dreams with her in pain or suffering while he could not reach out to her no matter what he tried. As he struggled out of bed, he felt the same depressed feeling of hopelessness that he was left with each morning after these dreams, and it took far longer to dress himself than it should have. He knew that moping about and dwelling on dreams was likely the least productive thing he could be doing with his time, but he refused to stop thinking about Jini even though it tore a new wound in his heart each time he did. “I will come back to you”, he mouthed silently to himself, trying to inject some strength and purpose into his thoughts.
A knock on his door broke his train of thought, and moments later a melodious voice he recognised as his servant Alanna spoke through the solid frame.
“Master, it is time to awaken,” she said in a voice not loud enough to be heard unless he was already awake.
His three servants always seemed to know exactly when he was up, but he supposed that as they were also his bodyguards that it was part of their training to sleep lightly.
“There is a priest waiting outside the store, Master – should we let him in or ask him to await you?” she continued, catching Orban’s attention immediately. He had promised one of the more high-ranking priests that he would do some research and get back to him about crafting a particularly specific and difficult potion, and part of that promise had been to give a reply by yesterday. The priest would not be happy.
“I’ll be out in a minute” he replied, “Please let him in and accommodate him as best you can. Thank you”. He knew words such as ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ were completely unnecessary with his servants, but Orban has always treated them as if they were colleagues. His father has taught him at an early age that showing respect was one of the easiest ways to maintain loyalty.
Quickly running his fingers through his hair and donning a work apron, Orban half-rushed out of his bedroom and down the small flight of stairs joining the top and bottom levels. He barely noticed his other two servants, Sienna and Isabella, waiting patiently outside his room – one would tidy his room after he left while the other would follow him wherever he chose to go today. None of these were their real names, simply ones chosen at random to blend into the populace, but then ‘Orban’ was also a fake name Jini had chosen for Chun Feng at their last secret rendezvous. Orban once again felt a stabbing pain in his heart at the thought of Jini, but quickly composed himself to meet the client that Alanna had let in downstairs.
“Good morning Reverend Townsend”, he said as he shook hands with the priest, “I did not expect you this morning – did you not receive word from my servants yesterday that the potion would be delayed?”
He had given no such orders to his servants, but Alanna took up the flak immediately.
“I am sorry, Master” she replied with her head bowed, “I do not know how I could have possibly forgotten such an important message.”
Apologetically, she turned to the priest.
“Please forgive my fault, honoured Reverend.”
He vowed to make it up to her later; again, it would not be necessary, but his conscience would not be satisfied otherwise. ‘Perhaps a new dagger’, he mused to himself, before being brought back by the priest’s words.
“The incompetence of your servants is no excuse, Apothecary.” The priest’s tone was an unhappy one, but Orban could tell any real displeasure had been mostly mitigated by Alanna’s apology. “I expect you will place my order at the top of your priority list for today, and that you will have a resolution for me by the morrow”.
Orban would have breathed a sigh of relief at this, were it not for the fact that he had originally planned to work on other projects today. But Reverend Townsend was the one who placed the orders for most of the temple’s healing supplies, and though Orban hardly needed the Apothecary’s profits, he was not about to lose his largest customer over a petty issue like this one.
“I do apologise for the delay, Reverend,” Orban replied quickly, “You can have my personal assurance that I will have a solution for you in the morning.”
Grabbing a potion from the shelf behind him, Orban continued.
“As a token of apology, please accept this vitality elixir at no cost – it will give the imbiber an injection of zest and energy for up to 12 hours.”
The priest looked impressed by Orban’s generosity, and with that Orban saw him out. As Orban came back he tried to apologise to Alanna, but got as far as saying her name before she cut him off.
“Master, we have only bought an extra day, and there is still much to do to prepare this particular brew that the priest needs” she said in a tone that sounded more like an older sister talking than a servant. “I will accompany you to gather whatever ingredients are necessary, while Sienna and Isabella stay to finish some of the other orders we have.”
Orban did not argue with that, as he knew himself that it would likely take him the entire day to gather the ingredients and prepare the priest’s requested potion.
As he readied himself for the trek around and outside the city to purchase and gather the required ingredients, Alanna passed instructions to Sienna and Isabella, before readying herself to accompany Orban.
His first stop was a store that sold wine, a hundred metres further along the main road from his shop. A potion as potent as this one needed a strong base, and he purchased a bottle of the best port wine available. By Orban’s calculations, the potion was likely to cost the temple at least four hundred Bishani, of which very little would be Orban’s profit. At such a price, Orban wondered who was so important to the temple to warrant this kind of expenditure.
Orban’s second stop was to be a grocer further down the road, where he needed to pick up an assortment of herbs. Along the way, however, he was stopped by a short, pale-looking man with a curious accent, asking him whether he was the owner of the apothecary. Alanna immediately treated the man as suspicious, interposing herself between Orban and his questioner, but Orban gently put a hand on her shoulder and gave Alanna a look that plainly said “I’ll handle this”.
With a measured tone, Orban replied politely.
“Yes, though there are a few Apothecaries in this town, the particular one you are referring to is owned by myself. What assistance can I offer you, traveller?”
A knock on his door broke his train of thought, and moments later a melodious voice he recognised as his servant Alanna spoke through the solid frame.
“Master, it is time to awaken,” she said in a voice not loud enough to be heard unless he was already awake.
His three servants always seemed to know exactly when he was up, but he supposed that as they were also his bodyguards that it was part of their training to sleep lightly.
“There is a priest waiting outside the store, Master – should we let him in or ask him to await you?” she continued, catching Orban’s attention immediately. He had promised one of the more high-ranking priests that he would do some research and get back to him about crafting a particularly specific and difficult potion, and part of that promise had been to give a reply by yesterday. The priest would not be happy.
“I’ll be out in a minute” he replied, “Please let him in and accommodate him as best you can. Thank you”. He knew words such as ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ were completely unnecessary with his servants, but Orban has always treated them as if they were colleagues. His father has taught him at an early age that showing respect was one of the easiest ways to maintain loyalty.
Quickly running his fingers through his hair and donning a work apron, Orban half-rushed out of his bedroom and down the small flight of stairs joining the top and bottom levels. He barely noticed his other two servants, Sienna and Isabella, waiting patiently outside his room – one would tidy his room after he left while the other would follow him wherever he chose to go today. None of these were their real names, simply ones chosen at random to blend into the populace, but then ‘Orban’ was also a fake name Jini had chosen for Chun Feng at their last secret rendezvous. Orban once again felt a stabbing pain in his heart at the thought of Jini, but quickly composed himself to meet the client that Alanna had let in downstairs.
“Good morning Reverend Townsend”, he said as he shook hands with the priest, “I did not expect you this morning – did you not receive word from my servants yesterday that the potion would be delayed?”
He had given no such orders to his servants, but Alanna took up the flak immediately.
“I am sorry, Master” she replied with her head bowed, “I do not know how I could have possibly forgotten such an important message.”
Apologetically, she turned to the priest.
“Please forgive my fault, honoured Reverend.”
He vowed to make it up to her later; again, it would not be necessary, but his conscience would not be satisfied otherwise. ‘Perhaps a new dagger’, he mused to himself, before being brought back by the priest’s words.
“The incompetence of your servants is no excuse, Apothecary.” The priest’s tone was an unhappy one, but Orban could tell any real displeasure had been mostly mitigated by Alanna’s apology. “I expect you will place my order at the top of your priority list for today, and that you will have a resolution for me by the morrow”.
Orban would have breathed a sigh of relief at this, were it not for the fact that he had originally planned to work on other projects today. But Reverend Townsend was the one who placed the orders for most of the temple’s healing supplies, and though Orban hardly needed the Apothecary’s profits, he was not about to lose his largest customer over a petty issue like this one.
“I do apologise for the delay, Reverend,” Orban replied quickly, “You can have my personal assurance that I will have a solution for you in the morning.”
Grabbing a potion from the shelf behind him, Orban continued.
“As a token of apology, please accept this vitality elixir at no cost – it will give the imbiber an injection of zest and energy for up to 12 hours.”
The priest looked impressed by Orban’s generosity, and with that Orban saw him out. As Orban came back he tried to apologise to Alanna, but got as far as saying her name before she cut him off.
“Master, we have only bought an extra day, and there is still much to do to prepare this particular brew that the priest needs” she said in a tone that sounded more like an older sister talking than a servant. “I will accompany you to gather whatever ingredients are necessary, while Sienna and Isabella stay to finish some of the other orders we have.”
Orban did not argue with that, as he knew himself that it would likely take him the entire day to gather the ingredients and prepare the priest’s requested potion.
As he readied himself for the trek around and outside the city to purchase and gather the required ingredients, Alanna passed instructions to Sienna and Isabella, before readying herself to accompany Orban.
His first stop was a store that sold wine, a hundred metres further along the main road from his shop. A potion as potent as this one needed a strong base, and he purchased a bottle of the best port wine available. By Orban’s calculations, the potion was likely to cost the temple at least four hundred Bishani, of which very little would be Orban’s profit. At such a price, Orban wondered who was so important to the temple to warrant this kind of expenditure.
Orban’s second stop was to be a grocer further down the road, where he needed to pick up an assortment of herbs. Along the way, however, he was stopped by a short, pale-looking man with a curious accent, asking him whether he was the owner of the apothecary. Alanna immediately treated the man as suspicious, interposing herself between Orban and his questioner, but Orban gently put a hand on her shoulder and gave Alanna a look that plainly said “I’ll handle this”.
With a measured tone, Orban replied politely.
“Yes, though there are a few Apothecaries in this town, the particular one you are referring to is owned by myself. What assistance can I offer you, traveller?”
-
Tampa Laurca
- Outsider
- Posts: 7
- Joined: Sat Oct 25, 2008 5:43 am
Re: A Humble Apothecary
“Yes, though there are a few Apothecaries in this town, the particular one you are referring to is owned by myself. What assistance can I offer you, traveller?”
Apothecary... that rang a bell. Symphony was relieved that the man he was speaking to spoke clearly enough for him to understand even with his limited knowledge of anything not related to his homeland. And he could swear that the word 'apothecary' sounded familiar.
Ah! An apothecary is the place where they make potions, isn't it?
“You own the... a-po-the-ca-ry? So you sell healing potions? I need a healing potion... I think,” Glowing with a strange confidence, Symphony continued, “Yes, a healing potion. For a bad wound. For a man over... that way.”
Symphony pointed towards the beggar he was with a few seconds before and realised that no one was there any more. He looked at the man and back at where the beggar was before he spotted him asking others for help, who all ignored him. In fact, not one of the people who were walking past even seemed to notice him. It started to bother him after a while.
Why is no-one stopping for him? Perhaps they saw me helping him. Surely no-one would walk past a man like that on the road and not care about him. And the child too...
Symphony redirected his finger and waited for an answer while reflecting on the people of the city's apparent coldness towards the beggar.
It's my duty to help others in need though, isn't it? I mean, mother always said that and... and... They don't don't seem to be helping him. Maybe it's just my misinterpretation of what she was saying... or was mother really just wrong? Maybe they don't even believe in helping others. Maybe my ideas are... foreign to them, just like my language. Are their attitudes really that different? And do I need to change my ideas? I don't want to, but will I have to in order to fit in with these people? Because that should be my first priority, I guess – fitting in.
Symphony refocused himself on the man he was talking to and wondered why it was taking so long for him to respond.
Maybe he's wondering why I'm so interested in helping out the man over there. I guess that's reasonable. Should I tell him?
“I was taught that it is my duty to help others in need. I am just doing what my duty asks of me. Is that... bad here? I am a foreigner, so I do not know much about Marn.”
Apothecary... that rang a bell. Symphony was relieved that the man he was speaking to spoke clearly enough for him to understand even with his limited knowledge of anything not related to his homeland. And he could swear that the word 'apothecary' sounded familiar.
Ah! An apothecary is the place where they make potions, isn't it?
“You own the... a-po-the-ca-ry? So you sell healing potions? I need a healing potion... I think,” Glowing with a strange confidence, Symphony continued, “Yes, a healing potion. For a bad wound. For a man over... that way.”
Symphony pointed towards the beggar he was with a few seconds before and realised that no one was there any more. He looked at the man and back at where the beggar was before he spotted him asking others for help, who all ignored him. In fact, not one of the people who were walking past even seemed to notice him. It started to bother him after a while.
Why is no-one stopping for him? Perhaps they saw me helping him. Surely no-one would walk past a man like that on the road and not care about him. And the child too...
Symphony redirected his finger and waited for an answer while reflecting on the people of the city's apparent coldness towards the beggar.
It's my duty to help others in need though, isn't it? I mean, mother always said that and... and... They don't don't seem to be helping him. Maybe it's just my misinterpretation of what she was saying... or was mother really just wrong? Maybe they don't even believe in helping others. Maybe my ideas are... foreign to them, just like my language. Are their attitudes really that different? And do I need to change my ideas? I don't want to, but will I have to in order to fit in with these people? Because that should be my first priority, I guess – fitting in.
Symphony refocused himself on the man he was talking to and wondered why it was taking so long for him to respond.
Maybe he's wondering why I'm so interested in helping out the man over there. I guess that's reasonable. Should I tell him?
“I was taught that it is my duty to help others in need. I am just doing what my duty asks of me. Is that... bad here? I am a foreigner, so I do not know much about Marn.”
Re: A Humble Apothecary
"How could you be lost, is not your kind suppose to be skilled in finding their way"
Master was growing annoyed as the hours pasted and Talion had still not acquired the drugs he was desperately sorting for. Not only had he yet to get his hands on the herb but he had yet to find anyone in this damned city who had any knowledge of plants whatsoever.
"We are just wasting time you know. This is utterly pointless; if you hadn't gone and got yourself addicted..."
"Grraa...my head is killing me"
With long bony fingers, Talion reached his hands up into the hood of his cloak and dug into the flesh behind his pointy ears. Pulling his hands out of his hood he found some amounts of blood staining his pale skin. Another wave of pain hit him, not from the self-inflicted wounds put from the drugs or rather the lack of them in his system. Every inch of his body hurt and it was only going to get worse.
"You brought this upon yourself"
"Go back to the far reaches of the hell from which you came ..." He was frustrated and wanted to express his angry but regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. Master would not soon forget this and he would pay for it later. A cruel punishment was indeed waiting him but for now master stood there staring at Talion. A deep angry glare that shown with the light of the stars conveyed many unspoken words.
"If that is what you wish...Just don't die yet you weak fool...somehow I still have some use of you" With those last words Master faded into the shadows of a nearby building.
It was then that Talion had noticed that the people that had been walking down the street had stopped to stare at them. Was it not a normal sight to see two cloaked figures arguing with each other in the street? If you could not argue in the street then where? A woman hurried her two young children down the street and past Talion; she attempted to hush their many questions as they disappeared out of sight. Others simply just stared at him until they lost interest then went about there way. Whispers of insanity could be overheard as those who had been momentarily entertained went back to their everyday lives.
Why would they look at him so, was it because he was a foreigner? If this was how the people of the city treated all outsiders, he was not sure that he wanted to be here. Sure the elves back home had hated outsiders but that was different; humans should feel lucky that elves would even grant them with their presence. Talion was but utterly confused as to why people would point and stare at him.
Feeling tired and still in pain Talion sat down on the side of the road, with eyes closed he threw his head backward letting his hood fall down. Pale pointy elven ears that had been hidden by the dark hood poked out of his blue-black hair. As a small breeze swept through his hair, it freed a few strands of hair loose form the ponytail and set them about blowing in the wind. On the wind lingered not the fragrant smell of the woods but the smell of dirty bodies living to close to each other, cut off from the outside world.
Upon opening his eyes, a sign hanging above the door to the building he was sitting in front of caught his eye. It was a simple sign made of wood with the picture of a vial full of green liquid painted on it. Was this not what he was looking for? Would not a person much learned in the art of potion making also of herbs. As he rose to his feet, Talion picked up his Walking stick and made his way inside the small shop.
Master was growing annoyed as the hours pasted and Talion had still not acquired the drugs he was desperately sorting for. Not only had he yet to get his hands on the herb but he had yet to find anyone in this damned city who had any knowledge of plants whatsoever.
"We are just wasting time you know. This is utterly pointless; if you hadn't gone and got yourself addicted..."
"Grraa...my head is killing me"
With long bony fingers, Talion reached his hands up into the hood of his cloak and dug into the flesh behind his pointy ears. Pulling his hands out of his hood he found some amounts of blood staining his pale skin. Another wave of pain hit him, not from the self-inflicted wounds put from the drugs or rather the lack of them in his system. Every inch of his body hurt and it was only going to get worse.
"You brought this upon yourself"
"Go back to the far reaches of the hell from which you came ..." He was frustrated and wanted to express his angry but regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. Master would not soon forget this and he would pay for it later. A cruel punishment was indeed waiting him but for now master stood there staring at Talion. A deep angry glare that shown with the light of the stars conveyed many unspoken words.
"If that is what you wish...Just don't die yet you weak fool...somehow I still have some use of you" With those last words Master faded into the shadows of a nearby building.
It was then that Talion had noticed that the people that had been walking down the street had stopped to stare at them. Was it not a normal sight to see two cloaked figures arguing with each other in the street? If you could not argue in the street then where? A woman hurried her two young children down the street and past Talion; she attempted to hush their many questions as they disappeared out of sight. Others simply just stared at him until they lost interest then went about there way. Whispers of insanity could be overheard as those who had been momentarily entertained went back to their everyday lives.
Why would they look at him so, was it because he was a foreigner? If this was how the people of the city treated all outsiders, he was not sure that he wanted to be here. Sure the elves back home had hated outsiders but that was different; humans should feel lucky that elves would even grant them with their presence. Talion was but utterly confused as to why people would point and stare at him.
Feeling tired and still in pain Talion sat down on the side of the road, with eyes closed he threw his head backward letting his hood fall down. Pale pointy elven ears that had been hidden by the dark hood poked out of his blue-black hair. As a small breeze swept through his hair, it freed a few strands of hair loose form the ponytail and set them about blowing in the wind. On the wind lingered not the fragrant smell of the woods but the smell of dirty bodies living to close to each other, cut off from the outside world.
Upon opening his eyes, a sign hanging above the door to the building he was sitting in front of caught his eye. It was a simple sign made of wood with the picture of a vial full of green liquid painted on it. Was this not what he was looking for? Would not a person much learned in the art of potion making also of herbs. As he rose to his feet, Talion picked up his Walking stick and made his way inside the small shop.