Lord Zee
MarshalSolgriev
urukhai
Alby47
Crispy OctopusNow that he had crossed through the city from end to end, making some necessary purchases (and many unnecessary ones) and delivering some important reports (not all of them, but some), Dabbles continued on his way to the lens grove in the nearby jungle.
When the land had been cleared by a mysterious hero companion of Lifprasil, certain outcrops had been neatly cleaved flat, leaving a smooth stone surface level with the soil. The only greenery to appear on these beds of volcanic stone were tufts of moss and resilient grasses, unless earth was brought in to cover the space. Of course, not all trees are green.
Alefpria's population was so prodigious that its undead supported not only the largest orchard of lens in the Ironheart region, but travelled with the herds to sustain many others beyond. Here the trading folk converged and their Sculptor companions came and went from the city, exchanging strange idols and masks and clothes for goods of such eccentricity that they may as well have been giving away their work at random.
The herds themselves dealt in rather more practical things- Bronze tools and eyeglasses, instruments of string and percussion, pottery, wagons and howdahs. All these things were crafted in Alefpria specifically for Urtelem, whose proportions are heavier, and fingers not nearly so deft. In return, the city was enriched with not only strong labour but also goods from throughout the Ironhearts and beyond, from Rulanah and Shalanoir (though the Quara are prodigious travellers in their own right, and only a fool underestimates how far a troll will go for a good deal).
One of the most important things they brought, of course, was news.
"Hello, Maker!" said Dabbles, homing on the telepathic clicks and taps of the Sculptor.
'So many faeries have danced and died on these jungle hills, and still you remain in Alefpria,' signed Three Rosettes, the tripod creature of flowering black haematite and amethyst crown. 'You hide many things under that fabric cocoon. I cannot see them, but you do.'
"Oh, please! Not so rude!" answered Dabbles haughtily, rapping his hand against a twisted stone limb. 'Hello, Banyan Roots!' he signed, his stumps working at an absurd pace to compensate for his lack of fingers.
The Banyan Root herd gestured back pleasantly as they chewed on glass stems and silicone sap, inquiring about the city's constant growth, about Father Dominus and the court of Lifprasil, about earthquakes, and, of course, whether he was interested in the first pick of their wares.
It was time to exchange some more coin.
Urts do not charge high, but they are incredibly resistant to haggling, and having to commission much of their own purchases, have a great deal of use for currency. This herd bore herbs and fine marble from the Metera Valley, among other goods of peculiarly advanced craftsmanship. Dabbles learned many things from them that the whispers of their Jvanic friends neglected to mention. The Meterans, it seemed, were on their way up.
A handful of trinkets had disappeared into Dabbles's bulging cloaks before Three Rosettes delivered perhaps the strangest news of all.
'Old Walker wandered into Metera a year ago, and has yet to wander their way out,' signed the Sculptor, quiet and calm, as if only speaking to see Dabbles's reaction. But Dabbles is an observant fellow, and he did not miss the excitement beneath that stony skin that soon became his own.
"Why, Old Walker? They of the rufous feathers? They of the white mask and four deft hands? Old Walker?"
'As surely as the rainflowers bloom after a storm,' answered Three Rosettes, 'with a young goddess in their arms and the mystery ever fresh in their eyes. Her name is Chiral Phi, and Old Walker, say the people of the meadow, is her Prophet.'
"Ye gods, Maker! Whyever did you not sing this to me before? I've almost a mind, dare I be so bold, as to travel there myself and see the truth for myself!"
'I've been doting on moonshadows, and the colour of fresh soil,' signed Three Rosettes simply. 'Besides, you will not travel. Something ties you here, Dabbles.'
"Well, sir, perhaps you have considered that I may be preoccupied with the Most Significant Duties of captaincy on the largest ship in the world, under commission for the grandest army to walk its face? Good day, Maker!"
When the land had been cleared by a mysterious hero companion of Lifprasil, certain outcrops had been neatly cleaved flat, leaving a smooth stone surface level with the soil. The only greenery to appear on these beds of volcanic stone were tufts of moss and resilient grasses, unless earth was brought in to cover the space. Of course, not all trees are green.
Alefpria's population was so prodigious that its undead supported not only the largest orchard of lens in the Ironheart region, but travelled with the herds to sustain many others beyond. Here the trading folk converged and their Sculptor companions came and went from the city, exchanging strange idols and masks and clothes for goods of such eccentricity that they may as well have been giving away their work at random.
The herds themselves dealt in rather more practical things- Bronze tools and eyeglasses, instruments of string and percussion, pottery, wagons and howdahs. All these things were crafted in Alefpria specifically for Urtelem, whose proportions are heavier, and fingers not nearly so deft. In return, the city was enriched with not only strong labour but also goods from throughout the Ironhearts and beyond, from Rulanah and Shalanoir (though the Quara are prodigious travellers in their own right, and only a fool underestimates how far a troll will go for a good deal).
One of the most important things they brought, of course, was news.
"Hello, Maker!" said Dabbles, homing on the telepathic clicks and taps of the Sculptor.
'So many faeries have danced and died on these jungle hills, and still you remain in Alefpria,' signed Three Rosettes, the tripod creature of flowering black haematite and amethyst crown. 'You hide many things under that fabric cocoon. I cannot see them, but you do.'
"Oh, please! Not so rude!" answered Dabbles haughtily, rapping his hand against a twisted stone limb. 'Hello, Banyan Roots!' he signed, his stumps working at an absurd pace to compensate for his lack of fingers.
The Banyan Root herd gestured back pleasantly as they chewed on glass stems and silicone sap, inquiring about the city's constant growth, about Father Dominus and the court of Lifprasil, about earthquakes, and, of course, whether he was interested in the first pick of their wares.
It was time to exchange some more coin.
Urts do not charge high, but they are incredibly resistant to haggling, and having to commission much of their own purchases, have a great deal of use for currency. This herd bore herbs and fine marble from the Metera Valley, among other goods of peculiarly advanced craftsmanship. Dabbles learned many things from them that the whispers of their Jvanic friends neglected to mention. The Meterans, it seemed, were on their way up.
A handful of trinkets had disappeared into Dabbles's bulging cloaks before Three Rosettes delivered perhaps the strangest news of all.
'Old Walker wandered into Metera a year ago, and has yet to wander their way out,' signed the Sculptor, quiet and calm, as if only speaking to see Dabbles's reaction. But Dabbles is an observant fellow, and he did not miss the excitement beneath that stony skin that soon became his own.
"Why, Old Walker? They of the rufous feathers? They of the white mask and four deft hands? Old Walker?"
'As surely as the rainflowers bloom after a storm,' answered Three Rosettes, 'with a young goddess in their arms and the mystery ever fresh in their eyes. Her name is Chiral Phi, and Old Walker, say the people of the meadow, is her Prophet.'
"Ye gods, Maker! Whyever did you not sing this to me before? I've almost a mind, dare I be so bold, as to travel there myself and see the truth for myself!"
'I've been doting on moonshadows, and the colour of fresh soil,' signed Three Rosettes simply. 'Besides, you will not travel. Something ties you here, Dabbles.'
"Well, sir, perhaps you have considered that I may be preoccupied with the Most Significant Duties of captaincy on the largest ship in the world, under commission for the grandest army to walk its face? Good day, Maker!"
* * * * *
