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Post by Deleted on Oct 14, 2015 19:20:40 GMT
It was cold, not as cold as usual, but that just made it possibly for the snow to fall. People milled about the market, their daily ritual of buying what food they could to feed their families for the night. The Arculian girl was doing her normal song and dance as well, her master had sent her off to buy more material -- They needed to make more salves. The cold always brought in the sick, it was a never ending cycle.
She pulled her cloak tighter around her body as the wind picked up, bringing a bitter cold breeze with it. This was just how it was in the mountainous country. You either dealt with it or you fled. As small as she was, the girl wasn't going to get anywhere very quickly. There were bandits and other shady characters on the road waiting to rob the unwitting. She could hardly protect herself. Arryn's aptitudes were in healing, not in battle. No, she would stay where she was. It wasn't that bad after all. Arcul bore the hardiest of humans. Those capable of dealing with the cold.
Currently, she meandered through the crowded market, pushing past people (though it was more like they pushed past her) in her pursuit to find the materials needed. She had done it all before, why he had sent her with a list was beyond her. Arryn knew exactly what she needed. After passing through a particularly large crowd, she patted her side just to make sure her coin purse was still there.
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"Tyrants and cowards - for metal, you will kneel .." - In My Sword I Trust by Ensiferum
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Post by Ruin on Oct 17, 2015 18:28:54 GMT
Jukka, an Arculian warrior who had originally come from a northern clan, in which battle tactics were much more brutal than that of the average, disciplined knight, found himself within the Whiteridge market that day. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, but he did get enjoyment out of mooching through the different stalls, and viewing what sorts of merchandise could be bought. It was interesting to see what traders had brought from the other kingdoms.
Stares often followed Jukka, something he had gotten used to. Warpaint was not often worn by villagers apart from at battle, unlike many clansmen. The fair-haired male, who's hair reached the small of his back almost and was a muted shade of brown, was quite knotted. His facial features were another noteworthy aspect to Jukka - the blood-red and inky black face paints that he slapped on certainly made him stand out, along with his sharp nose. But in the Northerner's opinion, if somebody was going to live as a warrior, they should look the part. To top it off, Jukka was clad in dark leather armour, the shoulder pads lined with the thick pelt of a bear. It provided heat in this cold climate.
He had been approaching a blacksmith's when the comparison of Jukka and a tomato was shouted, to which the warrior certainly was not pleased with. Nostrils flaring slightly, his surprisingly striking blue-hued eyes searched for the culprit. Jukka was never known for his patience or ability to ignore teasing. He thought with his fists. It was obvious that the scrawny chap grinning toothily at the armoured male and leaning against a fence post was the one who had make the remark.
"I'll squash you under my fist like a tomato," threatened the warrior in a gruff, and not one bit pleased, tone of voice. The tongue that was then stick out by his newest nemesis was all the encouragement that was needed.
Numerous punches were thrown, and in the heat of the moment Jukka did not notice the dagger in the hand of the other male, which was hastily thrust into the flesh of his upper arm. A hiss of breath escaped the fair-haired warrior's lips, and the nearest stall owner began to yell for a healer, if there were any around.
Ugh, just what I need. Even more attention, thought Jukka with an inward groan.
@arryn
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