Snippet #2465864

The morning brought such a calming air with it. Sometimes he pondered whether or not the lands shielded by the dark of night were refreshed by the coming of each new day, the troubles of the old cast away. Fanciful musings, but there was hardly anything wrong with that, now was there? Balor sat on the floor of a balcony overlooking a stretch of the city Saridur, pipe stem between his teeth and hat resting beside him, the low hanging tip nearly sagged to the floor by its own weight. The rich, scented smoke curled up through the air, forming into dizzying waves through which the sunlight shone brighter than on its own. He moved the stem, and turned his eyes back down to a leather bound book resting in his lap. The words scrawled in a messy hand, ink soaked into the thick yellowing parchment, were little more than thoughts and observations. His daydreams chronicled with care, simply for the sake of putting them down. They would be gone on their own from his mind in time, anyway. It was little more than his own private exercise, and one he took to often. He had first taken to doing so.. oh, what was it? Four hundred? No. Five hundred years ago? Possibly, give or take. It had been around the time of the great war against the Rexian Empire, but he could not remember exactly when. The war being the catalyst made the most sense, given how enormous an event it had been. Then, with a slight smile, he closed the book, tucked it into a bag sat opposite the hat's position, and decided it was time to go.

He decided to take a path leading through the city's bazaar. It was narrow, and quite crowded, but he enjoyed the energy. The color. He quietly observed the citizens going about their daily routines, which included the merchants in their stalls. He paused to hear a man proclaiming the potency of his poultice. Balor looked shortly at some of the mixture resting in a bowl. While he was not the most accomplished alchemist, preferring spells to physical magics and medicinals, he thought it looked like little more than damp soil mixed with red pepper and mineral oil. With a chuckle in his throat, he continued through the market. The first stop was not the last, and soon he found himself looking over stalls selling fruits and vegetables, beautifully crafted jewelry, and even finely woven rugs. He rarely purchased from such vendors, what he truly enjoyed about them was the character they brought to a city. The different people milling about, the scent of fresh food, and the many sights and sounds all packed into such a small space. He appreciated the personality of it all. Amidst them, they saw nothing but an old man and his walking stick taking an early morning stroll through the market. Such anonymity humbled him, and made him feel even more relaxed within the multitude. It was not his desire to be any less than what he was, but it did remind Balor that he was still just a mortal man standing among many others. It was something he never forget, and truly hoped he never would.

When he at last broke through the undulating currents of the bazaar, Balor turned his gaze upon a line of ships. While there were several that seemed like they might fit his purpose, they were not what he was looking for. He knew his ship when it caught his eye, and he set off for it at a comfortable pace. Of course he was not the only one, he rarely was on these sorts of "outings". The first, mostly because of their size, was almost certainly a Bosphorean. He'd met only a few in his time, and they had all been strikingly alien to most other races in frame of mind. Then there was a woman clothed in leather and fur, two swords at her sides. There was something familiar about her, and something sinister- having not quite to do with her, but a presence.. lingering. Another two, possibly mercenaries by their dress, had arrived as well. Lastly, two Narans looked to be approaching the ship as well. He thought he saw a High Elf already boarded, stood near the side of the ship speaking to a girl obviously of Yi Aba descent. Finally there was a man whom he immediately pegged for the captain. The ship was very clearly from Nàsk, and this man's clothes and demeanor struck him as highly reminiscent of that nation's people. Yes, this was most certainly the right ship.

Balor emptied the last dregs of ash from his pipe, tucked it away, and strode toward the vessel: which, as he noticed, had been named Anya. "Good morning," he proclaimed in his thick, rumbling voice while setting foot onto the boarding ramp. He dipped his head to the captain, "Forgive me for interrupting, I hate to be a bother. I was wondering if perhaps your ship would be headed for the isles of the Sea Elves? You see, I've heard rumors that there might be a lodestone hidden there, and I would very much like to discover whether or not these tales are true." He smiled warmly at the captain, not for a moment concerned that he had just laid out plainly his intentions. This was a scene he'd played in many a time before, and he had long ago abandoned all pretense otherwise.