30 Alasair, 228: A Simple Sale

A Simple Sale
Summary: The Princess Roslin Kilgour and the Prince Mikhail Kilgour make a small purchase from a new vendor in the city.
OOC Date: 19 September 2013 (OOC)
Related: None
Roslin Rythvain 
The Stormvale Market
A bustling marketplace.
Alasair 30, 228

As is the case during all mornings, the market area of the city is bustling. Market stalls have been set up on either side of the street, and there is a throng of people - apprentices buying raw goods for their master’s during the day’s work, wives and daughters purchasing thread or cloth for the day’s work, maids and footmen stocking up on fresh food for a lavish supper for their lords and masters. As though that weren’t enough, a small group of horses are making their way through the market - four guards, two maids, all on their own beasts. They are surrounding a pair of Royals, if their standard borne by one of the guards is any indicator - two Kilgours. The one of the left looks entirely Kilgour, with his short cropped blonde hair. He is the young Prince Mikhail, and he is riding along, looking at different wares and weaponry, perhaps stealing a glance at a woman hanging out of her window to watch the procession go by. By his side is the elder, the redheaded Princess Roslin, known for her seriousness and her flaming hair. Today, the woman wears a fine dress of warm yellow, ochre, really, adorned with pearls embroidered along the neckline. Her hair is pulled up into a crown of braids, also adorned with pearls. She looks every bit the Princess as she talks, softly, with her brother, though she seems to be speaking to the city guard man beside her more than anything else. “Tell me again about the additional fortifications for these main roads that lead to the palace,” she murmers to the man, who begins to describe archers, additional arms, and strengthened walls.

Pulling up some old bits of crate he'd found, Rythvain has hastily constructed a market stall of his own. He has a slightly road worn and dingy cloth tossed over the top of it. The real marvels, however, are pieces of jewelry laid out in humble display before him. Silver work so small and delicate, glittering with gems of different colors. There are eight pieces displayed on the poor quality stall setting, and the man behind the stall does his best to use a small length of rope to tie his open leather jacket closed should he get lady clientele. His hair is short and angles forward on its own, still wet from perhaps a bath this morning. His trousers hang loosely from his hips, kept up by willpower alone it would seem, tattered and torn his entire ensemble is but repaired here and there. To draw in a crowd, the young man takes up his lute and strums a few chords.

Roslin is interested in the city defenses. But she is also a woman, nay - a young girl. And there are certain things that young girls cannot turn away from. A handsome man, perhaps. A new dress. Jewelry. One of those things appears to have caught Roslin’s attention. For awhile, it seems as though the procession will simply pass Rythvain as if he were any other vendor. But Roslin pulls up her horse, and everyone around her stops as well. “Don’t run off, Mikhail,” Roslin pleads with the mischevious boy before turning her attention to the stall. The guard between she and it moves his horse back, allowing the Princess to view more openly. No words are said yet, but the guard keeps himself between the vendor and the Lady. She motions with a gloved hand - the guard reaches down for one of the bits of silver, without asking, and offers it over to the Princess. She turns it over in her hand, and finally speaks, without looking to the man directly. No, the gems are far more interesting. “The quality of your work and the quality of your stall do not match very well, Master Craftsman,” Roslin says, her voice smooth and well-trained in eloquence. Though there is no question, her tone leaves little left to the imagination - it is an invitation for Rythvain to speak.

A craftsman instinct isn't as strong as a poor man's, Rythvain's hand had left the lute of its own accord… however, he was able to redirect the snatch and grab to pick up another of the eight pieces on the stall. “Thank you for saying so my lady, welcome to Masterson's Metal Crafts. I am Rythvain Masterson.” there's a glance to his stall, then a glance to the opulent colorful stall of another jewel-crafter across from him. His smile doesn't fade, as he speaks “The gems in that one are yellow garnets, of a darker hue for the fall. This piece here is studded with topaz and citrine, both works make for fashionable accessories to any of the Alasair events.” and over his hand running like water, the box weave chain starts small and ends only slightly larger. With small cut stones trapped inside that sparkle and glitter with the light of the morning sun.

A playful little smirk crosses the face of Roslin as she looks over the peice in her hands. “Master Masterson?” She asks, enjoying the play-on-words. “Master Rythvain, then, if you will permit me.” Beside her, the Princess’ brother leans over to look at the thing in Roslin’s hands, rolling his eyes. “These are boring. I want to go and see the tanner’s.” Roslin smiles to her little brother, patting his hand. “Just a moment, brother. It is good for you to learn patience. One day you’ll have a wife - you’ll have to have a lot of paitence for these sorts of things.” At last, the Princess can pay attention to Rythvain again. She leans forward to look over the chain, narrowing her eyes to examine it. “I prefer pendants - do you have any of those? I should be quite keen to see your work so displayed.” She hands the small bit of silver back to her guard, who returns it to the seller. Then, all the guards and maids stand back to watch with interest for the man to make his pitch.

Rythvain doesn't take his eyes off anyone as he reaches into his satchel and withdraws a small plain wooden box equally as worn as the rest of the young man's things. However, as seems to be the case with all of his possessions, inside the box is a collection of plush velvet pouches. He pulls a dark blue one from the box, returning that to the satchel as he opens the little velvet bag and pours into his hand a small chain of golden leaves, forge darkened around the edges and curls in the thin plates to give accentuation to the design of each little leaf. At the center of this delicate gold chain is a vine basket clutching longingly to a teardrop of rich amber. The amber itself has been etched with a scene of dried branches, and then polished to a very smooth shine. “This is the only of its kind, it is the piece I made that proved me ready to strike out on my own as a metalsmith. This was the necklace that won me the title Journeyman.” He seems reluctant to just offer it over, but he holds it nonetheless for the princess to take if she'd like.

The guard takes the necklace, and passes it on to the Princess. She lifts it before her eyes, examining it quite closely. She seems a pensive sort, and she doesn’t make any determinations yet. Instead, she lowers the necklace, but keeps it in her hand. “Tell me, Master Rythvain - where is it you were apprenticed? I do not think I have seen your work before, and you do appear to be fairly new in the city without even spare wood to call your own, so I cannot say it is likely that you are from this place.” She tilts her head, watching him curiously.

“I was born and raised here in Stormvale, apprenticed to a jeweler friend of my father's. I have only recently returned from a would be trip across Mobrin, that only went so far as Sutherland.” Rythvain answers, he motions to his collection. “I hope to sell what I've made and possibly purchase a small forge, or even just a workspace from another master. At present there are no openings within the guild, so I just have to hope.” he smiles, “You are the very first customer of Masterson's Metal Crafts, though not my very first customer. I am a metalsmith by day, and a minstrel by night. I also sell my skill in penmanship and poetry, you wouldn't believe how many young soldiers have a special someone they need a poem for.” he smiles charmingly, but not such to suggest anything untoward.

At that, the Princess cannot help but smirk. “I daresay so. All women love poets, but so few men can claim to be such themselves. Quite a difficult predicament for them.” She looks over the work again, and hands back to the amber. “I shall take the earrings there, for my sister Caillin. And the long chain for my Mother.” She nods to the guard, who digs into his pocket for a purse to parcel out the money to the individual. “And let me welcome you back to Stormvale, Master Rythvain.” She gives the man a smile, but it is short-lived. Mikhail is pipping up again.
“Why do women like poets? Strong knights with swords and great steeds - this is all a woman needs!” He sits taller and prouder having said that, looking down at one of the common maids buying something from the next stall over, and giving her a wink. The girl giggles and wanders away, but Roslin just gives her brother a bit of a glare. “Respectable courtship is the way to flatter a woman best, along with acts of strength and bravery. Poetry, in my opinion, simply helps a man speak of those acts, and of the feelings in his heart, without becoming a braggart or a soft-hearted maid. Would you agree, Master Rythvain?”

Getting out of his satchel another small box, Rythvain takes from it a velvet bag. He checks inside then nods, and hands it to the guard. He takes the coin, and sets it inside the satchel before getting out the original wrappings from his first box and gently lowers the chain inside. “A soldier's deeds meet not the woman's needs. For in her heart she pines, not for the strongest man no not the crusher of spines.” A quick smile to the young princeling before he continues, “The hearts of women swoon for love, for that romance's embrace. Yet act as delicate as the dove, and set the men to snail's pace.” a strum of his lute for affect, “Vast are their interests, vaster still their dreams. The creature called female scintillates, all those of the male being. Their minds become fog, their hearts a gallop, breathe my soldier breathe.” Rythvain smiles, “I am not affected by the woe's of the soldier in love, and thus my mind is capable of stitching words into coherency to weave a small tapestried cloth of a poem for their hopeful. You are correct, my lady, poetry is a form of expression often appreciated by ladies.” he hasn't been invited to offer advice to the princeling and thus doesn't, dealing with the transaction at hand.

“Well, I still think it’s silly,” The Prince declares as only a Prince can. “Besides,” he goes on. “After Logen and Caillin, I’ll have to marry exactly who Mother and Father say, no matter anything else.” The boy is discretely, but quickly, hushed by his older sister.
“No matter whom you marry, Mikhail, you will still have to communicate with her, and poetry is a particularly appreciated way. Having your wife appreciate you will mean a great deal. And who can say? Mother and Father were betrothed, and their love is legendary. I am sure our Master Rythvain here even knows some of the songs regarding their affections.” Luckily, Roslin does not test the man on that particular comment. Instead, she looks back to the man once the transaction is completed.
“May I ask, Master Rythvain — do you not have some concern over the impending battle that may yet come to our fair city? Surely it is a hard time to start a business here.” No doubt even a jewler and bard will have noticed the additional security, the building up of defenses, and the rumors of approaching Laniveer armies.

Letting the two speak between themselves, Rythvain took a moment to entertain a young maid who bought a charming jeweled favor for her lady to give to another. He turns back quickly, when it is clear the princess is speaking to him. He listens, then hms softly, “You are only the second person to have mentioned actual battle, so far as I've met. I came in on ship, and the customs search seemed the same as usual…” he shrugs very slightly, “If war comes to the city, then it is lucky that I've not much to lose. And what I do have, I can easily carry with me.” He smiles, deflecting the rest of the topic for something brighter, “I've heard of a bardic festival of sorts happening soon.”

“Yes,” Roslin explains, easily enough. “My father’s doing, no doubt. At least, from what I’ve heard, though I confess I haven’t asked him about it. He is a patron of arts, I know, and I believe he thinks that the city could use some particular distractions to make the upcomming holidays of Alasair particularly joyful.” Since there is, in fact, an Army coming their way. “Do you intend to participate? I warn you, if you do, there are a few bards in the area who already have made a name for themselves. You will have quite a bit of competition.” From her tone and her smile, however, it is clear that the Princess does not mean to dissaude the man at all. And neither, it seems, does her brother, who pipes up - “You should sing something funny!”

“I had not given much thought to actually being a part of the festival, I might watch though.” Rythvain smiles, “I'm not quite skilled enough I think.” a pause, “At least not in tavern tales, or drinking songs. If you'd like a lament, a tail of woe, or a story of longing forbidden love… I'm the bard you're looking for.” A wistful smile before he shrugs slightly again, “I might aswell just be there though, who knows… I might be able to sell simpler works and make my dinner and room for the night.” There, a little bit of bright hope. Several others come by to visit his little stall, the attention of the royals drawing people away from his opulent competitor across the way. A small purse is dropped on the stall, and three of the eight items are picked up. Rythvain is quick to count, scrutinize, and then catch the would be cheat and bleed the man's wallet for the remaining amount of coin owed. He returns his attentions to the princess, “Please excuse that, he was quite short on the amount. The guild lays out strict guidelines for fair pricings that still allow us to compete with each other.”

Roslin nods, watching as the business begins to grow around her. “Well I shall take no more of your time, Master.” She says, nodding to her brother who seems more than happy to go on. “I thank you for your wares, and wish you the best of luck in your business.” The woman nods her head toward the man - and luckily, it seems the guard is on his side. “Kneel for her higness,” the man hisses quietly to the bard. And indeed, it does seem that Roslin is waiting on something before she departs.

With quick hand movements, Rythvain's snatched up all his works and is quickly kneeling. “Thank you, your highness, for visiting my stall and for your time and words.” He smiles charmingly, but again without untoward intent behind it, and waits for the royals to be on their way before he stands and sets out his works once more. Quickly dealing with a small swarm of new patrons.

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