from roots and a terrible gift *
Location: Mosmait Time: Dusk @nckrus
One would expect whispers — civil unrest, bad omens, abuse of power — to leak through the perfectly aligned stalls, but not here. In Mosmait, people were too busy indulging in self-importance. They marveled at the sensation of thumbing through books in the library, skipping over the spines of alchemy and philosophy treaties. Such placid illusion of bliss had held out long enough. It was a matter of time. What would be the straw to break the camel's back? At the moment, the inhabitants of the white city did not concern themselves with that question, among them Bitgaram.
Truth be told, he had no reason to wander around the market, but he knew that it was impossible to entrust that absent-minded new fairy with a long list of ingredients. She had yet to learn from her most recent mistake; confusing blessed thistle with milk thistle almost ruined a tonic. It was better if she limited herself to retrieving dried meat folded in cotton from the butcher, or any other trivial task while she got used to the idea of herbalism. Despite the price being unimportant, each and every item was precious, brought from distant lands with great difficulty.
All the selected plants and minerals were to be transported to his residence without fail. No merchant was hesitant to accept when they saw the glitter of the coins he offered in exchange. Money could be such a polite way to ask for things, plus it was easier than well-mannered words, at least for him. Once he purchased his last element, useful and healthy figworts, Bitgaram decided to abandon the crowd among which he did not feel exactly welcome. He was ready to walk away until he recognized a customer with a familiar face. She made him reconsider his prompt escape.
"Isn't it a coincidence?" Bitgaram asked, which also served as brief greeting to catch her attention. He assumed that she was on the same mission to procure herself.