22.Jan.14, 12:11 AM
Three turns as a healer, and now Yulieas found himself feeling like a glorified packbeast. He knew why those in charge of him at the gardens did it- he could read better than many of the other gardeners, so if there was a long list of supplies needed he could bring along the list and not have to worry about remembering numbers wrong or forgetting any items. Still, it could be a disheartening and quite frustrating task, especially when they didn't send anyone along with him to help him carry of the supplies. He was, after all, a fairly scrawny young man.
At least they didn't complain when he took his time. Yulieas preferred to not be in a hurry. And so he wandered through one of the shop districts in Telgar Hold with the easy pace and confidence of one who had spent much of his life wandering those streets. His red hair was pulled into a loose braid that hung slightly over one shoulder, and he wore a green vest that was a relic from the times his family had flourished financially. The quality piece of clothing seemed incongruous with the rest of what he wore- a patched shirt underneath, baggy brown trousers, and his worn gardening boots. As ever, he seemed to be oblivious of that fact.
He held his list of supplies in his left hand, and nested a somewhat cumbersome, though thankfully not too heavy, bag of seed in the crook of his right arm. On top of that bag, he balanced several pairs of work gloves, which he had just bought. He had several bags slung over his left shoulder, most of which were empty, having been purchased that day, though one was filled with more supplies. Yulieas was sure he looked completely ridiculous. Like a packmule, he though to himself again as he exited the shop where he had picked up the gloves. He shrugged off the thought, though, letting his mind wander and he looked over a few of the nearby stalls.
At this point he was stalling, he knew. Most of what he had left to fetch would be from smiths. And Yulieas dreaded talking to most of them. Even if they didn't resent or judge his father- and, by extension, himself- there was something about having to talk to too many smiths that made Yulieas feel as if he were being subjected to the social equivalent of being repeatedly bitten by tunnelsnakes. He glanced further down the street, where many smith shops and stalls were located, frowning slightly at the thought. He supposed he couldn't avoid it. He could, however, avoid those nearby smiths. He knew that every one of them on this stretch was somewhat of a swindler. He guessed that was one advantage he had in knowing so many of the smithcrafters, knowing which ones both produced quality goods and could be trusted to price them fairly. Probably another reason they sent Yulieas to do the shopping.
Still, he poked around the nearby stalls for now, taking in the smells of food and wondering if he should stop for a meal. Usually he earned an extra mark or two from these trips that he could buy lunch with.
At least they didn't complain when he took his time. Yulieas preferred to not be in a hurry. And so he wandered through one of the shop districts in Telgar Hold with the easy pace and confidence of one who had spent much of his life wandering those streets. His red hair was pulled into a loose braid that hung slightly over one shoulder, and he wore a green vest that was a relic from the times his family had flourished financially. The quality piece of clothing seemed incongruous with the rest of what he wore- a patched shirt underneath, baggy brown trousers, and his worn gardening boots. As ever, he seemed to be oblivious of that fact.
He held his list of supplies in his left hand, and nested a somewhat cumbersome, though thankfully not too heavy, bag of seed in the crook of his right arm. On top of that bag, he balanced several pairs of work gloves, which he had just bought. He had several bags slung over his left shoulder, most of which were empty, having been purchased that day, though one was filled with more supplies. Yulieas was sure he looked completely ridiculous. Like a packmule, he though to himself again as he exited the shop where he had picked up the gloves. He shrugged off the thought, though, letting his mind wander and he looked over a few of the nearby stalls.
At this point he was stalling, he knew. Most of what he had left to fetch would be from smiths. And Yulieas dreaded talking to most of them. Even if they didn't resent or judge his father- and, by extension, himself- there was something about having to talk to too many smiths that made Yulieas feel as if he were being subjected to the social equivalent of being repeatedly bitten by tunnelsnakes. He glanced further down the street, where many smith shops and stalls were located, frowning slightly at the thought. He supposed he couldn't avoid it. He could, however, avoid those nearby smiths. He knew that every one of them on this stretch was somewhat of a swindler. He guessed that was one advantage he had in knowing so many of the smithcrafters, knowing which ones both produced quality goods and could be trusted to price them fairly. Probably another reason they sent Yulieas to do the shopping.
Still, he poked around the nearby stalls for now, taking in the smells of food and wondering if he should stop for a meal. Usually he earned an extra mark or two from these trips that he could buy lunch with.