Pinios and the Hay Merchant

Southwest Span - 


 * ''The township of Lightholder is perhaps one of the most prominent locations in Fastheld. A well-maintained town with clean streets and a high standard of living, it is situated around the base of Caryas Hill upon the Imperial Isle, beneath the watch of the Royal Palace, it is surrounded on all four sides by the Lightholder River, though has flourished by virtue of being at the heart of all the trade routes and political developments in the Empire.


 * ''The buildings are usually timber-framed with wattle walls the color of clay, though a few stone buildings are also dotted around the place. The southwest span of the township - known as the Coach District - is especially robust due to the number of traveling Nobles and Merchants as they wait to visit the Palace or rest before heading on to other locations.


 * ''Of substantial note is the Lightholder Tavern, a large and sturdy no-nonsense stone structure with timber supports that has been rebuilt as many times as it has had owners. Having recently undergone renovation, it has since stuck a fine line between indulgence and pragmatic necessity, accommodating anyone that has coin to spare.


 * ''One might note that a exceptionally regal road of white cobbles ascends from this district to begin a clockwise-spiral around the edges of Caryas Hill itself. Known as the Palace Road, this wide route leads uphill to the gates of the Imperial Palace.


 * ''The Guild District of Lightholder rests on the southeastern span of the Imperial Isle towards the east, while the Merchant District can be found on the northwestern span in the north. The Lightholder River flows to the south and west, while Caryas Hill looms overhead in the northeast.

It's surprisingly good weather right now- Which probably makes it surprising to see a girl sitting near the intersection of the streets. Even more curious is what she's sitting on- two hefty bags of fertilizer. Her arms and hands are fairly dirty, but she doesn't seem in a rush to go anywhere.

Three of the moons are whirling in the sky tonight, casting pale, silver-blue light across the ground and the girl seated on her bags of fertilizer. It's a bit bleak to look at, but nevertheless, with the weather as it is, there's a fair number of passersby about. From the tavern echoes the sound of horribly off-key singing, loud and bawdy with lyrics best left unrepeated, and night-things whistle and chirp in the distance. Beyond that, there are scattered footsteps and the distant sound of an approaching wagon.

Syra closes her eyes for a moment, her chin lowering as she nearly falls asleep, before her eyes pop open again. She stretches out her legs, seemingly unconcerned about what she's currently seated on. She mumbles something under her breath, quickly tucking a loose lock of hair behind her left ear, as she listens for the wagon.

Around the corner comes the wagon, wheels popping and bouncing through ruts and across bumps in the road, a wiry, brown-skinned little merchant man flicking the reigns of the horses to speed them. The back of that wagon is stuffed full of straw and hay, bits of it falling out as the ill-fitted thing jounces along. He's headed for the dock, right past Syra, though he hardly pays the girl any heed.

Syra quickly lifts herself off of the fertilizer, and hesitates as she looks at the wagon. She decides at the last second to give a yell at him as she waves a hand in the air. "Hey... H'lo?" She nibbles on her bottom lip, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting nervously.

The shrewd little merchant gives Syra a sideways glance as he passes, measuring and calculative. But it seems he'll continue right on by... until he apparently changes his mind and draws the beasts to a stop just past her. "Aye? C'n Ah help ye?"

Syra drops her hand to her side and offers him a wide smile; although her eyes seem to dart from side to side before resting on him. "My apologies for disturbing ye," she says, managing a quick curtsey, "However, I've been having troubles finding.." she furrows her brow in thought, before offering a warm smile. "Ah! Crown's Refuge. I believe I have a cousin there. Would you be kind enough to point the way?"

"De Refuge..." echoes the merchant, brow furrowing. "Dat place be cursed, Ah tell ye. But if'n ye really wanna fin' it... 's easiest t' take a carriage down t' 'Unter's 'Orn an' den on t' Light's Reach." He shrugs, and gives the reigns another snap to get the horses going again. "Luck o' de Light t' ye." A moment later he vanishes out of sight onto the dock.

Syra offers him a wave as he vanishes, looking thoughtful. "Hunter's horn... Light's reach." She rubs her chin, leaving a smudge of dirt on it. "I wonder if I really do have a cousin there," she murmurs to herself, before looking back at her fertilizer with a regretful sigh.

An instant of quiet follows the passing of the wagon, dampened only by the natural sounds, and the distant melody of the river.

And that horrible singing, that is.

Then-- A scream, high and shrill, but that of a man, coming from the direction of the docks. An urgent yell follows, and the sound of footsteps on the wood.

Syra starts to head back to grab her fertilizer, but she stops dead as she hears the scream. She frowns and abandons her fertilizer, before running towards the dock and the origin of the sound.

Lightholder Ferry Dock - 


 * ''The mainline Ferry Dock of the township of Lightholder is a relatively new addition to the Empire's transport network.


 * ''Operated and maintained by the Imperial Navy, the ferry system is notable for providing safe transit of both people and trade goods to and from locations situated along the Fastheld and Lightholder rivers.


 * ''The docks of these departure locations exist as piers constructed of smooth redwood planks that are supported by widely spread pillars of quarried white stone that allows the currents of the waters they are built out upon to flow freely, thus limiting the danger of waves surging onto the pier and washing people away.


 * ''Extending into the water far enough so that the current level of the river does not prevent the system from operating in low tides, it is the boats chosen to act as the ferry that may be the most impressive of all: elegant caravels, characterized by the use of fore-and-aft sails on two or more masts.


 * ''Though they may seem a little *too* elaborate for simple passenger ferry operations, the Imperial Navy also uses them to ship cargo and trade materials around the Empire as well, and their frequent presence along the waterways also serves as a deterrent against pirates and corsairs.

The docks, too, are almost deserted. Except for a few things. A merchant boat is tied to the docks, half-loaded with the hay from the wagon. A single docks worker is scrambling around on the dock... and there's something floating in the water. A struggling something.

Syra takes only a moment to glance at the worker, before making her way carefully behind a few crates, crouching down and replying on her short stature in hopes of not being seen, as she tries to make it closer to the dock. She's intent on whatever it is that's struggling in the water.

She might recognize the little brown head of the merchant, even soaked as it is in the dark water. Something about not being able to swim becomes clear, and the current's quickly sweeping him downstream... the waters are still high from the storm.

Meanwhile, that lone dockworker is uncoiling a length of rope, looking around for something to help him as he ties it around his waist.

Syra takes a quick peek over at the dock worker.. and decides to go against her nature, and approach him. "my luck, she mutters under her breath, "'e's the one that pushed 'im," she says, tucking her hands behind her. "Lo," she says to the worker, offering him an uncertain smile, "What can I do to help?"

The dockworker casts a distracted glance to Syra, tying the knot tight and eyeing the water. "I'm-a gonna jump in af'er 'im," he tells her, thrusting the end of the rope into her hands without a second thought. "Ye look a strong girl. Tie dis to de dock, an' 'elp t' pull us back?" He seems about to jump into the water without waiting for Syra to tie the thing, which is probably a very, very bad idea, what with the current running as it is.

Syra blinks at him, but hurries over to the nearest post, and starts by wrapping the rope around it and pulling it tight with every circle. She then pulls the rope through the second loop, making sure to tighten it again, before tying it up with the rope's end. She then stands on the lax part of the rope and wraps some of it around her palms, bracing herself for when it'll start to pull.

With a single, practiced movement, the dockworker dives into the water, the rope snaking out behind him, and vanishes beneath those black waves.

An instant of terrible stillness follows, a tense, waiting thing that seems to writhe as a living creature, squirming.

And then the dockworker's head breaks the surface, casting long ripples behind it as he starts to swim towards the drowning merchant, heightened to impossible speeds by the current. A pale hand darts out of that water, seizing the merchant's even as the other goes back to grip the rope. And then--a massive jerk on the line as it reaches its end.

Syra didn't necessarily do the smartest thing by standing on the rope; the jerk knocks her off her feet and onto her knees, with her hands partially tangled in the rope. She cringes and pulls back on the rope, slowly moving backwards with her feet to try and regain her footing.

She gets it--barely, on the slippery, damp surface of the dock. But it's a footing nonetheless, and it keeps her falling into the water. As she pulls and the dockworker kicks his legs (not that it does much, what with the now-unconscious merchant in tow), they make gradual progress back towards the dock, until, exhausted, the dockworker feebly grabs onto the underside and tries to push the merchant up to a place where Syra can reach to pull him up.

Syra uses her footing to slowly wrap the rope around the post, so that by the time they reach the dock, she has free hands for the merchant. She pauses momentarily before she decides to get down on her stomach before pulling him up slowly from the water. (her strength is fair by the way, which is why she's doing a lot of planning.)

Syra gets a grip on the man, but he's slippery and chilled from the river, and she can cling for only an instant before he slides down again into the water. The weary dockworker swears, and pushes him up again--higher this time--for another try. Bracing one foot against the pier, he's doing his utmost to lift the merchant up on his shoulders.

Syra would give the dock worker an apologetic look- but she's putting everything she has into keeping a grip on the slippery man. She manages to lock her feet around the rope, and uses that to help her pull him half onto the dock, before she grabs his wet clothing and hauls him unceremoniously the rest of the way with her bruised hands.

Depending on that knot to keep him from falling head-over-teakettle back into the river, the dockworker musters the strength to scale the rope and pulls himself up onto the dock, where lies heaving a minute before getting to his feet. "'e's... needin' 'elp..." he manages between gasps for breath. "Co'er 'im wi' yer cloak. I's goin' fer a healer." Again, he doesn't wait to see what the girl's response will be before he's going off on his own task. A little impulsive, this one.

Syra sighs as she's left alone with him, and she pulls off her cloak, tucking it around the man. After a moment's thought, she removes her lumpy backpack and puts it under his head, figuring it has to be better than the dock. She sits down beside him and uses the side of her chemise to dry his face before glancing down at her hands, which are starting to look rather red and angry. She drops them in her lap, watching the man's movements and listening to see if he breathes.

Syra shifts uncomfortably, wishing she knew how to help him. She peers at him and coos soothingly, "It'll be a'right.." Before she clears her throat, and breaks into a song. At points it veers a bit off-pitch (especially the high notes), but it's somewhat bearable.

She sings, "When I was a young lass, n' the grass were growin' dry," "Mam', she killed the sucklin' pig an' 'ad it off to fry;" "If I were a good girl, She saved me sum the fat" "And I'd sit within the goldin' grass and et it off the bat..." She clears her throat, glancing down at him to see if there's any change.

He does breathe--albeit, faintly. There's a lot of water in those lungs, and each breath is a shallow, gurgling thing that rattles alarmingly.

It's a long moment before the soggy dockworker comes back into view, a healer--complete with bag--in tow behind him. Immediately the pair drop to their knees beside the merchant, and the healer sets to work.

Somewhere amidst that hurry, the dockworker looks approvingly to Syra, murmuring a word of thanks and moving to press a handful of coins into her palm.

Syra shakes her head quickly and moves backward from the dockworker, balling her hands into fists partly to avoid the coins- and partly to hide the welts on her hands. "Nay- you did most a' it," she notes to him with a small smile, before casting her gaze downwards. She then turns around and hurries away, muttering something about fertilizer.

The dockworker stares after the departing girl, a bit regretfully, but pockets the coins nonetheless, and goes back to helping the healer. Likely, they will go to pay that bill.

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