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 Personal Logs: Dibella

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Join date : 2017-10-07

PostSubject: Re: Personal Logs: Dibella   Sat May 19, 2018 10:41 am

Vezrial: The marketplace was a fairly busy location today, despite the fact that it was overcast. The clouds full to bursting with the possibility of heavy rain, everyone wanted something from the marketplace today. There were merchants for food shouting at the passerby’s. “Fresh fish!” Probably not as fresh as the seller was advocating. “Cakes and Pies!” That actually sounded pretty good… But there was a little bit of something for everyone. Commoners and slaves on errands were the ones mostly wandering around the marketplace, a noble or two accompanied by their bodyguards. Soldiers patrolled the market with a forlorn and depressed look on their faces. Armor, especially metal armor. Got bone-achingly cold in the midst of rain. There was a person who seemed to have a… Well, a rather loud time with one of the stalls selling weaponry. The one man, standing at a solid six foot two inches and rather solidly built, held an arrow in his hand. At first glance, the arrow appeared to be perfectly normal, simple iron and wood make. But the way that he waved the instrument around in his fist made it clear that the arrow was of substandard make. The shaft wavered severely when moved, almost bending at ninety degrees. But there was a harsh look on the man who held the arrow, a look that was starting to cow the merchant who sold it. “I want, a decent supply of arrows. If I fire this, it will go maybe ten paces before the wind throws it off completely!” There was a cart behind the man and at those last words, and the merchants blustering attempt to defend his product. The larger man grabbed a handful of arrows in each hand and moved back to the merchant, waving them angrily in his face. The majority of these arrows wavered just like the first. “Get me a decent supply of arrows, or give me my money back!” His voice was rough like sandpaper rushed over gravel. It was clear that he was angry, within reason. A few of the passerby’s had stopped to watch the spectacle, whispering about. Not the man shouting, but the merchant. It wasn’t exactly uncommon that those who sold product, sold substandard. But getting caught at it? Was almost a death sentence for their livelihoods. The panicked look on the merchants face said that he knew it. And was deathly afraid of it.

DibelIa: The skies were shadowed and overcast, clouds thick and grey as sorrow, the heavy scent of distant rain drifting through the streets of Corviana. Callista was grateful for this smell, as it washed away the stench of the poor in the city, the trenches of vile scum were rinsed clean. She had little respect for the drunkards and imbeciles who slept in the alleys, smelling of piss and shit, and covered in dirt and drink. The dark-haired Domina entered the marketplace, standing atop a grey stone landing, a few steps above the crowds, overlooking the goings on of the stalls before her. She walked with two guard, and her body slave Vera. Her slim frame was clad in a gown of black satin and silk, silver bracelets decorating her sunkissed arms, rings glinting upon her delicate fingers, as she clasped her skirts with one hand, and the other hand rotated coins between her fingers and palm. Callista’s waist-length chocolate tresses shined faintly in the daylight of the coming rainstorm, whisps of hair floating about her shoulders, framing her face. Her high cheekbones led downward to her full lips, stained with the mauve-color from her wine, lips pressed together with a faint smirk teasing at the corner of her mouth. She was amused, watching the tall man scold the merchant over his product, her slender bare shoulders rising as she laughed lightly. “Men and their toys, Vera,” she said quietly to her body slave, whose chestnut brown eyes lifted to study the quarrel as well, though quickly averted. Callista’s oceanic gaze lingered a moment longer, before turning to the skies, as she breathed deeply to inhale the fresh air of the storm in the distance. “Vera, take coin and see to restoring stock of my candles and incense. I would present ritual tonight for the gods,” she said, turning her long lashes towards her slave, a soft smile forming upon her lips, as she extended her hand and deposited needed finances into the slave’s palm. “Yes, Domina,” Vera replied, before departing her presence, Callista’s sharp gaze watching her form until it was lost from sight in the crowded marketplace. She leaned against a pillar of stone, her satin gown clinging to the curve of her hips, draping down her legs, small slits revealing the shape of her calves and the sandals she wore. A silver clasp held the fabric tight around her waistline, fabric loose around her bust, with straps draped gently over her shoulders, leaving her back bare, though covered by her wavy locks.

Biird: The overcast and threatening of rain did nothing to quell the heat that was so prevalent in Corviana. Really, it only served to add a swell of humidity to the usually arid air. This, however, was the twins favorite time to be in the market. Something about the overcasted skies and the general gloominess that blanketed the land brought out the best in them. There was a giddiness to their gait that made Octavia nervous. She and the boys were in the market today not looking for anything in particular. The reality of how they are arrived in the market was that they boys showed up in her room and said - "Come with us." At the same time, and in that eerie way that they did. So Octavia closed her book and slid off of her bed, exchanging her house garments for something more appropriate for the market. There wasn't an option to say no the twins, just like there wasn't an option to say no to her father, but the boys enforced their will in more sinister and sideways manners. In the market they were guarded by four men of their house and Octavia had a slave with her but the twins had none. They attended to whatever matters they had all their own. Right now, standing shoulder to shoulder as they always did, they were sharing a sentence with wine merchant. Shadowing six feet, their blonde-bronze hair threatened to curl if it got any longer. Each wore a ring on the pinky of their dominant hand - Titus was right handed and Augustus was left handed. It was suspected that Augustus was only left handed because he chose the left side of their dually functioning person. Their dark blue togas fell loose around their chests and legs but pinched at the waist with a purple sash that was trimmed in silver. Behind them, Octavia stood wearing her heavy cloak over over her dark leather pants which was also covered in a stretch of sheer black fabric. If anyone were looking at the girl it could be thought that she was visiting from the far north. The truth was far darker. The girl stretched her sore fingers and smirked at the wine merchant that she could see from the gap between her brothers' heads. The poor man wore a look of confusion and fright to have two young men finishing each other's sentences as they bartered over the wine in his stores. While their attention was firm on the merchant, Octavia's sapphire gaze shifted across the market to where a man was yelling at another merchant for shoddy work of floppy arrows that made the girl burst into laughter because of her own dirty mind. Her burst of laughter caused the twins to turn their heads to her and each lift a mirrored brow. Trying to speak through giggles, Octavia pointed. "They are like the limp cocks of invalids." They weren't far enough off for her words to go unheard by man who had originally created the abominations and the people who were peering at the exchange turned wide eyes on the foul mouthed young lady. Titus and Augustus simply sighed in unison and turned back to the wine merchant.

Valene: Days of freedom such as this were one’s that Evadne could not bear to pass up. It was an expectation she had set for herself to be self-sufficient in her medical practice in regards to growing her own materials. However, there were some items that were unique to climates that she did not have access to grow in, so a trip to the market was warranted. It was an interesting site, truly, as beings from all tiers of social status bumped elbows and shopped for items they deemed appropriate. Vendors decorated their tents marvelously with their goods, the colors of the textiles, foods, pottery, and more being brought out by the even overcast light of the day. Evadne strolled smoothly through the streets, weaving in between vendors and patrons alike as her white gown swept against her legs due to all of the movement around her. Eventually the girl found the location of the vendor she was looking for. It was a small tent manned by a elderly woman of the same stature. She was a kind soul, yet quiet and firm. No words were exchanged upon their greeting, simply just smiles and nods until Evadne began to peruse the stacks of herbs, plants, and flowers on the stands and hanging from the top of the tent before her. Her blue hues smoothly scanned the stacks and her nose was kept alert, her sense of smell just as important to identify items she needed as her sight. Her senses began to work in tandem to find the items she sought: milk thistle, ashwaganda, and red clover blossoms. Her reasoning for needing them was unknown to her, truly, as the evening before an inkling struck her that continued to grown, wanting her to obtain these items. It was a bit unsettling to her that this sort of specific inkling would find her, but once her Gifts surfaced many years ago Evadne had to learn to become more comfortable with and be able to listen to them. The Gods had their reasons, after all.

Candlemass: Marcus passed through these streets easily with his swift feet gliding with ease. Corviana was a place of where he grew up at. Including, these garbage smelling lively streets with all of the vendors that gave this place a personality. He had a meeting with his father. A general within the army and one that was highly respected. They were talking about a potential promotion. Which definitely did interest him a lot. Instead of dressing like someone who was going for a meeting, Marcus kept his armor on due to the increasing paranoia of being ambushed. The farther he walked the closer the sounds of men and women trying to sell items were getting louder. Stopping at a vendor, he looked at the various trinkets and held one in his right hand. The grooves and the types of wood indicated whoever had made this was a professional. “What is this?” Marcus asked curiously with his index finger tracing along what seemed to be mahogany. It looked to be some type of bowl but what It was specifically used for was a mystery. “It’s a bowl for offerings to the moon.” The vendor replied casually and without any hesitation. Setting it back down, Marcus nodded and walked more into the marketplace. It interested him on how this could be a way of living. If you didn’t sell anything you’d go home without nothing to show for. If you did sell a ton then it was a huge help to your family. It was a 50/50 gamble but in a way that’s how war was too. A gamble that always was uncertain but costed much more then hunger. His Legionary armor clung to his skin tight with it being scratched and dented only a little bit. Marcus was always one of the few men who somehow always ended up getting very little damage. His face smelled of lavender from shaving his face a day or two ago, which only made him have to smell it constantly. It was sort of a bother but now he was in the center of the marketplace like he was one of these people. Casual and care-free was the name of the game.
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