You head into Vozhdya Square. Vozhdya Square Forest District ------ (Outdoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Markus Kahar)
Vozhdya, city of industry and commerce, is the provincial capital of the Vozhd dominions. Straddling three trade routes at the Aegis' major eastern gate, rolling hillocks and loamy plains give way to dense urban quarters and a skyline populated by brick smokestacks. Hundreds of stone chalets dot the rural lowlands, centered amid the great farm-estates of the landed gentry. The Eastwatch canal, a broad, glittering waterway, feeds surrounding fields with irrigable water and descends into the very heart of the city itself. Narrow cobblestone streets coil through the cramped city districts, yet inevitably lead to the expansive central square: the living heart of Vozhdya.
The sprawling marketplace is filled with carts and shanties; shops and stores; brightly coloured tarpaulins and independent merchantmen. Yet all are dwarfed under the two great industries of the region, embodied in their monolithic facades of stone and glass: the iron works and textile consortiums. Like sentinels, these twin foundries flank the square at either end. Broad cobblestone avenues expand in all directions. To the west, a chain of forested mountains mark the provincial mountains mark the provincial border; to the east, the Aegis itself, gargantuan and imposing. To the north, behind high walls, the battlements of Vozhd Keep can be seen, and to the south the precipitous towers of The Warren. A large sword stands outside the Loom and Spindle, melded into the ground.
Moth is here. Kahar's Fury stands here. A biinwood sign is here. A Guard stands watch here. An Archer stands watch here. A well is here. ----------
Also here: Nellom Shore (NPC Deedgiver), Vozhdya Healer, Directional Sign, Vozhdya Square News Post, Fastheld Courier Service, Merchant Marris Almond, East Aegis Stables Obvious exits: High Street HS, The Tannery TT, Farmers Market FM, Vozhdya Harbor VH, Broselov Circle BC, Loom and Spindle LS, Jewelry Shop J, Warehouse W, Rand Textile Mill RT, Quarried Treasures QT, Tavern TV, Kolenko Iron Works IW, Tailor T, Sewers S You can travel: West, North, South, East, Northwest, Southwest --------
Merchant Marris Almond says, "I'm not interested in buying a ink stamp."
Forrest mutters.
"You sell me this worthless piece of..." Forrest shrugs and gives up. "Oh, forget it. Forget it. Maybe I can throw it in some dark corner, and be done with it."
Forrest motions to the courier to approach him. A boy straddles over to him, and Forrest says, "Take this immediately to Master Barit Smithy. Please be fast. I don't have a lot of money, so I'll take your word, eh?"
From a dark corner of the square walks a scruffy young boy, his arms clutching a loaf of bread to his chest. He walks up to Forrest and blinks. "Hey, mister."
The courier speeds away. Forrest turns to go, but is stopped by a little boy. "Oh, hello." Forrest looks annoyed. He's had a long day."
Moth holds the loaf of bread out to Forrest, his eyebrow raised. "Look, I'm not gonna beg or anything. I just wanna know if you have anything other than bread to give me. I'll trade you." He blue eyes glint in the dim light and he looks at the courier speeding away. "It's a bit late to be sending things off?"
Forrest stares at the little boy, not saying anything. "You're not going to beg? That's a different story. I'm not really hungry though." Forrest leans back against the well. "Say, what's your name kid?"
Moth scowls when he does not receive the answer he hoped for, mainly the offer of an apple pie in exchange for the loaf of bread. At any rate, he eyes Forrest, looking up at him from beneath a scruffy fringe of black hair. "I'm Moth." After a moment he adds, "Call me Flutter and regret it."
"I wouldn't dare, Master Moth." Forrest smiles. "I work late. Writer, you know. Say, you are an intelligent kid. Why are you out this late? Shouldn't you be in bed, or finishing up your studies?"
Another scowl contorts Moth's mouth at being referred to with such an honorary title, but he brightens at being called intelligent. "I'm tryin' to get something for this bread. Do you know how many people have just given me bread today? I didn't even have to beg." At Forrest's other question, Moth blinks. "Studies? What are ya talking about, Mister?"
"School, Master Moth. Learning. Exploring this wide, vast realm of beauty, you know. Getting knowledge, so you can get money. That's study."
"Oh." Moth furrows his brow, staring at the ground for a moment, before flicking his gaze back up to Forrest. "Only rich people can learn," he says firmly, squinting at Forrest. "Do you learn? Are you rich?"
Forrest chuckles. "Rich? Hardly... but I taught myself how to read, and went to a proper school for people like me. Nothing expensive mind you, just a normal place. But I reckon you'd do good in school. Where are your parents?"
"My parent," Moth corrects, frowning. "She's at home. She has to stay at home. I have to get the food." He kicks his foot in the dirt, his frown deepening. "Learn... that sounds sorta boring, mister."
Forrest scowls darkly. "Learning sounds boring, Master Moth? It is the one thing in this damned universe you have as a right. Even if you don't have a scrap of food or a pinprick of blood, you've still got that!"
Forrest's eyes are heavy, as if his day suddenly came thundering into one moment. "You have a lot to learn. I'm surprised they've gotten to you. This world has binding that none have ever known." He is frowning now, looking off into the night.
"Well, hey... mister," Moth stammers, confused by the man's passionate response. "I guess... I think... I can learn." Moth shifts his arms around the loaf of bread, tilting his head at Forrest. "How?"
Frustrated and angry, Forrest responds in a red heat. "Follow me, Master Moth. Stay close. The shadows hold many secrets, and narry you should listen to them. Stay close and follow me and discover your fate."
Forrest begins to walk toward Broselov Circle, his feet stamping against the pavement, his arms gathered behind his back.his arms gathered behind his back.
Moth has little time to respond, and he dashes after Forrest, curious to know more of what this man is talking about.
You head into Broselov Circle.
Broselov Circle Vozhdya ----------- (Outdoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Markus Kahar)
The loud bustle of the central square gives way to the fashionable neighborhood of Broselov Circle. Famous for its wine gardens and high-end entertainment, the 'circle' is composed of a yawning stretch of cobblestone parkway bordered by bushy pink cherry trees. The streets are immaculate - horse carts are forbidden to travel upon them - and well lit, as wrought-iron lampposts illuminate the sidewalks after sundown. Well-dressed couples may be seen parading together at all hours.
The circle centre is host to Vozhdya's great war memorial. An intersection crossed by patches of grass and trees, the great statue of Viscount Broselov stands high in the center of the park, forever mounted on his warhorse, Arbat.
Positioned on a marble dais more then six-feet-high, the Viscount's stone visage commands all the grounds below him.
You appear to be alone here. ----------- Also here: NPC Retainer Marker 32 Obvious exits: Wineburn Bookshop WB, Incarnadine Palette IP, Obvious exits: Wineburn Bookshop WB, Incarnadine Palette IP, Smithy's Townhouse ST, High Temple HT, Isabella's Townhouse IT, Driftwood's Townhouse DT, Vozhd-Imperial Downs VID, Vozhdya Square VS --------
Moth arrives from Vozhdya Square.
Moth has arrived.
"Remember, Master Moth, that this pale facade of buildings mean nothing. The people around you are only faces. They are like everyone else. The moonlight shines over them, and the sun turns their skin red. Remember that. Now follow me."
"Turns their skin red. Okay, I'll remember that." Moth trails along after Forrest, his eyes wide and his arms clutching the loaf of bread tightly.
Forrest opens the door to the bookshop, taking the key from his pocket. Turning the lock, he returns the key, and disappears into the shadows of the building.
You head into Wineburn Bookshop.
Wineburn Bookshop Vozhdya ------ (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Forrest)
A wistful silence floats throughout the bookshop. Patrons of the establishment sit at one of the three wooden tables, shuffling chairs and the rustle of parchment, while the clatter of carriages and the bootsteps outside the colored windows is but a whisper.
Ancient, unnamed winebottles line the windowsills, reflecting the lantern light from the rafters above. On the wall are paintings of a pastoral Silkfield, fields of golden wheat swaying in a country wind, the quiet lurking forest, and farmers resting on their porches as the sun sinks below the horizon.
A high bookshelf lines the entire right-hand wall, filled with volumes of text: mapbooks, classical prose, theology, philosophy, novels, and books of poems, ranging from the grotesque and baroque, to the studious and light-hearted. Scattered on different bookshelves are tiny glass figurines, some frozen while in dance, some crouched in humble thought, and others embracing in love.
At the far end of the bookshop stretches a long polished counter. Behind the counter on a raised shelf is a glass case featuring rare books, a stone statue of an Imperial Bladesman and a showcase of old and strange coins. Above the counter, pinned to the wall, is an old hunting bow, the stuffed head of a tusked boar, and an Imperial sword.
You appear to be alone here. Some red wine is here. A biinwood sign is here. A pine sign is here. A letter is here. A shardwood trunk is here. Obvious exits: Out O -------
Moth arrives from Broselov Circle.
Forrest Wineburn is sitting on a table, staring at the giant bookshelf. He holds a piece of parchment in his hand.
"Mister? What is this place?" Moth says in awe, looking around at all the literature. He glances at the table Forrest sits on, scurrying up and sitting next to him. "What ya got there?" he asks, setting his bread behind him.
Taking in a deep breath, Forrest begins, his voice calmer now. "Look at that, Master Moth... no, no, over there, the bookshelf. Yes. That is the glory of this world, the passion of being. What makes us human, the records of our history, our love. Those are books, Master Moth. Do not treat them as a light subject, for they will create you or destroy you if you mistreat them. They have the power of speech, of speech that attacks the mind." Forrest leaps down and takes a volume from the shelf. "Tell me, Master Moth, what do you make of this?" He opens to a page filled with text.
Moth absorbs everything Forrest says with wide eyes, but by his furrowed brow it is obvious that he understands little of it. He glances to the bookshelf, then at the page of words Forrest shows him. "Well... mister, that's... I dunno."
In a hushed voice, beneath even the sound of the fire crackle of the lanterns, Forrest speaks, his eyes piercing, staring straight at the young boy. "Do you want to learn, Master Moth?"
"I do, mister, really. But I can't read that." Moth glances out the window, then at the ceiling, then at his hands, to avoid the man's gaze. "Are you gonna teach me?"
"If you truly have a desire, then perhaps you can learn, Master Moth. I shall teach you, but I shall require your help in return. With payment, of course." Forrest takes from his pocket a single Kahar. "Ten of these a week, if you stick around. I'll even throw in a couple clothes for you. But you'll have to work hard, and study harder."
Moth immediately perks at the sight of money, and he stares hungrily at the coin in Forrest's hand. Tearing his eyes away from the coin, he looks at Forrest. "Wow, mister. That's great. I can learn, I promise! I'll do my best." A moment passes, and Moth adds, "I truly want to learn, mister. It's not just for coin."
Wineburn's face brightens. "That is even better, my boy, even better. I'll tell you what," he says, putting the single kahar in the child's hand. You take that to your mother and you ask her if she will allow it. Tell her you'll be begging no more, but working with a proper job. Can you do that, Master Moth?"
It seems that for the first time since he arrived in Forrest's bookshop, Moth thinks of his mother at home. His eyes darken for a moment and he looks up at Forrest with a nod. "I'll tell her. She'll like that." With another glance at the window, Moth asks, "Hey, what's your name? And stop calling me master."
"I am very happy," Forrest says, smiling. "And I shall call you by whatever name I deem proper, and you shall address me as Master Wineburn. You are to go straight to your mother and tell her of this, and when you return replace your ragged clothes with the clothes you will find on the floor of this shop. Is that understood?"
The boy notes the seriousness of Forrest's words and nods. "Okay, mister-- Master Wineburn." He runs his fingers through his greasy hair and smiles, jumping off the table. "Thanks, Master Wineburn! I'll be back!" After a moment of just standing there, Moth leaps toward Forrest and gives him a hug, assuming the man permits such actions. Afterward, Moth exits the shop with a smile on his face.
The proprietor smiles, as if the tiredness of the night suddenly washed away. As the boy walks away, out of the shop, Forrest re-arranges the tables, and shuffles some books. Tomorrow will be a grand day.
Vozhdya, city of industry and commerce, is the provincial capital of the Vozhd dominions. Straddling three trade routes at the Aegis' major eastern gate, rolling hillocks and loamy plains give way to dense urban quarters and a skyline populated by brick smokestacks. Hundreds of stone chalets dot the rural lowlands, centered amid the great farm-estates of the landed gentry. The Eastwatch canal, a broad, glittering waterway, feeds surrounding fields with irrigable water and descends into the very heart of the city itself. Narrow cobblestone streets coil through the cramped city districts, yet inevitably lead to the expansive central square: the living heart of Vozhdya.
The sprawling marketplace is filled with carts and shanties; shops and stores; brightly coloured tarpaulins and independent merchantmen. Yet all are dwarfed under the two great industries of the region, embodied in their monolithic facades of stone and glass: the iron works and textile consortiums. Like sentinels, these twin foundries flank the square at either end. Broad cobblestone avenues expand in all directions. To the west, a chain of forested mountains mark the provincial mountains mark the provincial border; to the east, the Aegis itself, gargantuan and imposing. To the north, behind high walls, the battlements of Vozhd Keep can be seen, and to the south the precipitous towers of The Warren. A large sword stands outside the Loom and Spindle, melded into the ground.
Moth is here. Kahar's Fury stands here. A biinwood sign is here. A Guard stands watch here. An Archer stands watch here. A well is here. ----------
Also here: Nellom Shore (NPC Deedgiver), Vozhdya Healer, Directional Sign, Vozhdya Square News Post, Fastheld Courier Service, Merchant Marris Almond, East Aegis Stables Obvious exits: High Street HS, The Tannery TT, Farmers Market FM, Vozhdya Harbor VH, Broselov Circle BC, Loom and Spindle LS, Jewelry Shop J, Warehouse W, Rand Textile Mill RT, Quarried Treasures QT, Tavern TV, Kolenko Iron Works IW, Tailor T, Sewers S You can travel: West, North, South, East, Northwest, Southwest --------
Merchant Marris Almond says, "I'm not interested in buying a ink stamp."
Forrest mutters.
"You sell me this worthless piece of..." Forrest shrugs and gives up. "Oh, forget it. Forget it. Maybe I can throw it in some dark corner, and be done with it."
Forrest motions to the courier to approach him. A boy straddles over to him, and Forrest says, "Take this immediately to Master Barit Smithy. Please be fast. I don't have a lot of money, so I'll take your word, eh?"
From a dark corner of the square walks a scruffy young boy, his arms clutching a loaf of bread to his chest. He walks up to Forrest and blinks. "Hey, mister."
The courier speeds away. Forrest turns to go, but is stopped by a little boy. "Oh, hello." Forrest looks annoyed. He's had a long day."
Moth holds the loaf of bread out to Forrest, his eyebrow raised. "Look, I'm not gonna beg or anything. I just wanna know if you have anything other than bread to give me. I'll trade you." He blue eyes glint in the dim light and he looks at the courier speeding away. "It's a bit late to be sending things off?"
Forrest stares at the little boy, not saying anything. "You're not going to beg? That's a different story. I'm not really hungry though." Forrest leans back against the well. "Say, what's your name kid?"
Moth scowls when he does not receive the answer he hoped for, mainly the offer of an apple pie in exchange for the loaf of bread. At any rate, he eyes Forrest, looking up at him from beneath a scruffy fringe of black hair. "I'm Moth." After a moment he adds, "Call me Flutter and regret it."
"I wouldn't dare, Master Moth." Forrest smiles. "I work late. Writer, you know. Say, you are an intelligent kid. Why are you out this late? Shouldn't you be in bed, or finishing up your studies?"
Another scowl contorts Moth's mouth at being referred to with such an honorary title, but he brightens at being called intelligent. "I'm tryin' to get something for this bread. Do you know how many people have just given me bread today? I didn't even have to beg." At Forrest's other question, Moth blinks. "Studies? What are ya talking about, Mister?"
"School, Master Moth. Learning. Exploring this wide, vast realm of beauty, you know. Getting knowledge, so you can get money. That's study."
"Oh." Moth furrows his brow, staring at the ground for a moment, before flicking his gaze back up to Forrest. "Only rich people can learn," he says firmly, squinting at Forrest. "Do you learn? Are you rich?"
Forrest chuckles. "Rich? Hardly... but I taught myself how to read, and went to a proper school for people like me. Nothing expensive mind you, just a normal place. But I reckon you'd do good in school. Where are your parents?"
"My parent," Moth corrects, frowning. "She's at home. She has to stay at home. I have to get the food." He kicks his foot in the dirt, his frown deepening. "Learn... that sounds sorta boring, mister."
Forrest scowls darkly. "Learning sounds boring, Master Moth? It is the one thing in this damned universe you have as a right. Even if you don't have a scrap of food or a pinprick of blood, you've still got that!"
Forrest's eyes are heavy, as if his day suddenly came thundering into one moment. "You have a lot to learn. I'm surprised they've gotten to you. This world has binding that none have ever known." He is frowning now, looking off into the night.
"Well, hey... mister," Moth stammers, confused by the man's passionate response. "I guess... I think... I can learn." Moth shifts his arms around the loaf of bread, tilting his head at Forrest. "How?"
Frustrated and angry, Forrest responds in a red heat. "Follow me, Master Moth. Stay close. The shadows hold many secrets, and narry you should listen to them. Stay close and follow me and discover your fate."
Forrest begins to walk toward Broselov Circle, his feet stamping against the pavement, his arms gathered behind his back.his arms gathered behind his back.
Moth has little time to respond, and he dashes after Forrest, curious to know more of what this man is talking about.
You head into Broselov Circle.
Broselov Circle Vozhdya ----------- (Outdoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Markus Kahar)
The loud bustle of the central square gives way to the fashionable neighborhood of Broselov Circle. Famous for its wine gardens and high-end entertainment, the 'circle' is composed of a yawning stretch of cobblestone parkway bordered by bushy pink cherry trees. The streets are immaculate - horse carts are forbidden to travel upon them - and well lit, as wrought-iron lampposts illuminate the sidewalks after sundown. Well-dressed couples may be seen parading together at all hours.
The circle centre is host to Vozhdya's great war memorial. An intersection crossed by patches of grass and trees, the great statue of Viscount Broselov stands high in the center of the park, forever mounted on his warhorse, Arbat.
Positioned on a marble dais more then six-feet-high, the Viscount's stone visage commands all the grounds below him.
You appear to be alone here. ----------- Also here: NPC Retainer Marker 32 Obvious exits: Wineburn Bookshop WB, Incarnadine Palette IP, Obvious exits: Wineburn Bookshop WB, Incarnadine Palette IP, Smithy's Townhouse ST, High Temple HT, Isabella's Townhouse IT, Driftwood's Townhouse DT, Vozhd-Imperial Downs VID, Vozhdya Square VS --------
Moth arrives from Vozhdya Square.
Moth has arrived.
"Remember, Master Moth, that this pale facade of buildings mean nothing. The people around you are only faces. They are like everyone else. The moonlight shines over them, and the sun turns their skin red. Remember that. Now follow me."
"Turns their skin red. Okay, I'll remember that." Moth trails along after Forrest, his eyes wide and his arms clutching the loaf of bread tightly.
Forrest opens the door to the bookshop, taking the key from his pocket. Turning the lock, he returns the key, and disappears into the shadows of the building.
You head into Wineburn Bookshop.
Wineburn Bookshop Vozhdya ------ (Indoors) (Cover: Fair) (Owner: Forrest)
A wistful silence floats throughout the bookshop. Patrons of the establishment sit at one of the three wooden tables, shuffling chairs and the rustle of parchment, while the clatter of carriages and the bootsteps outside the colored windows is but a whisper.
Ancient, unnamed winebottles line the windowsills, reflecting the lantern light from the rafters above. On the wall are paintings of a pastoral Silkfield, fields of golden wheat swaying in a country wind, the quiet lurking forest, and farmers resting on their porches as the sun sinks below the horizon.
A high bookshelf lines the entire right-hand wall, filled with volumes of text: mapbooks, classical prose, theology, philosophy, novels, and books of poems, ranging from the grotesque and baroque, to the studious and light-hearted. Scattered on different bookshelves are tiny glass figurines, some frozen while in dance, some crouched in humble thought, and others embracing in love.
At the far end of the bookshop stretches a long polished counter. Behind the counter on a raised shelf is a glass case featuring rare books, a stone statue of an Imperial Bladesman and a showcase of old and strange coins. Above the counter, pinned to the wall, is an old hunting bow, the stuffed head of a tusked boar, and an Imperial sword.
You appear to be alone here. Some red wine is here. A biinwood sign is here. A pine sign is here. A letter is here. A shardwood trunk is here. Obvious exits: Out O -------
Moth arrives from Broselov Circle.
Forrest Wineburn is sitting on a table, staring at the giant bookshelf. He holds a piece of parchment in his hand.
"Mister? What is this place?" Moth says in awe, looking around at all the literature. He glances at the table Forrest sits on, scurrying up and sitting next to him. "What ya got there?" he asks, setting his bread behind him.
Taking in a deep breath, Forrest begins, his voice calmer now. "Look at that, Master Moth... no, no, over there, the bookshelf. Yes. That is the glory of this world, the passion of being. What makes us human, the records of our history, our love. Those are books, Master Moth. Do not treat them as a light subject, for they will create you or destroy you if you mistreat them. They have the power of speech, of speech that attacks the mind." Forrest leaps down and takes a volume from the shelf. "Tell me, Master Moth, what do you make of this?" He opens to a page filled with text.
Moth absorbs everything Forrest says with wide eyes, but by his furrowed brow it is obvious that he understands little of it. He glances to the bookshelf, then at the page of words Forrest shows him. "Well... mister, that's... I dunno."
In a hushed voice, beneath even the sound of the fire crackle of the lanterns, Forrest speaks, his eyes piercing, staring straight at the young boy. "Do you want to learn, Master Moth?"
"I do, mister, really. But I can't read that." Moth glances out the window, then at the ceiling, then at his hands, to avoid the man's gaze. "Are you gonna teach me?"
"If you truly have a desire, then perhaps you can learn, Master Moth. I shall teach you, but I shall require your help in return. With payment, of course." Forrest takes from his pocket a single Kahar. "Ten of these a week, if you stick around. I'll even throw in a couple clothes for you. But you'll have to work hard, and study harder."
Moth immediately perks at the sight of money, and he stares hungrily at the coin in Forrest's hand. Tearing his eyes away from the coin, he looks at Forrest. "Wow, mister. That's great. I can learn, I promise! I'll do my best." A moment passes, and Moth adds, "I truly want to learn, mister. It's not just for coin."
Wineburn's face brightens. "That is even better, my boy, even better. I'll tell you what," he says, putting the single kahar in the child's hand. You take that to your mother and you ask her if she will allow it. Tell her you'll be begging no more, but working with a proper job. Can you do that, Master Moth?"
It seems that for the first time since he arrived in Forrest's bookshop, Moth thinks of his mother at home. His eyes darken for a moment and he looks up at Forrest with a nod. "I'll tell her. She'll like that." With another glance at the window, Moth asks, "Hey, what's your name? And stop calling me master."
"I am very happy," Forrest says, smiling. "And I shall call you by whatever name I deem proper, and you shall address me as Master Wineburn. You are to go straight to your mother and tell her of this, and when you return replace your ragged clothes with the clothes you will find on the floor of this shop. Is that understood?"
The boy notes the seriousness of Forrest's words and nods. "Okay, mister-- Master Wineburn." He runs his fingers through his greasy hair and smiles, jumping off the table. "Thanks, Master Wineburn! I'll be back!" After a moment of just standing there, Moth leaps toward Forrest and gives him a hug, assuming the man permits such actions. Afterward, Moth exits the shop with a smile on his face.
The proprietor smiles, as if the tiredness of the night suddenly washed away. As the boy walks away, out of the shop, Forrest re-arranges the tables, and shuffles some books. Tomorrow will be a grand day.