An Autumn Afternoon

Settling in to a new town is definitely more difficult when your business partner likes chasing cats...

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Brunnhold's college town, located inside the university grounds.

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Juniper Feldspar
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Sun Dec 16, 2018 9:40 am

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Feldspar Tailoring| Early afternoon
5th VORTAS 2718
The air was crisp and cool, with the kind of golden light that you only really get in Autumn filtering through the maze of cobbled streets and mismatched buildings that made up the Stacks. A scrawny ginger tom slunk over the cobbles and drifted detritus of the street, skillfully avoiding setting paw in the puddles that glinted in the early afternoon sun, and twined around the ankles of the man leaning against the weathered open door of one of the many shops that lined the streets. The animal had found scraps here before, and purred loudly in hopes of more.

Today, however, he was not in luck, as a little silver streak of spitting fury uncoiled from around the man's neck and darted at the cat, wings spread and feather crest raised, causing the redhead to swear and spill drops of scalding coffee from the mug he held. automatically holding it out from himself to avoid staining his clothes, while stumbling over the feline.

"SHIT. Godsdamned clocking ersehat-"

Juniper managed to avoid splashing his waistcoat or shirt sleeves, the coffee landing instead on polished boots, cat and cobbles. The tomcat yowled in pain, hissing at the miraan and swiping at the little creature before turning tail and darting off up the street towards the University.

Miranda swooped easily out of the reach of the widespread claws, trilling in triumph as her foe fled. With a few beats of her leathery wings, she gained enough height to wheel and settle on the hanging shop sign. the breeze from her beating wings caused it to swing gently. It was an interesting sight, the little creature's coils draped over her silver-painted likeness etched into the wood.

Juniper sighed, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket with his free hand, and crouching to blot up the drops of coffee from his boots, taking care not to spill more from the mug he held. He balled the cotton square up, one-handed still, so that the stain would not transfer to his dove-grey breeches and returned it to the pocket, smiling wryly as he addressed his pet.

"Every so often, you make me regret not buying you a leash."

The tailor settled back to his previous spot, shoulder up against the doorpost, ankles crossed, his left arm hugging close to his chest and tucked under the other elbow, content to be out and breathe in the city as he waited for his coffee to cool enough to be drunk.


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Nauleth Siordanti
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: Magus in the Making
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Mon Dec 17, 2018 2:07 pm

5th of Vortas, 2718
FELDSPAR TAILORING | Early AFTERNOON
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Nauleth wasn't entirely sure he needed any more clothing. What he needed was the clocking walk! The junior professor had dismissed his last class of the day early, locked his office door with his stack of papers to be graded and final revisions on his dissertation to re-write and fled Brunnhold's glorious autumn campus as if it had been on fire. Perhaps it clocking well should have been, given how much of his life had felt consumed by a misguided magma spell since mid-Dentis.

He'd hardly seen Athrym once they'd so ingloriously and loudly agreed to disagree, hardly sure if the Gioran Ambassador who happened to also be his fiancé was even still in the godsbedamned kingdom. Did it matter? Would it ever? The young Siordanti had spent eight years repairing his relationship with the mona to the detriment of ever really developing any skills at relating to galdorkind. Could he really repair a relationship with a young woman so bent on believing the magicless offspring of their people were worthy of the kind of value Giorans seemed to place upon them?

Gods, it felt impossible, and the very thought of such things brought a simmer to his weighty field as he made his way through the crisp streets bathed in the golden light of early afternoon. A few trees that lined the main thoroughfares of the Stacks still held onto their multicolored leaves and the chill on the breeze cut through his light dress jacket, Nauleth having forgotten his heavier coat all the way at home in his haste to get to class before any of his housemates awakened and asked for the millionth clocking time about Athrym.

Lifting his shoulders and hiding a bit more into his collar, the tall redhead hardly needed to think about where he was going. He'd spent well over half his life in Brunnhold now and there were only a few streets in the Stacks he was no longer familiar with, thanks to his biking enthusiasm. Walking felt so slow in comparison, and yet Naul struggled to remind himself that he just needed to slow down. His paperwork had come in approved from the Gioran Embassy and the Temple of Qrieth was looking forward to his esteemed visit in order to further his studies of Physical and Quantitative Conversation. Or, at least, that's what the secretary had so kindly penned into the letter—the young Siordanti was sure the truth was full of far less enthusiasm for a clocking Anaxi professor to step foot into their Kingdom, especially if Athrym's borderline ridiculously confused beliefs were any sign of the sorts of views held by her people.

But he didn't have to get involved in that. In any of it.

He was there to research, to continue to pursue monic perfection. He was there to share his understanding of electricity and to begin new, far more broad reaching experiments in partnership with faculty and staff who shared his magical passions and intellectual interests instead of getting tangled up in pseudo-religious beliefs and clocking complicated emotions.

That's what Nauleth told himself, anyway.

But the truth was, his heart still ached. He was still so clocking frustrated and angry and confused and had no real outlet for such impotent feelings as a professor. His student years would have found him on the Lawn, dueling, or in the gymnasium, still dueling. If he had more spare time, he'd still be active in his league, but his dissertation had sucked the time from his hands and he had to drop out for the season.

Perhaps he should have biked to this Feldspar Tailoring.

Perhaps the physical exertion would have done him some good.

Too late now, Nauleth exhaled a sigh of resignation in a cloud of hot breath, sea glass-colored eyes noting the street signs and turning down a well-manicured one, finally glancing upwards at business signage. He passed by windows decorated with autumn colors and harvest themes. He passed a young couple walking their dog together and a couple of students rushing past to get to Brunnhold in time for their next class. The red-walled city was all that he'd known for most of his life, most of his memory, and as excited as he was about moving on to pursue magical greatness, part of him was terrified to leave, even moreso now that he'd gone and ruined his only comfort, his only cultural reference, his only anchor by tarnishing his relationship with Athrym.

He'd been told to look for a crudely painted white miraan on the signage, but Naul had not expected to see a real one. Perched atop the tailor's sign, the feathered little draconic beast fetched an endearing image, and thankfully, his attention was grabbed just enough for the ginger professor to remember where he was even going. Pausing on the sidewalk, he realized someone was standing outside as if waiting for someone—certainly not himself since he hadn't made an appointment—and that someone had a field.

No, a glamour.

Nauleth's own aura felt heavy in comparison, as if the tall galdor produced his own gravitational pull. Still, contrary to a certain Gioran Ambassador's beliefs, he had some godsbedamned manners, and as much as he didn't entirely enjoy interacting with the lower races—gods, he hardly enjoyed interacting with his own kind!—he still offered the man and his coffee the flash of a brief smile,

"Good afternoon. Are you the tailor here? Or do you work for them? I didn't make arrangements, but, uh, Feldspar comes quite recommended and, uh, graduation is right around the corner so I'd best give you some business."
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
Last edited by Nauleth Siordanti on Tue Jan 15, 2019 3:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Juniper Feldspar
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Wed Dec 19, 2018 4:50 pm

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Feldspar Tailoring| Early afternoon
5th VORTAS 2718
Gazing absent-mindedly up the street where the cat had fled, Juniper noticed the professor’s field almost before seeing the man himself- strong, and well-trained, clearly an adept sorceror- though he appeared distracted and lost in contemplation.

In the week Juniper had been in the city, he was still not quite used to the sheer diversity of it- particularly its galdori population.

...Well, one half of the galdori population...

On the first day he opened the store he'd come face-to-face with that particular problem (and Master Vinter had seemed to thrive on his confusion, which had made it even harder to think straight) but he had a handle on it now. Though saying that... this particular gentleman had the potential to set him back quite a way.

...no, we've been through this, he told himself sternly, daydreaming is not for business hours...


Instead of anything else he might have done, the wick nodded politely.

"Well, you've found the right man. I'm Feldspar, I'm glad to hear that I'm gaining the right kind of reputation!"

He stood straight, raised his left hand and gave a brief whistle, looking up to his girl where she perched on the sign. She gave a trill, her crest fluffing, but refused to move.

The tailor shrugged.

"Suit yourself, the window's open." Turning back to the gentleman still standing in front of his shop, he gave a half bow and gestured inside. "Do come in. I like to take some fresh air when I can, but I am most definitely open for business!"

He gave the man a bright smile, took a sip from his mug, wincing as he burned his tongue, and stepped inside. Crossing to the counter and swinging behind it, Juniper set the mug down on the little quilted coaster that awaited the hot cup.

He set his elbows on the counter, leaning in with a smile.

“So, how can I help you, sir?”

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Nauleth Siordanti
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: Magus in the Making
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Thu Jan 03, 2019 10:44 am

5th of Vortas, 2718
FELDSPAR TAILORING | Early AFTERNOON
The tall redhead watched the miraan for a brief moment before his sea glass-colored gaze came into focus on the wick whose curious little glamour he couldn't help but caprice out of habit. Doetoed and weak in comparison to the bastions of galdori education he was used to brushing up against, he realized he was so isolated in academia that he had no idea how to properly interact with the half-blooded but smiling man before him.

Anaxi. So close minded, so utterly absorbed in your own self importance. I thought you were different.

If he was to extend his intellectual acceptance to the cursed, non-magical offspring of his own kind, how, then, was he supposed to feel about other lower races? Was the magical being before him really so lesser than a passive? This mental quandary was a wrench in the gears of the young Siordanti's too-busy mind and he took longer than was necessary for the junior professor to clear his throat and respond to Mister Feldspar,

"Yes. Hello. Thank you." He stammered awkwardly, bobbing in a distracted bow of greeting before entering the shop as invited, immediately glancing about the interior to keep from staring at a stranger in his unprompted and most likely unwelcome curiosity, "This is the best season for fresh air, if you ask me. Autumn has always been my favorite."

Small talk was not his wheelhouse, but the outdoors were something the otherwise rather cloistered academic enjoyed with an unspoken passion. Biking and exploring the various gardens of Brunnhold, even venturing outside the red walls of the city for a bit of hiking, were ways in which Nauleth kept active and sane,

"Well, I'm not really sure what I'm shopping for. I'll be honest. I'm not particularly fashionable and I don't at all have an eye for such things, but I realize I am a few seasons, if not a few years, behind—" Flapping his coat as if he was preparing to take flight for emphasis, the junior professor smirked his typical lopsided smirk. Had Juniper been watching the ginger galdor close enough, it would be somewhat noticeable that the left side of his face seemed a little less enthused to change expressions than the right, a small delay in the alignment of his two halves just barely something one could quantify without really looking, "—and I've got students graduating, I'm graduating with my post-secondary degree, and I might be leaving the Kingdom for some research. So. Now is as good a time as any to update my wardrobe, I suppose. What can you do with that, sir?"

Conversation didn't feel so uncomfortable once he chose to ignore the niggling difference in the other man's aura, once he simply addressed him as another person in the room. Wick features weren't so obviously not-galdori after all, and Mister Feldspar was at least not a human. Had he really hardly shopped before? Gods, he was so much more isolated than he really considered, but Athrym's accusation of his ignorance still stung in remembrance.

"What can you do with me, for that matter?" He chuckled, Naul now far more aware of his shortcomings in ways he couldn't even express in words than he had been in years.
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
Last edited by Nauleth Siordanti on Tue Jan 15, 2019 3:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Juniper Feldspar
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Joined: Sun Nov 18, 2018 12:53 pm
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Tue Jan 15, 2019 3:10 pm

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Feldspar Tailoring| Early afternoon
5th VORTAS 2718
Juniper's eyes lit up.

“I have always thought so! The trees are stunning of course, but the air has that tingle of possibility.”


As the professor continued, the wick grew more intrigued. He chuckled as the redhead gestured with his coat, ducking his head in politeness, but when the galdor mentioned falling behind with trends, it piqued the tailor's interest even further.

...goodness, the opportunity for artistic licence? Yes please...

But then the man continued...

“What can you do with me, for that matter?" and laughed in almost an embarrassed tone- and that was too much. He couldn't be blamed, surely...

Juniper tried so hard to keep a straight face, but his lip twitched in what was clearly an aborted laugh, and there was a spark of mischief in his blue eyes as he replied.

“Well... I can't remember the last time I was asked that by such a handsome gentleman.”


...now that was inappropriate. Well done. Just...pretend you didn't say it? Yes? Yes...


The wick ran a hand through his red hair, pushing a few stray strands back from his brow, and reached under the counter, pulling out a green, leatherbound folder impressed with gold edging, a little smaller than a newspaper.

“If you're looking to update your entire wardrobe- which I would be extremely happy to take on- you'll need a fairly lengthy consultation, especially if you need it to be suitable for foreign climes. Fortunately I have no bookings today, so I have plenty of time to devote to you.”


He opened the folder, revealing it to be full of loose leaves of paper, each bearing either a sketch, or in a couple of cases, a spectra.

“My portfolio,”
he explained, turning it to face the galdor. “If you'd like to take a look, see if any styles catch your eye, I can fetch a pot of coffee.”

He moved to the shop door to flip the sign to 'Closed', and shoot the top bolt.

“...or tea, if you'd prefer? I have yet to have a client take me up on the offer of wine, however.”


A small smile quirked the edge of his lip.

Giving the man space to reply, he started thinking about colours and fabrics, and the mention of Autumn was clearly still in his thoughts, because what sprang to mind were the shades of Fall, leaf and berry...

...mustard yellow for a waistcoat perhaps...a coat in cherry-red velvet...


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Nauleth Siordanti
Posts: 189
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 12:19 am
Topics: 22
Race: Galdor
Location: Brunnhold, Anaxas
: Magus in the Making
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Sat Jan 26, 2019 9:55 pm

5th of Vortas, 2718
FELDSPAR TAILORING | Early AFTERNOON
The ginger professor couldn't help the flustered blush at the tailor's tone, unsure of quite how to take the other man's words but quite convinced they were somehow flirtatious. Perhaps it was simply his state of mind, aware that his imminent departure was looming and quite convinced he missed Athrym far more than he should have. Nervous that she'd refuse to see him even after he and Norwyn finally arrived in Gior, his mind seemed bent on finding distraction in every situation.

He smiled, opening his mouth to say something in response, but chuckling awkwardly instead. Naul cleared his throat, managing the most uncomfortable of humorous retorts, willing himself to play along while swallowing the disgust at the sensation of the tailor's glamour. His tone wavered only slightly, but a coy mockery of flirtatiousness was there for pure entertainment, "Well now, are you admitting to taking alternative forms of payment, Mister Feldspar?"

There.

That was about all he could manage, the professor too sober and too full of end-of-the-year stress to at all keep up a charade that he was someone who could be interested in some half-bred creature so barely magical. He had no desire to be rude, however, not begrudging the other man his birth,

"I'll be traveling to the Kingdom of Gior in Achtus ... for ... uh, a currently indefinite period of time. Some of my role there will be academic, but I will also be leading an expedition of sorts. I'm not sure what your experience is with clothing that can withstand both unusual underground travel as well as unexpected conditions, but I'm looking for practical updates to my wardrobe for both every day wear and adventures into the unknown." Naul spoke with unfiltered honesty, aware of the edge of mystery his descriptors probably carried to strangers who knew nothing of his plans while visiting the mountainous homeland of his fiancé. He moved to glance at the leatherbound folder full of the tailor's work, gold-rimmed gaze flitting over sketches and spectra, freckled fingers more than willing to trace over fabric.

"Good Lady, yes. Coffee is always welcome—" He looked up with a smile before turning a few more pages, quite aware that he had absolutely no sense of fashion and no brain cells to spare on such a concept, not while wrapping up his post-graduate research, preparing his students for final exams, drafting proposals for his expedition to Gior, and pretending he wasn't clocking heartbroken over Athrym leaving the Kingdom without him. It was difficult enough for the academic young galdor to focus on tying a cravat properly, let alone to keep up with trends in clothing styles, "—wine? If I wasn't so clocking morose lately when intoxicated, that wouldn't be so bad, but, at this current juncture, it's just not a fair idea. I'm pretty sure my circulatory system runs on caffeine these days, so why stop now?"

Naul rolled his narrow shoulders in a shrug, his expression almost self-deprecating. Glancing around the shop before his sea glass-colored gaze settled back on Juniper, the tall ginger's hands slid away from the wick's portfolio and fussed with the buttons of his coat, aware he'd eventually have to remove it for measurements. Or so he assumed.
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
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Juniper Feldspar
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Fri May 24, 2019 4:14 am

Feldspar Tailoring
☙ 5th of Vortas, 2718; Early afternoon ❧
Juniper flushed bright red at the man's teasing comment.

"I...uh...I'll fetch that coffee…"

...idiot. You know how they feel about wicks, stop proving them right…

The ginger tailor slipped out from behind the counter, glancing back to his client with an embarrassed smile as he gestured to the pair of comfortable-looking, lilac-upholstered chairs towards the back of the shop, nestled with their matching table before the little bookshelf.

"Do take a seat if you wish. I shouldn't be more than ten minutes or so, but there are books if my portfolio doesn't engage your attention for that long."

Should the galdor peruse the titles he would discover among their ranks a few tomes of history, one specific to Brunnhold and the Stacks, a couple of volumes of fashion plates, some poetry by various authors and what appeared to be several romance novels by one Agnes Rivintuit.

He was already moving towards the door to his workroom as the galdor continued to speak, knuckles pressed to flaming cheeks in a futile attempt to dull their glow, but what he heard made him turn back, cobalt eyes alight with interest and all embarrassment forgotten.

"Gior? And an...underground expedition? Good lady, that sounds intriguing-"...NO. Remember your place. Polite conversation, do not pry… "...ah. I'll be back shortly."

He ducked his head in a polite nod before leaving, gently closing the workroom door behind him before trotting up the stairs to his apartment, mind racing with possibilities.

...Gior...furs maybe, definitely close-fulled wool… and underground travel? Oh...LEATHER…

As the little wick pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, a chirp and a rattle greeted him, and he sighed, seeing Miranda perched on the windowsill having knocked the propped window wide open. The hinged iron support bar rattled in the breeze as it dangled unhitched from the swinging pane, clattering against the wooden refrigerator box that hung outside the house.

"What am I going to do with you, you little fiend," he scolded fondly, walking over and holding out a wrist as he leaned out to catch the swinging bar. The miraan twined herself around his forearm as he repropped the window before flipping the lid of the coldbox to retrieve the little churn of cream that nestled beside a pat of butter and a packet of bacon.

It didn't take him long to poke up the fire in the little cast iron stove, and a fresh pot of coffee was soon bubbling away as he collected cup, saucer, sugar bowl (which required the use of a small stepstool as he kept it on the top shelf, out of Miranda's way) and the little jug for the cream-all of a pretty but simple grey-blue ceramic- with his miraan now curled comfortably in her favourite spot around his neck. All set out on a neat silver tray with the steaming coffee pot, the wick smiled, nodded with satisfaction, and set off carefully down the stairs, boot heels clicking on the uncarpeted treads. Loath to lose the balance of his burden, he didn't attempt to hold it one handed to reach for the doorhandle, instead nudging it down with a hip and backing the door open before setting the tray down on the sideboard at the back of the shop.

"There." The tailor smiled brightly at his new client, bending to pour out a cup with care as he took up the conversation again. "Do you have any thoughts on colour schemes? ...sugar, cream?" Juniper added, hand hovering over the sugar tongs as he looked back to the academic.

☙❧
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Nauleth Siordanti
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Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 12:19 am
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: Magus in the Making
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Fri Jun 07, 2019 3:09 pm

5th of Vortas, 2718
FELDSPAR TAILORING | Early AFTERNOON
Nauleth sat as he was told, not oblivious to the shorter wick's blushing but confused in his own very distant from the social customs of lower races sort of way. Mister Feldspar seemed like an easily flustered creature, but, then again, the young Siordanti had come to understand from his various experiences with his peers that creative types tended to be that way in general. Perhaps the same was true of tsats. He wasn't about to do research on the subject, folding his hands in his lap to keep from picking at a hangnail that he'd discovered when he put his hands in his pockets against the Vortas chill.

He glanced over books, gold-rimmed gaze taking in their spines, not surprised a business-owner had a writ allowing him to read. They were all mostly alien titles to the galdor who appreciated poetry but didn't read it often enough. He ignored the romance titles, the very thought of his own personal failings in such a subject bringing a warm flush of shame crawling down his spine and stinging the edges of his vision.

The ginger wick was asking the ginger professor about his foolish plans and his whole freckled face seemed to light up with the opportunity to discuss anything other than the organ that ached in its brokenness beneath his sternum, "—it's quite fascinating, honestly, and—oh. Yes." His countenance clouded again and he looked down at his hands once the tsat disappeared in a flurry of promises.

Left to his own devices, the tall Anaxi finally gave in and peeled at loose skin, the sting of it distracting enough for the moment.

Mister Feldspar reappeared with a steaming cup of coffee and Naul reached for it with gratitude—"Thank you," politely uttered with a reluctant smile, able to keep his manners with strangers even once he was close enough to feel the uncomfortable difference between his ramscotta powerful field, one that shows the strength of the caster field and the weaker, strange aura of the freckled wick. It would be impolite to caprise the man, to assess what, exactly, his magical nature was like, and yet the young Siordanti had to chew the inside of his cheek to keep his academic curiosities at bay,

"Neither, actually." He said to cream and sugar, revealing himself as the sleepless professor he truly was by his reliance on pure, unsullied caffeinated hot beverages for existence, "And, also, no. Color—fashion—is not my strong point. Hence, I admit myself at your mercy. I suppose I need to make some impression on the Giorans who have made concessions to allow my access to their Kingdom. It's a lot of clocking work in case you've never heard."

Of course he hadn't. Had he? What did a Stacks-based tsat know of Gior?

Naul blinked in obvious chagrin, looking around the shop before he blew gently on the surface of his coffee, letting the steam warm his face for a moment before meeting Juniper's blue-eyed gaze again,

"My fiancé is an Ambassador and I will be in contact rather directly with the ruling Da Huane clan in order to conduct my research. So, those godsbedamned first impressions are important and all, you know?"

There was something about the way his voice wavered when he talked about his betrothed that threatened to give away too much, but he reigned it in, held back the hurt that still felt as though someone had punched him in the gut one time too many. He'd made his mistakes, yes, but he'd also not. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, pausing to take a cautious first sip,

"It's colder there, even inside the mountains where Gioran cities have been carved. Is wool my only option?"
Welcome to Brunnhold, stop-clocker, now go home.
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