A Little Shop in Fal'Addas
This was the farthest Seteta had ever been from home. Well, from Amol-Kalit, at least. It wasn't really home anymore, not since her tribe had disbanded and been absorbed into other tribes. She could have gone with any other number of her fellow Abtati, but none of the tribes willing to take her had felt like quite the right fit.
So she'd decided to see other parts of Arethil instead, but nothing she'd encountered so far--whether people or places--had felt quite right either.
Her mother had always said Seteta had a restlessness about her that was wilder than the desert wind, and a curiosity that needed to be tempered with wisdom.
It was certainly curiosity that had brought her into the heart of Falwood, to the massive and nearly overwhelming marketplace in Fal'Addas. While she'd been traveling for months now, she'd not been as surrounded by people--and quite as many other elves--ever in her life. The language of the elves here, though, was... strange. Melodic. Like the soft chatter of a brook. Sometimes Seteta thought she heard a word or phrase, that if twisted and sharpened, was very nearly something she could understand.
But at least the language of curiosity and coin was practically universal.
Later in the day, when she needed to worry about finding a place to sleep for the night, she would bother to find someone who spoke the Common tongue--surely someone would, after all, if her elven kin were as wise as legend said--but for now, she was curious.
She was familiar with many luxury goods and foods and spices, having helped to lead merchant caravans through the desert many times before. But this marketplace in Fal'Addas felt different. Even if she recognized many of the wares on display, Seteta saw many that she didn't know--things that simply couldn't survive the climate of Amol-Kalit.
The vast array was nearly overwhelming, and she found herself ducking to the side of the busy street to think.
Nervously, Seteta brushed her palms down the front of her short, tan linen abaya, then reached up to adjust the also tan but just a shade lighter headscarf covering her hair and the lower half of her face. Her garb--abaya, leggings, and headscarf all in muted shades of brown and cut far differently than anything else the elves of Falwood wore--had already drawn strange glances.
Falwood was... so different. So green, and the air was practically wet and nearly cold. Seteta had been stunned by the sheer waste of water all around her when she'd first left the desert, but it wasn't quite as shocking anymore.
She shivered just slightly, and made up her mind.
"Clothes," she whispered, self-conscious of the harshness of her native tongue, compared to the practically musical intonations around her. "Something warmer, and less... bland. That's what I need. Something where I don't stand out quite so much."
She stepped back out into the street, looked around until she spotted what she thought might be clothing, and headed in that direction.
Chaceledon
So she'd decided to see other parts of Arethil instead, but nothing she'd encountered so far--whether people or places--had felt quite right either.
Her mother had always said Seteta had a restlessness about her that was wilder than the desert wind, and a curiosity that needed to be tempered with wisdom.
It was certainly curiosity that had brought her into the heart of Falwood, to the massive and nearly overwhelming marketplace in Fal'Addas. While she'd been traveling for months now, she'd not been as surrounded by people--and quite as many other elves--ever in her life. The language of the elves here, though, was... strange. Melodic. Like the soft chatter of a brook. Sometimes Seteta thought she heard a word or phrase, that if twisted and sharpened, was very nearly something she could understand.
But at least the language of curiosity and coin was practically universal.
Later in the day, when she needed to worry about finding a place to sleep for the night, she would bother to find someone who spoke the Common tongue--surely someone would, after all, if her elven kin were as wise as legend said--but for now, she was curious.
She was familiar with many luxury goods and foods and spices, having helped to lead merchant caravans through the desert many times before. But this marketplace in Fal'Addas felt different. Even if she recognized many of the wares on display, Seteta saw many that she didn't know--things that simply couldn't survive the climate of Amol-Kalit.
The vast array was nearly overwhelming, and she found herself ducking to the side of the busy street to think.
Nervously, Seteta brushed her palms down the front of her short, tan linen abaya, then reached up to adjust the also tan but just a shade lighter headscarf covering her hair and the lower half of her face. Her garb--abaya, leggings, and headscarf all in muted shades of brown and cut far differently than anything else the elves of Falwood wore--had already drawn strange glances.
Falwood was... so different. So green, and the air was practically wet and nearly cold. Seteta had been stunned by the sheer waste of water all around her when she'd first left the desert, but it wasn't quite as shocking anymore.
She shivered just slightly, and made up her mind.
"Clothes," she whispered, self-conscious of the harshness of her native tongue, compared to the practically musical intonations around her. "Something warmer, and less... bland. That's what I need. Something where I don't stand out quite so much."
She stepped back out into the street, looked around until she spotted what she thought might be clothing, and headed in that direction.
Chaceledon