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It was another lovely morning in Mallian, the air humid and thick with heat. Bird-song, human chatter and dipping oars gently competed for the city's affection. The aftermath of a passing rainstorm sprinkled a necessary chill to the mix, now drifting by in a black cloud past the white rooftops and arched balconies of the city, towards the Ixchel Wilds. It left a light mist in its wake - a memory of its former presence.
Rovan enjoyed the view, sipping chilled ambrosia tea from a clay cup, swirling with ice cubes - a secret recipe of this city and its association of Ice Bringers. It was still a mystery to him how they prepared this ice, but it made for a delightful drink. Lavished by cold, sweetened water trickling down his throat, he was cradled in a reclining divan on the waterfront of a public house. A banner hung above him, billowing gently with bold, italic letters of navy blue scrawled across a sand-coloured background: The Barge Pole. From here, he could comfortably observe the construction of the new bridge connecting the Gwynd Quarter to the north-eastern edge of the Duke's Palace.
Ten-thousand and five-hundred sixty-six gold pieces. That was the estimated amount for its construction so far. All for the effort of quarrying stone from the southern reaches of the Ixchel Wilds and transporting it by boat, involving the Realm Masons and the hiring of an Allirian architect to imitate the white walls of Alliria, as well as enlisting a master builder and his crew for two years, while barring river traffic in the mornings and evenings, and buying the land on the Gwynd- and Palace side.
Truly a shame all that investment would have to go to waste.
Knowing the clerk who sorted the accounts for the Gwynd Association - the masters behind this engineering project - Rovan had carefully studied their financial documents, as per the request of his patron. Many individuals of this eclectic group required daily access to the palace, which involved a short trip across the canal or a much longer detour to the nearest bridge.
Unfortunately for them, the ferrymen on this particular stretch knew exactly who their patrons were. And so, they raised their fees accordingly.
Outrage had sparked. And the Gwynd Association was born, a loose gaggle of incensed nobles and councilmen, pooling their resources together to fund a bridge that would outcompete the supposed greed of ferrymen. Meanwhile, the Ferrymen's Union took great offence to this whole ordeal, and none so more than his liege lord, who happened to be the chairman of this association.
Rovan took another contemplative sip of the ambrosial brew, three fingers locked on the clay handle, two daintily jutting out. The drink was sweet against his tongue, an enigmatic antidote to the overwhelming heat of Mallian. He preferred his early mornings and late evenings in this verdant city. When the sun still climbed the horizon or fell, the heat was tolerable, and so, at those times, he could think. The zenith of the day was often reserved for occupying a nearby bathhouse, conversing with prospective clients and other souls of commerce, usually on the behalf of his lord.
It was this very lord who had tipped him off about a prospective opportunity. An individual who was often seen coming to The Barge Pole in the morning hours, said to be capable of commanding stone, earth and other soil to his whim. Rovan awaited him, as one might wait for an incoming storm, calm and assured of his own security from its wrath. From time to time, his half-lidded gaze languidly travelled along the bridge, watching the master builder arguing loudly with a group of ferrymen seeking passage.
If only the builder knew what awaited him and his dear project.
Kazar
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OOC info:
Mainly aimed at a particular character, but others are free to join if they want to get a piece of the action!
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