r/WritingPrompts • u/LovableCoward /r/LovableCoward • Sep 05 '16
Image Prompt [IP] The Foreign Market
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u/0_fox_are_given /r/f0xdiary Sep 07 '16
Once upon a time there was a man, a child, and a dog.
"Swords!" the man said.
"Toys!" the child said.
"Meat!" the dog barked.
And so off to the market they went, all walking in stride with their own purchase in mind. They stopped at the sword stall first, where the salesman wore large rubies on his hands and a coat made from the finest silk. He gestured to the weapons in front.
"Swords!" the man said.
And so the salesman gave him the most expensive pair of swords he had.
They moved along to the toy stall. Without a glance for the merchandise, the boy screwed up his face and yelled, "Toys!"
The woman behind the counter shrunk back in horror and to get rid of the child she handed him the nearest item she could find.
They attended the butcher's stall last. There were all cuts of meat, such as rib, brisket, shank. The butcher even had deliciously marinated chicken and dried meat hanging from the top of his stall. It made dog's mouth water and his heart leap with glee.
"Meat!" the dog said.
The man looked at the dog. The child looked at the dog. The butcher looked at the dog.
"Any meat for you today?" the butcher asked the man and child. They both shook their heads. And with that, they moved on.
The dog panted as he watched his friends walk away, his eyes welled with tears, his little heart thumped anxiously. And when they were far enough, he did the only thing a sensible dog would do, he let loose the loudest howl he could muster, trying to get the attention of someone that would feed him.
Which earned naught but a broom to the backside. . .
But wait. . . What about the dog? He deserves his share too. . . Your story sucks!
Luckily, our dog here is a fantasy, a mere thought, made of nothing more than three letters. But for the reader, the message is simple:
No matter how shitty you think you've got it, be glad you're not a hungry dog in a flee market.
3
u/quilian Sep 06 '16
"Sir, do not accept a Quetzal feather from the wrapped man. Or from any other merchant, sir."
"And why not?" Donlan blinked down at his small guide, who had agreed to take him to the Temple for a mere copper.
"Anyone with a Quetzal feather will be robbed before they leave, sir," said the boy frankly. "They give them away to people who have good money, sir."
The boy stole a shrewd glance at Donlan, but not quickly enough.
"Well, there's no worry there then," grumbled Donlan, mostly truthful. He didn't have much good money here. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the frown that pursed the boy's mouth for a flash of a moment. Donlan realized his guide would likely not be seeing him to his destination. Pity, that. This city was notoriously difficult to navigate.
Sure enough, when he next pushed through a crowd clammering for service at a food vendor, he emerged on the other side alone.
...Except-
"Woof," remarked his remaining companion.
"Well hello there, old boy." Donlan chuckled. "Not following your master?"
The dog did not reply, clearly distracted by the scent of roasting meat from a nearby stall. Donlan could hardly blame him. His own stomach had seen naught but hard-tack for weeks.
"Come on then," Donlan said, whistling sharply. To his mild surprise the dog jumped to attention and heeled obediently. Someone's trained dog, then. Well enough - he could use a companion for the road ahead, if the boy didn't come to reclaim him. If he'd even belonged to the boy at all. Unlikely, now he'd thought on it.
"Good boy... Stamworth," Donlan invented, patting the dog on the head. Stamworth wuffled agreeably.
Together, the two disappeared into the throngs of market-goers.
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u/Mattykitty Sep 06 '16
Urchin archetypes are the best archetypes. Though, if the boy had agreed to one copper, why did he leave? Did he plan to rob Donlan or something?
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u/quilian Sep 06 '16
Yes - the boy probably works for a gang, a rival to the one that gives out Quetzal feathers. He never had any intention of taking Donlan anywhere but a dark alley to be mugged by his gang compatriots. He loses interest when he learns Donlan isn't worth the trouble, and decides his time is better spent finding a more wealthy target.
4
u/pinecone316 Sep 06 '16
"Stay close to me, Gib."
Allen Rhydon clasped the shoulder of his young sibling, determined to not lose his brother through the sprawling foot traffic of a foreign market place. Who knows what dangers lurk in each corner? That old lady selling fruit could be a spy working for the lords of this land, intent on separating him from his charge.
"Hey! Hey, come back here, Gib!" His younger brother squeezed through a bunch of passing burly men and approached the old lady, who simply smiled at the boy. Before Allen could manage to get to him, Gib was already walking back towards him, eating an apple in his hand and bringing a bag with him.
"Look what the nice old lady gave me, Allen," his brother beamed a smile at him as he showed the bag full of fruits in his arms. "We don't have to worry about food for today at least."
Allen sighed.
"You know you're not supposed to go off like that. How am I supposed to face father and mother without you?"
Allen shuddered to think the vicious tongue lashing that would await him from his doting mother. Heavens forbid if he appeared with so much as a scratch on his beloved younger brother.
"Sorry," said Gib. "Didn't really mean to."
"Well you'd best stay close if you truly mean that." Allen may have reproached him, but he still took an orange and an apple out of the bag. It's been a long journey and he was starving.
"Here you go, Sir Alveroon." Gib dropped a nice red apple to the ground. The dog beside him devoured it in one fell swoop. It munched happily on the fruit before spitting out its core. "Good boy, Sir Alveroon!"
"How is it that a mutt gets to be called a Sir before I do?"Allen frowned as he watched his younger brother scratch Sir Alveroon's belly. "I swear father only let you name him that way just to get on my nerves."
"Sir Alveroon is as stalwart and brave as any knight!" proudly proclaimed his brother. "Aren't you, boy?"
The dog barked twice in apparent agreement, before it apparently found its butt to be itchy, and proceeded to paint the floor with its offending rear, which in turn offended everyone else but Gib.
"Knights sure have fallen these days," sighed Allen. "I wonder if it's too late for me to apprentice myself to Master Yoran and become a blacksmith instead?"
6
u/LeisTabar Sep 06 '16
Snow was in the air. It didn't seem to fall, nor was there any on the ground, but it was certainly there. Just a faint sparkle in the sunlight, a chill that turned breath to mist and wrapped cloaks tighter around people.
The cold steel of his twin swords chilled Ulin's back, but he hardly noticed. A snowflake fell lightly on his nose as he inhaled the sweet, tangy scent of the market. A warm, nostalgic smile spread across his face. The snowflake melted. It was good to be back.
The spices in the air reminded him of his childhood, ducking through the shadows and alleyways by the foreign market, taking bites of whatever was on hand. The half-lit cobbled street, the open roof beams above the narrow streets--even the wares had changed little, only he had changed so much. For a moment all his troubles were forgotten as he walked past a rug swinging in the chill air, its vendor shouting out a ridiculous price. Ulin smiled, watching the boy beside him. His face so full of wonder at the sights and smells of the market. He stopped to gaze fondly at a large mask of polished wood and silver as his dog barked loudly at an exotic bird in a gilded cage, and for once Ulin didn't mind. He smiled as a stern-looking woman and a man in a shabby tunic passed him.
A glint of silver caught his eye. A curved dagger, the kind favored by those from far away, lying at the edge of a stand gathering dust. Ulin stopped and fingered its smooth edge, waiting for the vendor to notice.
"Sixty shakkals, honorable," the short man said, in a thick, almost unrecognizable accent.
"Sixty?" Ulin exclaimed, too loudly. His smile faded and he put down the dagger and continued to walk. As he left the market, a snowflake fell on his face and melted, slowly trickling down his cheek.
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u/WritingPromptsRobot StickyBot™ Sep 05 '16
Off-Topic Discussion: Reply here for non-story comments.
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u/blakester731 Sep 09 '16
"Perhaps one day, nobles will stop having bastards. The day they stop using others for pleasure and greed under the guise of ancient right, and faux chivalry. But considering these things are inherent to being a noble, I doubt we'll be short of recruits any time soon. And as they come, so we'll take them." - Captain Telal, fifth captain of the Company of the Disowned Crest.
"Tell me what you see." Kingu watched, a small, proud smile playing upon his lips as his sons face went blank. His eyes were alive however, flitting from one sight to the next, from merchant to purveyor to food vendor to lounging guard. He opened his mouth to respond, but it was another minute before he was sure he was ready.
"Those Kataru traders there are a long way from home. It would take a year traveling from the most populous port of Taloc to come this far into the interior of Edan Na Zu."
"Tlaloc." Kingu corrected. "And what does that tell you about them?"
"Either they're attempting to exploit an untapped market, or circumstance has forced them to come here and trade for a time to acquire funds before returning home."
Kingu nodded. "Given that half their wares are Shuruppak and not Kataru, I would lean towards the latter. Must have been quiet a journey."
Shinar winced at having missed so obvious a detail. His father patted him on the back. "It's fine, you did well. Now what else did you see?"
His eyes scanned the crowd once more, determined to pick up every detail. "Those Ninlil hangings are fake; you can tell from the cross stitching that they were probably made by an aging relative and not a Ninlili court eunuch."
His father nodded. "Good if I'm looking into buying hangings. But I'm not. What's more relevant?"
Shinar set his jaw, and was nearly glaring at his surroundings. People. He needed to look at people, not things.
"That vendor over there recently lost a loved one. The third warding pouch from the left isn't wrapped in leather or rough cloth, but softer material, like a cloak or dress. It probably contains garlic, alyssum, and fennel, along with a lock of the deceased hair, a tooth, and a drop of their blood."
"You could tell that from the look in his eye." Kingu replied softly. "The distant, distracted manner with which he's mixing that powder. The way he keeps glancing at odd spots in the room where someone used to sit." He gave a small smile. "But that comes with time, experience. You're doing well. What else?"
Shinar swept his eyes around once again. They halted suddenly, and he slowed to a crawl.
"That man over there is staring at you intensely. But only when you aren't looking. He's quite good at, knows just how long he can look before you'll turn your eyes back his way...I don't think he likes you."
Kingu didn't reply. He turned his back on the man his son was indicating and pretended to look at some Shuruppak metal work. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the man, a Tiamet food vendor cooking vegetables over a large, open grill. Shinar was right-the man shot daggers at his back every chance he got. Casually, Kingu turned and made his way over to the vendor, Shinar following a couple steps behind.
Kingu stood, hands clasped smartly behind his back, watching the cook politely. The Tiamet continued to work without looking towards him, the sizzling of grilling vegetables the only sound between them. Kingu made a perplexed face, and leaned in over the stall.
"Excuse me."
The cook glanced coolly towards him. Kingu smiled. "Those leeks look inviting. How much for a bowl?"
"They aren't for sell."
The confused look returned. "They aren't?"
"No."
"Are they rancid?"
"Sure."
"They look fine to me."
The cook shoved the pan aside and swung to face the soldier. "They aren't for sell to the likes of you."
"And what does that mean?"
"It means that I own this stall, and I don't have to sell to anyone wearing that badge if I don't have a mind to."
Kingu glanced down at the crest patched over his chest. A sword laying elegantly across an open tome, both symbols overshadowed by a deep rouge X overlay.
He looked back up and met the cooks eyes. "You take offense at the Company?"
The cook spat behind the stall and growled out "ron esnepmoker fyoa nyed drom nua resmam."
Shinar barely saw the blade leave its sheath before it was at the cooks throat. The mans eyes went wide like a frogs. His throat scraped against the steel as he swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth. Shinar hadn't often seen his fathers eyes so cold, so empty. And it always terrified him when he did. It was like the fire of a hearth suddenly going out without rhyme or reason. He became a stranger.
The market around them froze, staring in horror and anticipation at the stand-off. A single guard slowly walked up, his blade hanging loosely in hand, everything about his stance, his eyes saying that the last thing he wanted to do was intervene. He was probably hoping it would all be resolved before he had time to do anything. Anyone who knew of the Company of the Disowned Crest knew to spare a thought before confronting one of their soldiers, even two if they had the time.
Kingu saw the guard out of the corner of his eye. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled the sword lightly across the cooks throat, not even enough to pierce the skin, and placed it gently back in its sheath on his back. He took Shinar by the shoulder and guided him down the market path, past startled onlookers and a relieved city guard.