Five small fingers were held up above the crystalline and ironclad table. Zelrius lifted an eyebrow, blinking in dismay "...Fifty gold, for some chocolate?" He asked outloud, to watch the creature began to nod furiously. His red and white hat slipping back and forth as he did so. That was... expensive, to say the least. Then again, what did he expect? It's not like they probably grew it up here. Not unless it was some kind of odd, crystalized cocoa plant that existed only in this wasteland of a place. The man sighed, counting out the coins from a pouch that materialized from his inventory and laying it on the makeshift desk. The Faerin let out a high picthed thank you, swiftly swiping it all off of the table and then holding back a small little red box with a wax-sealed lid. A way to make sure the goods inside stayed fresh. useful for landers, but pointless for players like the man. A fact demonstrated by the fact that he instantly let it disappear into his inventory in the UI.
He turned, leaving the store made almost entirely from carved quartz and broken into the side of some kind of structure converted into the way that it was by the spreading of the Zalra's affliction. What a difficult and awful way for these people to live. Yet, a glance around would reveal that many in this village-outpost were Faerin. Giving ZZelrius the understanding that this is where they could likely find reprieve from the ire of the men and beastfolk of the southern-twin countries.
And it was beautiful. The pyromancer couldn't deny that as he looked up over the massive expanse of jagged, shimmering cliffs and rifts, layered with an iridescent, multi-colored blanket of snow. The sun above it shining with a cloud in the way, reflecting full rainbows in all their brilliance. His goal of the day was just beyond there. A red and white structure that jutted to one side, and fell to the other. Apparently, it was some kind of factory and mine, by the accounts of rumor and speculation by those back in Falderen. The Zalra was known for its glamour, and tales of treasuries filled to the brim with riches. Perhaps this is how they did it - with a strong, industrial economy out of things like this. There had to be some kind of loot there - advanced machinery, antique clothing or parts.
Not to mention the sheer thrill of being the first person to likely step foot in there in centuries. Probably since the Zalrisis had spread to this part of the world. A story he could take home and tell to people, that he could lay in bed and think about. Too good to pass up. He marched on, feet crunching in the snow beneath his feet. A small walk that turned more into a jog, that turned into a sprint to allow him to maneuver past the rough terrain, over the peaks and dips and forward in a rush of flame that trailed behind him. The use of dynamism in the cold, open air was a feeling the man could never quite get used to. Slowing down as he got close to the massive, stretching structure. Beginning to slow down as he looked for any sort of entrance. Blue eyes tracing up and down while circling the outside. Stopping short at the sound of footsteps not his own...
@Aerial
He turned, leaving the store made almost entirely from carved quartz and broken into the side of some kind of structure converted into the way that it was by the spreading of the Zalra's affliction. What a difficult and awful way for these people to live. Yet, a glance around would reveal that many in this village-outpost were Faerin. Giving ZZelrius the understanding that this is where they could likely find reprieve from the ire of the men and beastfolk of the southern-twin countries.
And it was beautiful. The pyromancer couldn't deny that as he looked up over the massive expanse of jagged, shimmering cliffs and rifts, layered with an iridescent, multi-colored blanket of snow. The sun above it shining with a cloud in the way, reflecting full rainbows in all their brilliance. His goal of the day was just beyond there. A red and white structure that jutted to one side, and fell to the other. Apparently, it was some kind of factory and mine, by the accounts of rumor and speculation by those back in Falderen. The Zalra was known for its glamour, and tales of treasuries filled to the brim with riches. Perhaps this is how they did it - with a strong, industrial economy out of things like this. There had to be some kind of loot there - advanced machinery, antique clothing or parts.
Not to mention the sheer thrill of being the first person to likely step foot in there in centuries. Probably since the Zalrisis had spread to this part of the world. A story he could take home and tell to people, that he could lay in bed and think about. Too good to pass up. He marched on, feet crunching in the snow beneath his feet. A small walk that turned more into a jog, that turned into a sprint to allow him to maneuver past the rough terrain, over the peaks and dips and forward in a rush of flame that trailed behind him. The use of dynamism in the cold, open air was a feeling the man could never quite get used to. Slowing down as he got close to the massive, stretching structure. Beginning to slow down as he looked for any sort of entrance. Blue eyes tracing up and down while circling the outside. Stopping short at the sound of footsteps not his own...
@Aerial
