Rivers, Cities, and Fish

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It's Kesenday, Firetide 30 18:28:17 1019. The full moon isn't up. The tide is low and ebbing. Towering white clouds drift slowly through the blue sky. It's hazy and hot, and the glare of the sun seems to drain the color from the landscape.

A09: Southern Banks of the Tornmawr

It's about the time when several folks have finished their supper, and are now turning to their evening's activities. Some are playing catch on the riverbank, others read leisurely, some are out for a stroll to see the sights of bridge or river or the ships' tall masts a little ways down river. On a patch of grass, a Sildanyar dripping wet from a recent swim squeezes out the water from his hair as he sits next to a neatly ordered pile of his personal effects. At the moment, he is wearing only a pair of deerskin trousers, a tooled-leather belt, a pair of rings and a necklace of giant teeth. He is humming to himself. Displayed across his back is a masterfully wrought tattoo of a majestic stag standing in front of a great tree looking up at the full moon.

Bors is at the bank of the river, dressed in a loincloth, washing his clothes in the river. A mismatched suit of armor lays in a heap next to him, and a backpack and some things. He is not srubbing particularly hard, but at least some soap suds are present. He has a little area to himself. That is, no one is keen to get too close.

Ga'Elian pulls on a thin linen undertunic and looks around for a moment. Seeing only one familiar face he smirks and strolls toward the man and says in a joking tone, "Bors, friend, isn't the river already polluted enough?"

Bors looks up, peers, shrugs. "So a little more won't matter," he replies, and continues doing his laundry. Considering he's a butcher on fishing boats, the clothes still kind of stink. But it's not as bad as it usually is.

Ga'Elian looks around and says, "You're probably right. So how's the catch been lately?"

Bors thinks a moment, but then shrugs. "Same-same," he says after a moment. He makes a rocking motion with his hand to imply that the catch has been pretty steady.

Ga'Elian shrugs and sets himself down upon the grass with is bare feet toward the water. "I suppose that's good." (pause) "The river here runs wide and slow, but in my homeland, the rivers are cold, fast, and often deep with glacial run-off. A great many animals and other beings rely upon the freshness of the water there."

Bors snorts and shrugs about relying on the freshness. He clearly thinks anyone here relying on the freshness of the water is a fool. "Cities are different," he says, marking himself as an urbanite. Having scrubbed his clothes to his satisfaction, he lays them out to catch the last of the sun.

Ga'Elian laughs, "And that may well be the understatement of a lifetime." He leans back resting upon the bank. "Have you always lived in cities--that is, when on land?"

Bors thinks about that, then nods. "More or less," he adds. What he means by that can't even be guessed at.

Ga'Elian says, "I think there's a racial element to the matter, too. I mean, Llyranost is a big city, but immaculate it is by the standards of many other folk. Of course, Rune is a fairly clean city, too, but so much less in harmony with the world around it than the communities of the Sildanyar. Mind you, I do not speak for the fallen, the mul'niessa. What their cities resemble may be far more like what humans are accustomed to. I wouldn't know, having never ventured into their settlements."

Bors can only give a blank look in reply to that. He has not visited any cities built by other races. He says, "Who can say," dismissing the other races' cities with a shrug.

Ga'Elian shrugs. "Anyway, you mostly catch saltwater fish, yes?"

Bors seems to give that some deep consideration before nodding. "Yes," he agrees. He's generally seen on the docks, and hires out on the fishing boats that sail out of Alexandria.

Ga'Elian turns to face the man and says, "So have you ever been in a battle with a sea monster?"

Bors shakes his head. Sea Monsters so far have not challenged him. "Sometimes sharks get into the nets," he allows. "Have to kill them."

Ga'Elian leans back again and says, "Ah, well. Sharks are fish, too. I imagine you'd sell their meat as well as that of the other fish."

Bors shrugs again. He just cuts them up. What happens after is someone else's problem. Though someone familiar with seafood would know that the meat isn't just mixed together. Shark and cod are sold separately.

Ga'Elian waves away a fly that buzzed by his face. He watches as an airship passes overhead, apparently heading out over the ocean from the airport at the north of the City.

Bors follows Elian's glance to the airship, and watches it for a little bit as he waits for his clothes to dry. Climbing down into the river, himself, he washes a little, himself and his small clothes, for what little that's worth.

Ga'Elian sits up and observes the man head back into the shallows along the river's edge, then hops gracefully into a standing position. Between him and his pile of things, a dog dashes out to jump and catch a frisbee, tossed by a young boy. Ga'Elian shrugs, then strides back to his things and resumes putting his gear back on.

Bors is doing his laundry and his bathing, accomplishing both monthly tasks at the same time. He is in the river, but walking back up the shore now. He peers at Elian curiously, but minds his own business, checking to see if the clothes he's laid out have dried yet.