Difference between revisions of "Logs:Trading"

Plateau near High Reaches Weyr

Cold and windswept, this is not the most picnic-friendly locale, to say the least. There's no shrubbery, no trees, no shade, no respite from the constant press of wind that roams across this small, high-altitude valley. Only a few dragonlengths wide, semi-circular, the plateau sits high enough to command quite a view of the mountains stretching out and down toward the sea. Only a few hours of hiking from High Reaches Weyr, it still seems intensely remote up here, with no birds, no people, no signs of life for miles.

Accessible by a path climbing up the west-facing side of the plateau, a winding and rocky trail leading at a steep incline. There's a little respite from the wind on the way up, a small indentation-- not even a real cave, just a slight depression in the rock-- that keeps the wind somewhat at bay, only about twenty feet below the terminal of the path.

The plateau is certainly one of the last places a caravan would think to make camp, and indeed, it doesn't look like much of a camp has been made. The depression into which beasts and wagons have been crowded has not offered the most optimal protectiona against the wind - or, for that matter, the recent rainfall that was probably the true cause of their need to take shelter. Now some of the men, and some of the boys who'd call themselves men, are inspecting the wagons, the weather, the beasts... And that guy with the freckles that make him look, at least, as if he's on the verge between men and boys, is inspecting the leather on the yokes. With something sort of like attention to detail.

Word from sweepriders helped N'ky pinpoint the caravan, allowing Cailluneth to appear from between practically on top of them. She circles lazily down, landing just off to one side, hopefully far enough away not to bother any possibly skittish beasts. From where she is, it's clear to see she's laden down with bundles tied to her straps, which N'ky carefully navigates his way around as he scoots down her side to drop lightly to the wet ground. It's the guy with the freckles that he approaches first, the man with the beasts appearing to be more his own type of guy, though there are plenty of nods of greeting to those he passes. "Um... e-excuse me? Hi?" His hesitant hello is coupled with a warm, slightly shy smile, and a coy hunching of his shoulders against the spring weather. "This... this is the Fayraz caravan..." Brown eyes flicker over the nearest van, seeking insignia of any kind, "isn't it?"

This freckled manboy, he's got skills enough with beasts once they're dead and turned into hides - but the panic that inevitably occurs from a green dragon being right on top of them (or close enough, by beast math) is not a thing he's equipped to handle. He doesn't quite jump back, foot movements ginger, though his hand's still on the leather strap he's seeing to. The wince comes only when he looks to his fingers, no doubt imagining what might be. But the beasts settle when the dragon drops, and the manboy extracts his hand to turn a wary glance to the approaching rider. "Sure," manages not to carry apathy, not from his mouth, as he flexes his fingers cautiously.

"Oh. Good." N'ky seems pleased that he's got the identification right, and his smile becomes a touch brighter. "I, um..." A beat, then he continues. "You've traded - trade? - with Far Reach Holding? I, um... I have some similar goods, um..." He looks back over to Cailluneth, who's hunched up, watching the caravan. "Fleece, hides. I-I'm looking to, er, sell? A-are you buying?"

That freckled one lifts a hand - not the one with the fingers only just out of imminent danger - to push a chunk of wavy black hair back behind his air. "Think they've done," he agrees. Brown eyes track over to that green dragon, and the hair tuck turns into a scratch behind his ear. "I'm not the one buying, really. But he'll have me look at them." With a bit of an amused glint to his eyes, "Fleece, hides," is repeated.

N'ky looks back to his lifemate when the trader does, squinting a little. "They're o-over there," he points to the packages attached to the green's riding straps. "If you could help me carry them somewhere dry, I can show you?" Then, ask if just remembering to do so and quick to want to resolve a social faux-pas, he extends his hand and smiles. "I'm N'ky, of High Reaches. That's my Cailluneth."

The freckled one looks back to those beasts, or more, to the hardware they wear. The next is a look for the other men, checking the wagons, moving in to check the merchandise. "Could do that," he decides, his head turning back to this greenrider only to find a hand jutted out. "N'ky, of High Reaches, with your Cailluneth." The amusement's there again, if not mocking, but his handshake's a strong one. "Not down to me if you get shouted out for bad timing, though. Barely got out of the little storm. Puts some of them in a bad mood." He's still shaking the greenrider's hand when he remembers a quick, "Kiri," in return. And then lets go.

"Oh - I-I didn't mean to, um, impose at a bad time?" N'ky looks hesitant about continuing for just a second, glancing quickly at the other traders, before back to the one who's just given his name. "Kiri. Well met, Kiri." He turns to lead the way across the plateau to where Cailluneth waits; she obligingly lowers herself to make it easier to remove the oilcloth-wrapped bundles on her back. N'ky hefts two, leaving one for the trader to hopefully help with. "I've been g-gathering them in Southern," he admits as he resettles his load; one upon his back, the other in his hand. "There flocks are... good. N-not as good as the ones here, but the wool's good. D-do you specialise in wool?" He waits for Kiri to lead the way to somewhere dry.

The look Kiri gives Cailluneth is more cautious than anything, and he moves slowly to take the bundle left to him, even with an under-the-breath mutter of, "Easy, girl," as he settles his load onto an arm, balancing it with the other. "Well I'm not much for weaving," comes with that same amusement, more internal than external, but still showing in face and voice. "Know skins better." Which leads him not to start back for the caravan, but to drop his package of whathave you on the wet ground (hope they're well wrapped), and look for a flap to open in the oil skin. Where he's sniffing at it, crouched low.

Seeing his carefully-bundled package dropped on the ground makes N'ky cringe, but he's either too polite, or too nervous to say anything about it. "Um... ok." He gently sets his own down, then crouches beside the trader to open the oilskin, peeling it back to reveal the hides within it. They're already treated, but only basically so; the majority are plain, some slightly mottled, some with black patches. "They're, um, a-all from Southern flocks. I had the Weyr's tanner t-treat them." He fingers the edge of one gently, anxiously awaiting a verdict, while Cailluneth looms overhead to watch, curious.

"Yeah?" The sniff-inspection finished, as soon is the visual that follows, Kiri re-wraps the package with precision, if no overt, slow-moving care, and gathers it back up, happy enough to wipe the moisture from the bottom of it on his pants and shirt, as best he can. "Must be doing better than rumour says, if you're looking to sell all this. Passed another caravan from your hold a few days back..." But he lets it go with a shrug, and, hugging that package to his belly like some stuffy or comfort blanket, looks back toward the caravan. And then up to the looming green. Some of the amusement dissipates.

Cailluneth exhales a hot breath over Kiri, then lifts her head to look elsewhere. There are other interesting things around them! N'ky cants his head as he looks at the trader, hopeful that he's heard what he thinks he heard, but also hesitant. "A-are they any good? Do you think your caravan would buy them?" The mention of his family's hold makes him scratch at the back of his neck, just up into his helmet-flattened curls. "Are things at F-Far Reach ok? Will you be heading there?"

"I think they'd buy them if they think they'd be like to sell them." The package is given a smack with one hand, which, from afar, might seem like some fat old man smacking his belly. "You don't know what your riders or caverns folk might have for income to... let's say supplement the tithes they're not getting?" Another glance to the caravan, and Kiri's off toward it, toward the older man staring at him. Glaring, maybe. "Nah, we're heading down along mountains now. Nabol, next, probably. Well, after your Weyr. Figure even if things are so bad as your hold says, there's got to be some who'll want to at least buy for their own need." A smirk as he can't keep back, "Clever greenrider, just selling to your own through us." Though he slows his step, as if to allow for reconsideration. Or maybe the package is slipping.

"If you do come across anyone from Far Reach, um... m-maybe it'd be best not to mention trading with me. I-if we do trade." N'ky gives a gentle, yet cagey shrug of his shoulders. "I think the, um, Weyr is low on funds, but I think the weyrfolk have some marks to spend. N-not everyone relies solely on the Weyr's income, and there's always p-plenty being spent in the Snowasis." Because everyone needs to buy their booze somewhere! "I d-didn't even think you'd be going to the Weyr next, but... I guess it would be like s-selling them through you." He smirks, shifting about the weight of his two bundles as he follows. "Did you say your van doesn't deal in fleece? Raw fleece? It's only been washed, not processed. More uses for it that way."

"Each his own," Kiri decides at the end of N'ky's self-explanation, and resumes a better pace. "Well," is almost conversational, "we've got no weavers with us, which means we're more like to sell to some than to do anything with it ourselves. Not a bad way, though, for going on it. Could sell to some who would employ a weaver too, I guess. Not really up to me, though, what we do with it." The glaring man near the caravan lifts his head and takes all of one step forward for the two younger ones approaching. "If we take it."

N'ky nods in understanding, dropping half a step behind Kiri as they approach the older trader to allow him to go first. The weight of his packages is shifted about once more, and he looks from Kiri to the new face with a hopeful smile at the latter. Other than that, though, the young greenrider says nothing, waiting for Kiri to explain, introduce him - or whatever is going to come next.

It's the explanation that comes first, complete with a slight hefting of Kiri's load, an affable shrug, a glance over his shoulder, and more talking. "Sell back to his own Weyr," drifts out in almost a laugh from the younger man, at one point. "Some bloody timing," comes more gruffly from the older. "Look closer if you want," is Kiri's again, and then his bundle is transferred to the bigger and older man, so clearly more in charge than his young tag-a-long. "You," is an address to N'ky, the freckled one turning around again, "want to talk to Menet here."

"N-not intentionally," N'ky protests meekly to the selling back to the Weyr bit, shifting his weight uncomfortably. This leads him to setting his burden down, though he takes up a stance that has each oilskin-wrapped package resting on each of his feet, rather than on the muddy ground. "Well met, Menet," he says with as much confidence as he can muster; no hand is offered, given that they're both occupied in keeping his goods mud-free. "I've skins and fleeces, as Kiri," anod to the younger man, "said...I-I'm hoping to find a buyer. For these, f-for more in the near future, too, i-if you're looking for, um, an ongoing supply?"

And the freckled one takes a step back once N'ky and Menet get to talking (if gruff answers can be called talking, on the older man's part), jutting a thumb back toward those animals and their harnesses. He'll be over there if he's needed. And it's over there he goes.