Post by seraphim on Nov 11, 2008 16:53:33 GMT -6
Lazy, sloth, slow, lay about, and any other work pertaining to a do nothing was not something Seraphim would ever be accused of. The maiden was still not quite right, but the bruises were healed, if not the sword wounds hidden under her clothing. She finally drew up enough gumption to leave the docks, of course the old sailor Jack was in tow with a heavy - borrowed - wheel barrow of items. She had her own in front of her. Both wheelbarrows were covered with a rough homespun, nothing fancy at all, but the items below tinkled and clanked as they made their way to the Turas Lan Marketplace. In the back of her mind, she may of thought she needed permission from someone to sell her goods, but she brushed it aside. What could they do? Push her off to another place?
Bravery to strike out on her own like her Father sent her to City of Avalendor, war - the English, sent her with the people in exodus to the Isle of Avalendor. From there, she was pushed into battle..victorious in more ways then just winning the that battle. But that war continued on..and on..then pushed her off into another direction. To Ireland, though the push was more of a gentle nudge, a friendly hand holding...War. More English, reaching out to take more than they could chew. Joining in that battle without a single thought otherwise was brave...or stupid. She felt stupid, or betrayed or..feelings of something. At last, that was lost as well, in more ways than just a battle. The next place was Skye. Further north each time, she would soon be meeting her Father's people at this rate, barbarians and warriors...perhaps the Valkyrie was meant to be bathed in blood, she certainly did not pick a profession that would push her away from it.
She was well-to-do, though you wouldn't exactly know it. She was smart, clever even, which is why she had a store of items to sell. Jack and Phim were soon settled in the Marketplace, the covers were now underneath the goods, shinning goods. Various pieces of armor, buckles, short swords, arrow heads, spear heads, she had her heavy, but compact, grinding wheel to the side in case people needed anything sharpened. She also had laid out plates of not only the silvery iron ores, but bronze, cups, more decorative and luxury items. A few examples of horse shoes laid with the weapons, which Jack kept an eye on, Phim would rest against a wall, her slender arms crossed over her stomach, closing her off to people that passed by.
She was a tall woman, matching most warrior men from these parts, or taller, then a lot of the Irish she had met. That black head was tightly wrapped and covered by a sable headscarf, leaving that bronze and freckle sprinkled face naked to the world. She had sharp, striking features, though her mouth was wide and full, hazel hues were heavily veiled at the moment by a thick lace of dark lashes. Her trim form was clothed in a simple overdress of black and white under shirt of linen. Her boots were worn through; she'd buy new ones perhaps, if she sold anything.
The last thing to notice would be a parcel at her feet, wrapped tightly in a white cloth, the slightest peek of a hilt stuck out at the end. That needed to go to the Mairi's Jack Flynn. She knew he went back to Skye. That sword belonged to him. That dead weight at her feet...that piece of wicked blade that sunk so deep...He would take it from her. It would make life almost bearable. It would.. Wouldn't it?
Bravery to strike out on her own like her Father sent her to City of Avalendor, war - the English, sent her with the people in exodus to the Isle of Avalendor. From there, she was pushed into battle..victorious in more ways then just winning the that battle. But that war continued on..and on..then pushed her off into another direction. To Ireland, though the push was more of a gentle nudge, a friendly hand holding...War. More English, reaching out to take more than they could chew. Joining in that battle without a single thought otherwise was brave...or stupid. She felt stupid, or betrayed or..feelings of something. At last, that was lost as well, in more ways than just a battle. The next place was Skye. Further north each time, she would soon be meeting her Father's people at this rate, barbarians and warriors...perhaps the Valkyrie was meant to be bathed in blood, she certainly did not pick a profession that would push her away from it.
She was well-to-do, though you wouldn't exactly know it. She was smart, clever even, which is why she had a store of items to sell. Jack and Phim were soon settled in the Marketplace, the covers were now underneath the goods, shinning goods. Various pieces of armor, buckles, short swords, arrow heads, spear heads, she had her heavy, but compact, grinding wheel to the side in case people needed anything sharpened. She also had laid out plates of not only the silvery iron ores, but bronze, cups, more decorative and luxury items. A few examples of horse shoes laid with the weapons, which Jack kept an eye on, Phim would rest against a wall, her slender arms crossed over her stomach, closing her off to people that passed by.
She was a tall woman, matching most warrior men from these parts, or taller, then a lot of the Irish she had met. That black head was tightly wrapped and covered by a sable headscarf, leaving that bronze and freckle sprinkled face naked to the world. She had sharp, striking features, though her mouth was wide and full, hazel hues were heavily veiled at the moment by a thick lace of dark lashes. Her trim form was clothed in a simple overdress of black and white under shirt of linen. Her boots were worn through; she'd buy new ones perhaps, if she sold anything.
The last thing to notice would be a parcel at her feet, wrapped tightly in a white cloth, the slightest peek of a hilt stuck out at the end. That needed to go to the Mairi's Jack Flynn. She knew he went back to Skye. That sword belonged to him. That dead weight at her feet...that piece of wicked blade that sunk so deep...He would take it from her. It would make life almost bearable. It would.. Wouldn't it?