Lycia, Again (Open)

[Valcrist]

Lycia. Valcrist found his way there again, Santuaruz this time. Truth was he had no reason to be here. He wasn't selling weapons, he sort of hit a snag after his time in Etruria, and he wasn't looking for trouble or anything like that. He still had need of coin, so probably he should have been trying to sell his wares but he just didn't want to. Maybe he was tired of it, maybe he just needed a break. He had a small little nestegg set aside where he was saving up for opening his own smithy or guild, but he wasn't too sure if he wanted either of those any time soon. Or at all. So he wandered aimlessly, and that's when he found his here. In Lycia, again. Why?

Well honestly he just sort of wanted to go to Lycia. Maybe he wanted to remember the time he traveled with Gabriel, or that he wanted to see the land again but this time through more mature eyes. He barely remembered what he had been doing the last time he was here, uniting something? It wasn't clear, but what he did remember is what happened. The battle in the mage's school where he was useless, a liability she had called him, so weak and powerless. Even after all this time, he still remembers it, and even after he's gotten so much stronger he still feels like that weak powerless kid at times. Maybe he returned to prove himself he's not? He remember Yaen, that man who taught him the basics of swordplay, even though they separated and he learned the rest himself through experience, he was always indebted to Yaen. Never would he have gotten to where he was without him. He remembered his friends, Kelvin, Chelsea, Harlow, people he spoke with, traveled with, that made his time worthwhile. Before then, he hadn't a single friend that wasn't his cousin, obligated through family to like him.

Whatever the reason, he was here now. Taking in a deep breath of the falltime air, the air was humid. It felt like a storm would be rolling in soon. He stood on the road near a wooden fence, fields of green stretched out to the west across many rolling hills, while to his east was a field of dirt that many types of vegatables and crops breaking free of it. A field of many colors and shapes, he was never much of a farmer as they kind of lacked those where he was from, but he was aways impressed at how they managed to create food from basically nothing. It was a cool day, the heat of summer had long since faded. A bit too cool for Valcrist actually as he pulled at his scarf a bit. The skies were a dark grey that almost glowed from the sun hiding behind, overcast and dark for midday. There was a real icky feeling out, like you could just feel the storm ready to roll in. He would need to find a place to stay.

Hopefully this nearby farm would be willing to take him in, also that they weren't murderous. Actually he didn't even care about that second part, if they kept him dry then they could eat as many children as they like. He hated being wet more then he hated being cold, and he really hated being cold. Why did Elibe have to have so many weathers and seasons? Why couldn't it just be blisteringly hot and dry all day every day? Oh well, Valcrist shifted the weight of his pack upon his back a bit as he traveled to the farmhouse in the distance.

[Harold Fleabottom]

Harold was a man who liked to work. So why was he not working now? He didn't know, really. The crops needed to be harvested, and his family needed each and every hand to help at the fields. Yet whenever he tried to raise himself from the rocking chair that had been set outside the house, Artyom would just come and order him to sit back down. He frowned deeply at his grandson whenever he did so, but he was always answered with the same dang line. "You need to rest too, Grandpa." And with that, he was always left back to sit.

So there he sat, his arms drumming against the rocking chair. He wouldn't be able to get to helping his family. Did they think he was some frail old man who would collapse from some extra work? Sure, he had done most of the harvesting up 'till now, but still. He felt completely fine and dandy! Except for his back which stung from time to time, but that was just a bit of a thing he's had for his whole life. That just happened to start earlier this year. He wasn't getting too old, was he? Surely not.

He closed his eyes for a moment with a sigh. He did not want to think about such a depressing subject anymore, so he moved his thoughts towards the upcoming training this Sunday. While he didn't participate much anymore, he did still go each and every day and maybe offer some tips. He smiled at the thought of being able to help.

[Valcrist]

The farm wasn't abandoned, well duh since there were crops in the field, but what he meant is people were outside working to bring the crops in. He waved to some of them as he walked by, but they sort of ignored him. Or were too busy working to pay attention to random passing strangers as fascinating as they may be. They must be working to get the harvest in before it stormed, or something, Valcrist didn't know how plants worked. Outside of cactuses. Even then that was more "don't drink the cactus juice unless you're dying, because that stuff will mess you up" he never had the pleasure, but one of his uncles loved the stuff. He was also his crazy uncle. Maybe the two were related. Still it was never quite necessary because they lived near an oasis, one of the last few 'villages' inside Nabata before it went full desert of death. More then one foolish traveler had passed by, eager to find secrets hidden in the wastes, and more then one of those men were never seen again.

He wondered what it might have been like to grow up on a farm like this, in Lycia. It would have been a different experience to say the least, but it was nothing more then the idle wonders of a wandering man. As he thought to himself he walked forward and the landscape shifted in the corners of his eyes, from fields of vegetables to fields of wheat, it must be difficult to get all this harvest... harvested? Was that the right word, sounded redundant.

Santuraz is known for it's plentiful farmlands, so it wasn't too much of a surprise, he's passed at least seven different farmsteads since he's arrived. He's heard merchants talking about it, Santuraz was the commerce capital of Lycia and subsequently perhaps all of Elibe. Bern had political turmoil, Etruria had too many regulations and laws, Ilia was too difficult to traverse easily, and Sacae lacked a unified trade hub of such a scale, Bulgar was the closest. He's been to Bulgar, it's bustling with trade and resembles what could only be called a bazaar, but Santuraz was clearly the biggest free trade city in Elibe.

He noticed that somewhere during it all he reached the edges of the farm, the homestead wasn't too far away. There was even someone in the chair over there, an older man, probably the owner. He had a mane of grey hair and a braided beard, he looked like a man of class. Or at least one that wouldn't kill him over a simple question, he had too many teeth. Well it couldn't hurt to ask, worst case they'll chase him off the farm with pitchfork. No, scratch that, worse case he's secretly a dragon and eats Valcrist. Still either way it beats being wet. He pulled at the straps of his pack again, wearing a casual grin as he walked over. "Excuse me, is this your farm?"

[Harold Fleabottom]

He was just about to try and stand up as someone came. He turned his head to the stranger, tilting his head ever so slightly as he squinted his eyes. While the rest of his body was old, his eyes still held the grace of the once young man he had been. The man seemed a bit strange to his eyes, but then again, so did everyone he had met lately. Skin that was a bit tan, contrasted by really bright hair. Maybe he just had strange parentage or lived in one of those... Dessirts. Or deserts. However you said it.

"Well... I guess yer could say so, ay'." He nodded to him, smiling a bit as he then pointed to the field, where a man of around 30 years was working with a woman of the same age, and a boy that was around 14. "The deed's my sons now, but ay'. I'm Harold Fleabottom, the... Uh, how do yer say it? Patriarch of this house, I guess. That's a pretty weird thing t' say in the end." He shook his head for a bit with a smile as he turned his head to stare at the field.

"S', wot do ya need?" He tilted his head ever so slightly at him. "If yer need work, we cannae offer much. We're mostly done with wot we need, an'... Uh. Nothing much else to do here after that. Or maybe ya just need som' food? Tha' we can provide, hah."