[Chapter 1.01] The Circle Market Clash
An unusually lanky man has been walking around among the market's bustling crowds, standing out in his tattered, dark claret robes and overly meek smile as he wobbled between all the potential customers somewhat graceful-like, carrying around a large, stuffed bag on his back.
"Poultices for rash! Ointments against festers! Leech for the burning gut! Come-come good folks, Horril has all the cures for thy maladies! Toad's wart for pimples, tit warble for love sickness, yes-yes! Heheh, come-seek Horril's tinctures for and against trots good folks!"
His pale skin, mismatched eyes and matted red hair made him quite hard to miss, which he certainly used as part of his "marketing". There were about as many who were trying to get out of his way as those who sought him out to be left with a strange advice or an odd-looking concoction.
In time the tallish man's path had come to cross the elven lady's. At first he glanced at her with a slight surprise, then he narrowed his eyes, as if intrigued by what he saw in her person. With a sudden change of mood then, he began shaking his head.
"No-no dear, I am afraid even Horril has no cure of that quantity, I'm sorry."
It would almost seem like he was ready to leave her at that, as he began turning around, but with a dramatic swing with an open palm, he gestured at the market folk. Just as dramatically he leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"Last time Horril heard, discord was too virulent a thing to be treated with lies."
A confusingly mad, but in a way meaningful look was exchanged, then the man turned around just as dramatically and with what sounded to be a low-pitched croak coming from his direction.
As if nothing had happened, the man began his usual shouting again, promoting his own services with the same suddenness he addressed the elven lady.