In the haze that was early Loshis, hundreds of wicks had gathered at the Bazaar for the celebration. Despite the wet, the balconies and walkways were filled to the brim with excited people, clustered as families or as spectators. The air was filled with the sounds of the celebration: laughter, song, lilting voices weaving their tales, animated voices negotiating a trade, artisans vying for the attention of onlookers.

There was even a small, slow dance going as one Ethia storyteller told his variation on the Panther Queen in song, accompanied by his tittle.

In the gazebo, storytellers were preparing for a competition, and spectators were quickly gathering.

Peals of laughter echoed from within the main structure as a girl exchanged a kiss for a beautifully glazed teacup.

It seemed there were endless things to do and see, people to meet, and stories to hear, as it was every year at Binze.

((As it is midday and the event began early in the morning, vendors, entertainers, etc. may assume they have already set up shop or a mat, etc. by this time if they so desire. Information: Binze, Banke Bazaar, visual of Banke. Please, join us and have some fun!!))

Glynn sat quietly on his mat, watching all the people pass by. He was wearing his apprentice robes to distinguish himself from the crowd. A few different groups of people came to see him. He got a lot of 'business' from Ethians, though. He had set out an offering bowl for small donations, in the spirit of Binze. He had received a few small tokens of gratitude from people, mostly women and chldren. A cute little Ethian girl had given him a rose. He had not seen his father since the morning, he hoped he was doing fine. The crowded festival was quite different from the isolation of the Lorecave.

He was shouting at every passer by. "Please sit down for a minute. Let me tell you about the rich history of the Anhai Wicks." He smiled at a boy and girl passing by. "Hear about your history, It is filled with wonder."

Nic stopped and stared at Glynn moodily, keeping his mouth shut tight. It might have been rude from any other boy, but Glynn got the feeling that Nic was only examining him, not judging him. Osane, the girl at his right, stared at Nic expectantly, wondering why on earth they weren't moving on.

"He wants you to tell him your story. Nic does not speak much, neh." Piped up a voice from behind. It was Itzal, the more talkative of the four children. Behind him, Argi was sucking on his thumb. He popped it out of his mouth to speak, "Give him his fee."

Nicias, who felt he was perfectly capable of handling himself, shoved both of their heads and took out a little glass square that had been melted together. In the center was a small circlet of yellow. It was all held together by hard wires that Keme had helped him make.

"Will this pay for your story?" The eldest Mattin boy asked quite seriously.

"My dear boy, you do not need to pay for a story." Glynn spoke to the child as if he was five when it was obvious he was only a few years younger then himself. "A donation would be highly welcomed but you could sit and listen for free if you see fit. I feel it is best to tell children history when they are young. Take my word you will love what I tell you." He gave the little family a wide grin. He was not going to be as cynical to children as he would have been with adults.

"What would you like to here. I have a plethora of history at my fingertips. I guess that is what you get when your father is a loremaster and when you training to be on yourself."

"It is your story. Tell me the one you think is best." Nic said, sitting down comfortably and putting the glass square on the other man's knee reverentially. He didn't believe in free things... although he could tell Itzal was rolling his eyes behind him.

"Tch. Sit, Itzal. Argi." Osane didn't need to be told. She'd already clambered into his lap, and was staring at Glynn with wide eyes.

"One with adventure." Itzal interrupted the silence.

"And magic!" Argi put in.


Nic rolled his eyes and shrugged at Glynn.

"So magic and adventure, eh? Ask and you shall receive." Glynn had plenty of tales at hand, some his father told him and some he learned from the lorecave itself. This one was a mixture of both. It was one of his favorite stories and battles.

"I shall tell you about the Battle of the Rain. Have any of you ever heard of this amazing battle?" Glynn said, grinning. For some reason Binze always brought out joy in him. "The story is all about a rainy season battle between Bruanhald and Anhau about a thousand years ago."

Osane clapped and Nic shook his head at the question, prepared to be fully drawn into the story. "A thousand is a long time." He whispered, looking towards Argi and Itzal with wide eyes. They nodded and looked back toward Glynn eagerly.

At the stand she had borrowed from an old friend, Aewyn hung her glass finery for trade. Colorful beads and delicate figurines dangled in the slight breeze. There were a few obvious gaps in her collection, as patrons had already visited her stand. On the shelves built into the stand were bottles and jars of salves and medicines.

Ailen loved festivals, and especially big festivals. She didn't mind the rain, especially because it meant less watering. And splashing in puddles with bare feet, and the smell after the rain stopped, and...
Her mother had gone off to trade for something or other, and she had decided that this was a ripe chance to explore. Looking around, she noticed a woman a little younger than her mother, with beautiful glass trinkets hanging from her stall.
She walked up to the woman, eager to see the items up close.
"Hello! Are those your own work? They are very well-made."

"Thank you, dear. Yes, I made them myself." Aewyn smiled warmly as she looked down at the young girl.. The bottom hems of her pants were soaked, but she didn't seem to mind. Though thin, the older woman could tell the girl had a wiry strength. The most interesting feature of the girl were her golden eyes that peered from behind the shadow of her bangs. It wasn't the sort of yellow she was used to, but it was a pleasant sort of glow. "Would you, perhaps, like one?" Aewyn waved her hand to display her wares.

Jyndri strode through the busy marketplace, shooting a quick glance back at her daughter. Ailen was looking at glass decorations; the mother smiled approvingly. Pretty things for my pretty girl.

A cold snap of parental worry tapped her heart, and she was briefly tempted to return to her daughter's side. But she knew bears didn't sneak into festivals to single out one little girl. And Ailen is not so little any more. She is strong, and I have taught her self-defense. No man will dare touch her. She glared at the men in the crowd, grinning wolfishly. If they do, I will kill them.

Confidently, Jyndri kept on walking, passing by the young loremaster and his audience. She liked stories, but she did not like that boy, and today she was not in the mood for magic or adventure. Today, she was in the market for gossip. And cinnamon.

The Laskal household was nearly out of the spice, and it would be a disgrace to mull wine without it, as the hot drink was a Binze tradition in her family. Her mother had given Jyndri the secret family recipe when she married, and she planned on giving Alien the honor when the girl settled down with a nice boy of her own. But that was years to come. Now was the time for cinnamon.

Tzul Droon. Where on Vita have you gotten yourself to?

Droon had installed himself in an alcove in one of the great curved stoa that surrounded the bazaar. There, upon a carpet of singular beauty and delicacy of pattern, protected from the rains but the wide eves of the tiled roof, the apothecary had laid out some three dozen bronze plates, numerous wooden boxes, and a host of jars, flasks, phials, and bottles. Upon the bronze plates were piled neat cones of freshly ground spices, as bright and fragrant as all the flowers of the nascent spring. The boxes likewise held spices, though these were unground, as well as teas and dried herbs.

Amidst this panoply of the wares of a spice merchant, and guarding the rarer spices and more potent medicinal compounds, sat Droon himself. He was crouching down over a small charcoal brazier solemnly toasting grains of rice in a wide shallow dish. The sizzle and pop of grains, and the quiet swish they made as the apothecary swirled them around seemed almost to drown out the noise and bustle of the crowds. And there he sat, monk-like in meditative concentration, as if nothing in the world was mattered more than the proper toasting of the rice.

"That is amazing! I would love one, but unfortunately my mother has all the things we have to trade. I do not know quite where she has gone. I think she said it was some apothecary? Sool Doon? Droon? I do not remember things said in passing too well."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Droon... that good for nothing layabout...But it's fine if you don't any material possessions." Aewyn smiled and scratched her chin. "I'll trade you a necklace for... your happiest memory." It was a decent trade for Binze, and it wasn't beyond the woman to offer the product of her hobby for a youth's tale.

"Alright children, be prepared to be amazed." Glynn said, with a smile. "This battle is one of the more amazing battles I know of. Powerful Bruanhald attacked from the north over the Talarma river. They established a camp in a village named Kirec, the humans who lived there were not happy at all." Glynn laughed. "I hope you children know what humans are. They are our ancestors. They did not have magic of any kind, it is quite sad actually. Sorry for straying away from the story." Glynn viewed children as stupid monkeys until they were at least thirteen, which is quite odd being that he is only fifteen.

"Really? Well, my happiest memory...Hmm. I have had so many happy memories, it is very, very hard to distinguish between them. I would say my happiest is the first time I went out hunting with my da. I was seven years old, I think. Daoa didn't want to let me go, but he let Mattin go when he was seven, so I got to go too. Mattin is my big brother. He is not home much anymore, though. I never thought I would like hunting, but after doing some of it myself, I liked it almost as much as gardening. I miss my da still, but whenever I get lonely I can think of all the times we went hunting together before he died. That is why that day is my happiest memory."

Hopefully that was good enough. It was true, in any case, and true was always better than exciting or flowery. Ailen could always tell when people were telling true stories, and when people were stretching the truth to make things more interesting. The truth did not deserve to be stretched, she has always thought. What had it ever done to them to deserve such a punishment?

((this took forever and i'm so sorry))

On the hunt for the wild spice merchant, Jyndri was first alerted to Droon's presence by the smell of cloves and coriander. She followed her nose, going directly to his stall and dodging an over-burdened cheese monger on the way.

She folded her arms and looked down at the man. He was hunched over his rice like a heron. Patient. Focused. It would take more than standing there intently to get his attention.

"Good day, Droon," Jyndri said, raising her voice casually to be heard over the toasting rice. She had been a customer to the apothecary for many years, and to his old master years before that. And today was Binze. Her usual standoffishness had melted a little in the warmth of nostalgia.

The woman smiled warmly as the child finished her tale. It was just fine. "Alright, now... choose a necklace. Don't worry about breaking them either, they're not so fragile as they appear. You'd probably have to step on one pretty hard before it shattered."

"No magic?" Argi asked, sounding a little confused. Itzal shoved him.

"Dze they're like Ikimo of the Roek tribe. Except more. Many of them parses."

"Not 'them parses'," Nic cut in roughly. "They are fami, same as you. And do not be shoving Itzal or I'll tell Daoa."

Argi was wiggling impatiently, "Okay, what after?"

Over the hiss and pop of the rice, which was now nicely toasted and a lovely shade of golden brown, Droon heard the calling of his name. In a kind of flash, his head rose and he turned to face the trapper.

Jyndri, the trapper: green tea, willow bark extract, cloves, nutmeg, white pepper, cinnamon, cardamom, dried mushrooms, and occasionally mead. Daughter grows tomatoes . The list of her habitual purchases flashed through his mind, as though recitation of the litany would recall all aspects of her person.

"Ah, hello Jyndri. Are you here for more green tea with toasted rice? Or is there something else you are looking for?"

"Alright, alright. Well the leader of the galdori was an evil man named Dro Diedric. He had made this spell where he called down evil but beautiful golden lances from the sky. He destroyed everything in his path, he was a truly evil man and instead of his galdori title, Torch of the west, he should have been called Fire of Evil." Glynn expression changed to a more solemn face.

"Even though our ancestors had home field advantage, the galdori were still doing a lot of damage. It seemed very grim for us."

Arms still crossed, the trapper envisioned her pantry, listing the missing supplies as if the empty jars were right in front of her. "Ten cinnamon sticks, a quart of honey, an ounce and a half of cloves.." Actually, they had enough cloves, but you can never have too many. ".. and an ounce of dried orange peels."

She nodded once, finished with her litany. "A tall order for Binze, I know. I have more to trade today than trifles, should you wish."

Ailen looked at the stall's wares more closely, looking for the one that really spoke to her. All of the necklaces sparkled in the filtered sunlight, but there had to be one...

Rather close to Aewyn, one circular bead hung on a blue string. The bead was blue-green, and this was Ailen's favorite color, which sealed the deal.
"I would like that one, if it is alright with you."

"What is a lance?" Argi asked, looking confused. Itzal, for once, didn't butt in with an answer. He was too taken in by the story.

"We come out okay though, right?" Itzal asked instead, in a worried voice.

With a nod and a sly smile, Droon took out a delicate set of bronze scales and a collection of weights, and balancing the former upon a small metal stand, began to hunt and peck over his boxes and jars, like a particularly neurotic raven. Pinches of whole spices where placed in one of the balance's pans, and weights were added with strange, jerking speed. Adjustments were made, spices added and taken away, and every now and then Droon would wipe the spice pan with rock salt and rice, so as to prevent the spices from becoming unduly contaminated.

"And you are making a spice pudding then, Jyndri, or some other festive dish?" This he said without looking up, his fingers flashing now into this box, now into that, and he rapidly measured and weighed the spices she had requested.

"And as to what I desire in trade, have you any venomous snakes in your pack? Any bears' gall bladders, with the bile of course, or perhaps the insectile victims of that pernicious fungi which can drive them mad before it kills them?"