User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 48

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4th Era 135, 10th of Rain's Hand, Pyandonea
He was tired of the way they treated him. He was not the 6 year old child anymore. He was 41 years old, dammit. He tossed his dark blond hair angrily, a gesture his mother always laughingly told him was like a horse's toss of its head, earning him his pirvate nickname: Filly. It was okay when his mother used it, absolutely not when others did, especially the older members of the Liberators. He wished fervently that he had never told everyone all those years ago. The memory of Elves was indeed longer than those of Men...except for those of the Redguards and the Nords, that is. Now, they seemed to remember for generations, unlike the Imperials and Bretons, who were too diplomatic for his taste. If it were up to him, every major dispute would be solved with strength of arms, not agreements and parchments.

Though they had the numbers, Balasian didn't want open war. Still, despite this difference of opinion, Pelano had great respect for him, even though the last time he had seen him was 35 years ago. He was one of those people that when you look at them, you know you are seeing someone great. His absence from the isle was easier to bear knowing that Orthendar made regular visits and reported on events here, as well as bringing back news of his life on Summerset Isle where he had been hiding all these years...right under the Aldmeri Donimion's nose, to boot. Showed that they weren't so great on security, even though they claimed otherwise. All these thoughts and more occupied him as he worked.

As he haggled with the stall vendor for more gold to deliver her package - which was as heavy as an armful of bricks - he mentally cursed Orgnum and his decree. Stendarr's Mercy, freaking mandatory guilds. The isle would be much better off without that blasted rule. Merchants Guild: boring. All just talk of how many bolts of cloth or what have you sold for what amount of money. Relentless tallying of numbers. Yawn. Sea Serpents: distasteful. Killing for money? They should be ashamed of themselves. Harbor Guard: while not technically a guild, many members were drafted for the role. Some were prospective Sea Vipers, but didn't have the qualifications, and thus ended up watching the shore instead of leaving it. That was what had happened to Balachil. It might not be so bad - especially if one got to ride a serpent, as not all guards had the clearance to do so - if the sea serpents were not so irritable as of late. Recently, more and more of the creatures had been bucking off their riders, resulting in a hard, painful meeting of the wooden harbor. He was sure it was Orgnum getting his jollies.

He finally got the woman to pay a reasonable fee for him transporting the box...which he found out he had to cart all the way across the damn isle to the house of a rather well-known alchemist. As he hefted the box - with a silent grumble - he walked to the nearest stable to at least see if he wouldn't have to carry this damn thing all the way to its destination. His arms were already beginning to ache.

* * *

More haggling with the stablemaster, this time to let him ride one of the steeds for less gold than was stipulated.

"I don't want to buy one, I just want to ride it for a time."

"I don't generally rent steeds," the stablemaster complained, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at him.

Pelano matched the glare. "You have no idea how much of this I've done," he stated with ire. "I can only give you 50 gold; I still need to give the Courier's Guild their cut, before I go home with mine. I also don't have time for this little discussion: I need to be on my way and deliver the package. So, are you going to let me rent a steed, or not?"

The man grumbled, but assented, seeing he was part of a reputable and very old guild.

Thankfully, the stable had other fare, such as horses, in addition to the regular sea serpents. He took a horse already saddled. No way was Orgnum going to get his laughter from him. As he balanced the crate on the saddle before mounting, the horse glanced over at him, seemingly irritated at the weight.

"Yeah, I know its heavy. Nothing I can do about it until we get to the destination." he replied, patting the horse's neck.

* * *

The stablemaster met him on the way out of the stables.

"You know," he started, staring at the balancing box on Pelano's lap, "We also have saddlebags that you can put that thing in."

He glared down at the man, his annoyance about the delivery exacerbated by the box pinching a certain part of his anatomy. "I suppose that costs extra."

"Of course. We all need to make a profit."

His full lips twisted in a sneer, though he asked, "How much more?"

"10 gold." came the reply.

That would leave him only 30 gold as his pay. How was he supposed to make a living? He already had financial difficulties; namely buying food, though thankfully housing was not a problem, as he lived with his mother, in the attic, while she lived on the ground floor of the house. He tried what he had done innumerable times in his life so far: he haggled.

As he started to get the price lower, he mused to himself that he could write and publish a book on haggling to get better prices. Perhaps it could be a best-seller (like some of the books from the mainland that he'd read) and many reprints, so the worrying about money would never bother him again.

Boy, wasn't that a fever dream.