The Puppeteer's Praxes (open)
Quote:
Post away! This thread will remain open during its entirety. You can also find the OOC thread discussing this thread
here.
Cadling Road meanders gently downhill towards the coast, situated at the base of a slope on the landward edge of the city. This affords a fleeting glimpse of the dappled ocean here and there, peeking out from between buildings and peering over terracotta-tiled roofs. The street is wide enough for two carriages to travel abreast over its well-swept cobbles, and is lined with a variety of middle class shops; book stores, butchers, a couple of ironmongers, a number of tailors and so on - the lifeblood of the bourgeoisie. It is midday, and the city of Serenti has emptied much of its populace to the coast in search of fish and pearls. Those who remain amble leisurely through the near-vacant streets, enjoying the sun and the quiet in their own time.
Every few minutes, one walks past a dark-windowed, two-storeyed shop on Cadling Road, without giving it much attention. To those looking for food and sundries, there is nothing of interest there. But to those who have found the flyers calling for help, this is their destination.
Should one walk up the few steps outside and through the door, they would be met by the jingle of a bell, and a softly-lit, cluttered interior. The front half of the shop is dissected by waist-height book shelves, display tables, and barrels of strange-smelling goods. The rear half, away from the street, is elevated by a couple of feet and separated by rich, mahogany balustrades. A wide staircase ascends through the middle to the upper landing. Taller bookshelves line the rear wall here, and a couple of chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Two alabaster statues, carved from shining marble, stand in contemplative poses against opposite walls. The only real sign of life in the empty shop is a wizened old man at a long table to the side of the stairs, scratching away at a ledger with his quill, peering intently at the paper through round spectacles as ink flicks intermittently into his long, bushy white beard.