The makings of a Maker (Closed to Enicbry)

John went to market, as he often did.

Familiar were the sounds and smells of market-time Radasanth, the cobbled street resounding with the clack and patter of feet and shoes alike, with a ringing, almost cacophonous symphony of voices rising above the street. It was here John strode, head and shoulder above even the tallest man, he paid little heed to the throng, and instead searched for a particular stall among the many that lined the now narrower road. He glimpsed a crossed hammer and tongs embossed in black on a draping cloth, and sauntered over to it.

He wondered, as he often did, how people saw him, how a person in the crowd might think of the colossus that strode the markets on occasion. Perhaps not anxious wondering, as of a boy with a girl he fancied, and certainly not enough to dissuade him from any course of action he chose, but still, he let his mind drift across the thought on occasion. Did they think he was a monster? A half-giant? Both?

As he approached the stall and dipped his head slightly to see a man behind his makeshift counter, he banished the thought from his mind dismissively, as he often did, asserting to himself that it would hardly help if he wasn’t a little bit of both anyways.

Jonas stood behind the counter, one hard, swarthy palm flat upon the bench. A kind, young man he was, with stubble but not quite beard dusting his angular jawline. Men like him didn’t go without wives for very long, and children sometimes less than that. He was shorter, but thicker around in the arms and chest than most men, and he smiled, rapping his knuckles on the counter, and afterward extending his arm to John. He took it in his grasp and shook.

“Heard you’ve got some plate steel, Jonas,” he said warmly, aiming to talk the man out of his recent acquisition.

“Aye, John, and if ya want’em I need one and a half what I paid. Worked hard, bringin’ em here,” he said jokingly, though his smirk indicated he was serious about the price. Honestly, it was reasonable. He had been scalping the shorter man’s stock a bit much of late, to save him the trip in the wee morning hours to see what the trade-ships had brought from across the way. But he played along with Jonas, it was their game after all.

“Sure, hard work it must be, carrying around six pounds of steel a few miles on a cart, with naught but the envious looks of men and the lustful maidenly ones for your company,” John replied, chuckling as Jonas waved his hand dismissively. “But I’ll pay your one and a half, Jonas, spend it on a honeymoon or two.”

A thick finger pointed upwards at John. “Oi, I done told ya, only one girl for me,” he said, bending down under the counter to retrieve the metal. He muttered offhandedly, “Just don’t know which one I’ll pick is all.”

John stifled a chuckle with his hand as Jonas came up with a leather pouch, smirking mischievously himself. The bag made a clang as it fell over horizontal on the counter. John picked up the pouch, flipping the plates back and forth in the bag, selecting the thinner ones.

“I’ll take these,” he said simply, eight thin plates in hand. “A waifish thing, the girl I’m making this for.”

He counted out a few coins of gold, simply rounding up to the nearest piece, as he often did, and let them stack on the table

“Thanks, Jonas,” John said, standing up straight.

“Alright John, I’ll be seein’ ya.”

He left, but they both knew that he’d be back to poach more of Jonas’ stock, as he often did.

Having completed his errand, John looked about, frowning thoughtfully, wondering if there was anything else he needed while he was in town. After all, it was a good hour’s walk to or from his house, and he didn’t want to forget anything. He thought about the build for the girl, mentally constructing, stitching, and hammering, ticking off ingredients and such, making sure he had everything he needed to complete it. In response, his stomach growled.

I suppose I could stop in for a bite at the Iron Flagon.

He turned, as he often did, in the direction of the tavern.