New Arrivals

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    Having spent some time observing the market place and assessing the meter of those about her, she managed to get some work helping out the stall holders as they packed away for the night and for her trouble had got a few coins and as much fruit as she could carry.

    She made her way first to enjoy the early evening, sat within the perfumed circumference of the lilac jacaranda and feasting upon brightly colored jewels. The coins would buy her a pint or two in one of the inns and taverns, and so the day had not yet lost it’s flavor.

    Aero had disappeared before they could shake up the deal and so it was living from hour to hour with nothing but the Gods guiding her fates- a manner that was familiar and comfortable. The maiden was content enough. Inside a bar, she would listen to the talk and hear of some help finally coming to Sprout , from the lands of Paracosm and Twine.


    The giggling donkey was busy and so the shield maiden seated herself at a table, flings a leg upon a chair and nurses a pint at the periphery of the traffic. Her mind drifts to how familiar this all feels.

    A thriving farming community under pressure. If there was a physical enemy here, an invading force or bandits then she could at least give her axe to the cause. But what had befallen these people was much much worse.

    She had heard talk from the refugees, and learned that Sprout was protected by a spell that was forming a barrier to this yellow death. A barrier that was being fortified as they speak. It was all very intriguing.


    She seemed to be one of them- laughing with those of similar humor, hands wearing the callouses of toil and a honest disposition. Even dressing in earthen shades, she was indistinguishable from those farm laborers and market workers that she laughed and made small talk with. If her fate prescribed her to be in Sprout then so she shall. This planet had made it clear that fundamentally she had no control of where it randomly deposited her. Or was it random? Time would tell.


    Finally served and having scant few coins left in her pocket, the shield maiden returns to pick up her shield and make her way outside to the covered area outside the Giggling Donkey.

    She assumed as much anyway as there was a sign attached to the outer wall and swinging in the light evening breeze. Garishly painted, it showed a donkey dressed in waistcoat and clutching a tankard with its top lip curled back in a grotesque grin, eyes squeezing closed with mirth.

    The porch had a few workers upon it, talking, playing cards, smoking pipes. She takes to leaning against the wall, next to her shield and observing the limited night life of the town. She would see any who traveled from three streets that emptied into the market square. The Nordic warrior would be content supping upon her ale and remaining on the periphery of the rest but would seem perfectly at home in this town.







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