mogget_cat: (human!smirk)
His time in High Bridge was quite refreshing, Yrael found. A large trading center of the Old Kingdom, with direct river access and a fairly straight way to Belisaere to the North and East, High Bridge was a bustling town where traders from even as far away as the barbaric North, past the Clayr Glacier. Yrael found he had no problem fitting in as another of the far-traveling traders. He enjoyed the morning wandering through the fresh fish market above the harbor, idly strolling through town. He whistled cheerfully as he crossed the bridge for which the town was named, with houses built upon it as thickly as any normal street.

As they, too, must try to make a living, many of the town's Charter Mages lived along the heavily-travelled streets of the markets, their signs advertising healing or protection spells for reasonable prices. Yrael could feel occasional Charter Magic being worked in some of the houses along the market street.

It was no problem to pose as a prospective customer knocking at their doors. Any Charter spells thrown at him before Yrael got to them would not register as anything unusual to any other Mages in the area, that way. There was that one Mage who thought she would get smart and try something with a rowan wand imbued with three of the Master Marks, but she did not have time to do anything with it.

All in all, it was a good day. The prices on the fish were quite reasonable.

---

The roads were busy between High Bridge and Belisaere. They had been becoming moreso since the King, the Abhorsen and the recent Abhorsen-in-Waiting had been making Necromancy a hard career path to pursue. Merchants and travellers no longer had to fear the Dead, or passing Free Magic creatures, so much. People who had never before left their tiny villages were traveling, wanting to see new places.

Yrael decided he would leave them to it, and struck off through the woods, heading directly towards Belisaere rather than following the road North before gently curving East towards the capital.

---

Belisaere was alive with the encouraging shouts of farmers who have had a bountiful harvest and are more than willing to take one's money in exchange for the surplus. Fresh vegetables and fruit stalls lined the crowded streets that led down to the harbors and the fresh fish and poultry stalls. Yrael moved among the people with ease, laughing a reply at a fruitseller who said that perhaps some oranges would improve his color. He grinned upon overhearing that both the Abhorsen and Abhorsen-in-Waiting were out of town on business to the Perimeter and to elsewhere, dealing with some trouble that had cropped up.

The northern part of the markets were reserved for more of what Yrael was seeking. A sleek, sleeveless dress of rich, deep purple, altered slightly to fit his specifications. A loose silk blouse that feels wonderful against the skin, in the shifting bright blues at the heart of a blazing fire. He even found a shirt of deep forest green for himself, wondering if anyone would have a heart attack to see him wear other colors than white. It wasn't as if he owned any clothes of his own, after all. What he made was what he wore. It might be an interesting experiment, owning clothing.

At a quaint little jeweler's shop Yrael was also able to find a simple bracelet of many different shades of gold before he decided he had been long enough from home.

It was the matter of a moment to gather his purchases, turn into a nearby alley, and step into Death.
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Yrael, the Eighth Bright Shiner

November 2020

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