Momentum Transfers

6/26/2011

10:48 PM

Logfile from Elendor.

The Market Square

You have arrived in the two-hundred eighty feet by two-hundred eighty feet open-air market known as the Market Square. Four buildings, brighter in colour than most of the buildings in town, border the market and are filled with shops of every kind, along with the taverns and other places people like to meet. Hawkers walk about with carts peddling goods, and entertainers draw a few crowds when the weather is decent. People from the outlying areas, and the occasional groups of Dwarves or Elves, may be seen amongst the locals.

The very center of the Market itself is a fenced-off hole spanning ninety feet in circumference. A few steps descending through the hole leads to the Market Pool, an area directly beneath the town. A few pulley contraptions bordering the area might suggest that it is used as a means of transporting goods directly from rafts into the market square.

Contents:

Aethel

Obvious exits:

West leads to Center of Bowman Street.

East leads to Center of Avenue of Tales.

North leads to Center of Firespark Lane.

South leads to Center of Merchant\'s Way.

Market Pool leads to The Market Pool.

The Town Hall, Tavern, Gamer\'s Den, Armour Shoppe, and Weapon Shoppe

Middle-earth time is:

Late Morning on Trewsday, Day 11 of April.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 22:49:58 MDT on Sun Jun 26 2011.

=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Real Time: Sun Jun 26 22:50:01 2011 MST

Dale-Lands Time:

Trewsday, late morning on a cloudy spring\'s day, April 11 of 3053

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=

[Aethel(#19632)]

Jogging down the middle of the street, the young man Aethel seems to be in quite a rush. Wrapping himself with a old hooded cloak, he clutches a tightly bound, weathered scroll in one hand, and a newer looking scroll in another. Pausing for a brief moment to regain his bearings, he starts off yet again, his breath heavy and coarse. But he does not make it very far this time around, for he runs straight into an Elf, falling to the ground, dropping some of his belongings.

Aethel frantically rushes to pick up his assorted belongings, before they are dirtied, or worse, stollen. Only after he had finished collecting his things, did he take notice of the regal person standing before him. Appauled, a look of fear grew on his face, his eyes glazed over with fright, at disrupting the person\'s activities.

[Digolan]

Full and deep, Digolan\'s richly woven hood hides his face, one hand tucked within folds of the long flowing sleeve, the other upon a staff of birch taller than he. Unseen feet must exist beneath the floor length cloth, slow steps gliding across the market in lengthy pace with his traveling stick. Full clouds move quickly through the early spring air, a breeze jingling trinkets and wind-chimes. A bell tolls slow rhythm from in the distance.

As Aethel collides into Digolan there is no shift in the figure\'s posture, no hitch in step - only falling pause to his path and gentle stillness. \"Are you afraid of your own scrolls, young one?\" a deep voice rolls forth, three pieces of the question broken into their own tones, as in equal pace his gaze at last lowers to the man\'s face.

[Aethel]

Aethel pulls his soft green hood out of his eyes, revealing the full splendor of the Elf. \"Hello sir!\" He says, a slight tremble in his voice. Then, after but a moment of time passes, he realized the Elf\'s question. \"Why, no sir! Or, that is, what I am saying is...\" He pauses, tripping over each of his words. He rubs his sore knee briefly, recollects his thoughts, then finishes his statement. \"No sir! I am just in a hurry back to the library. But, sir, I would like to know your name, and, your proper title, as you would have it?\" Sweaping a brown lock of hair out of his eyes, he awaits an answer.

[Digolan]

\"My title?\" Digolan\'s head tilts but slightly to the right, a moment\'s peak of sun catching the lightest touch of silver embroidery in his unlowered hood. \"My name?\" Equal weight upon each word, left hand joining right in firm grip of birch wood. A gust of wind shuffles the littered bits of a business days refuse across the ground - but the thick traveling cloak he wears does not stir, and neither does its bearer.

\"If you run through your studies equal to your inquiries,\" he continues, a hum of bass carried through his words, \"such as you run through this crowd, I wonder what you truly carry for long.\" At long length he waits, extending left arm back in opening gesture - and pendulously it holds the air. At last he speaks, \"I am known as Digo.\" A heavy nod of the head and no more.

[Aethel(#19632)]

A sudden sense of awe comes over Aethel, while though the mystery of this Elf is no less save his name, something about him stirs the utter soul of Aethel. Standing up, Aethel puts the newer scroll in his pack, but continues to grip the older parchment, as if it might attempt to escape. He looks up at Digolan, his the cloud over his eyes passed, replaced by curiosity, nay, wonder. \"Greetings then, friend Digo.\" Aethel pauses to take a look at the Elf, and all of its fine attire. He then takes a look at his own scrubby clothes. \"I look worse than the average farmhand,\" Aethel mutters under his breath. Glancing up at Digo, he decides to dare a conversation with him. \"Friend, you are obviously far wiser than I. You see, Digo, I would like to call myself a scholar,\" He eyes the worn, tattered parchment contained within his fist, \"but my knowledge can only go so far. Is there any wisdom that you might give this poor excuse for a scholar?\"

[Digolan]

The lifted hand lowers and meets the wood again as Digolan centers his staff before his body, green waves washing over his fingers. He leans inches forward, shoulders square - shifting gaze carefully tracing each excited move of his inquirer. \"Wisdom may not be judged by a look. Knowledge has no limits. One sees more when walking,\" he answers as soon as Aethel pauses, \"than when running into an Elf.\"

At last there is gentle music in the words, but the pace remains slow, the tones low, and he rises again to full height. \"Find a tree, and beneath it read to the sun,\" he adds, \"if you truly wish to learn.\"

With long legs Digolan steps swiftly to the man\'s side, the tap of solid wood upon the ground sounding the time of each pace taking him towards the north.