who: @incubusnero where: at the fantasy flea market in the Silverlands! when: present in timeline notes: DMed you but again, let me know if you need any changes
The first time Talisa had heard of a flea market the idea disgusted her. It sounded grotesque, bizarre, and unsanitary; these were the same words she might use to describe the inhabitants of Taravell. At least, if there were any one to discuss the matter with plainly aside from Fyren she would. Once, the young steel dragon had spoken as candidly as she pleased about the inhabitants of this subpar under-world (under in the most literal sense, as in below, though Talisa did consider the continent her own personal hell) with the pink dragon and he had not taken kindly to her harsh words. She supposed to a certain extent that his opinion was tainted by nostalgia for a world gone by, but nonetheless she struggled to imagine a version of Taravell or the fabled Avalon that could possibly be worthy of Fyren’s high esteem.
However, there were occasional little pleasures. Talisa had learned of the traveling flea market of the esteemed Jennifer Cool Lich by way of fellow Nightingales. Of course, it had not been shared by means of their normal coded secret language–it was shared as idle gossip. Talisa could barely remember the topic they had truly spoken of, this or that with some stones that fell down and some magical sphere or other such shape that had–well, she’d stopped listening entirely by then. The memory of the unpleasant task of pretending to listen was far behind her now as she traversed through aisle after aisle in the makeshift market of the travelling arcane merchant. Perpetually favoring form over function, Talisa strolled stall and display alike looking to spend Fyren’s hard earned coin on something pretty rather than something practical.Â
This late into her excursion, she had nearly lost hope. In Aetheron, everything was somehow better, elevated. Food was more flavorful, colors more vibrant, melodies more sweet. It was rare she found an object in this wasteland of mediocrity that could capture her attention for any longer than it took to turn it over once or twice in her hands and realize it was just a flimsy attempt at true beauty. The wares of Jennifer Cool Lich had been different though–but Talisa had been beat out by some cherub-faced blonde man for each object that had attracted her attention. Somehow, he always managed to be one step ahead of her and it seemed he might pluck the object of her desire once more. Well, not on her watch! Talisa drew a deep breath and centered her focus on the glimmering, beautifully blown glass decanter they were both reaching for and caused the man next to her to envision it half a foot to the left of where it really was. As he made to select his purchase, he clutched only at air where her magic had led him to believe the item was while Talisa casually collected the glassware for herself. “You have lovely taste,” she complimented in a flouting lilt.













