Albaric
The heavy oak door swung in with a soft swish, letting fresh air and sunlight pour
through the portal and mingle with the heavier stale interior. The proprietor, a stocky
old man, glanced up from his pre-dinner ministrations, narrowing his eyes against the
glare. A moment later a figure filled the space, a tall silhouette of a man as the door
slid shut behind him.
"Ah," the owner said cheerfully, tossing aside his tattered rag, "Master
Albaric. You're in early this evening."
Hanging his outer coat and hat on a nearby wall hook with practiced ease, the tall
gentleman faced the much smaller man with a warm smile. "The commodities were
especially good to me today, my friend."
The owner winced visibly as the Trader before him glanced around. "We, ah, were just
preparing..."
"That's fine," Albaric said, nodding. "I know I've come early. I'll just
have drinks in the atrium until you're ready."
"Very good, sir," the man gushed, "right away, sir."
Settling himself in a plush chair, Albaric exhaled softly, getting comfortable. He crossed
his long legs before him, savoring the warmth of the tavern.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Glancing up he noticed a young man approaching, carting a heavy book bag with some obvious
discomfort. Pulling himself back upright, he nodded as the fellow began to drag a chair
near. "Yes, may I help you?"
"I was wondering... sir... if I may..."
Amused, he watched as the lad, no more than a boy really, dropped into the chair and began
rummaging through his satchel as it balanced precariously on his thin legs.
"...interview you?"
"Interview me?" Albaric asked, raising an eyebrow. "Whyever for?"
"Class assignment. I was hoping to interview some of the upcoming citizens of the
Crossing."
Albaric chuckled. "Ah! so am I now upcoming?" He was greeted with such a puzzled
look that he had to laugh. "What would you like to know?"
Producing a beat up journal and ratted quill, the young man said, "How about your
family history?"
"Well," Albaric said with a deep breath, "there isn't much to tell. I am a
third generation Trader, as far as the guild is concerned, stemming from a long lineage of
proud Elotheans. My grandfather, Alexander Aylward, and then later my father, Alesstaire
Aylward, were both instrumental in building the foundation that supports my family to this
day. My family was nomadic, you see, wandering aimlessly through-out Elanthia, trading
goods and services where they could. Thanks to the efforts of my father and grandfather,
the Aylward's were able to set roots down in Shard and prosper along those trade routes,
making for a more stable and consistent life for themselves. I suppose you could say I was
carrying on the family business."
He sat a bit more, casually watching the quill scratching nosily along the parchment.
Then, as abruptly as it had started, it stopped.
"Thank you, sir," the young man said briskly, stuffing his belongings back into
his packs even as he stood. "I do appreciate it."
Albaric rose swiftly. "Is that all you needed?"
"Yes, sir," he was told as the student backed away, waving. "I have a lot
more people to meet. Thank you for your time."
For a long moment the Trader stood there, scratching absently at his goatee, until finally
his drink arrived and he gave himself up to some much needed relaxation.
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