The pangs of noon's glare burned across a single figure's features as if he had ventured across the vastness of an arid desert. It was the worst of all forms of weather where the air was thick and dense with humidity, perhaps due to the suffocating sweat and breath of the several hundred merchants and vagabonds or the incoming warnings of a storm. Regardless, all seemed alike when the city merchants’ skins were oiled with bodily excretions causing the breeze to become stale as the dried fish which sailors hawked near the port. Never had he particularly considered running an errand such as this in the past particularly that which required him to mingle with a mob of those who seemed to have been lacking the benefits of a bath, though Thalion sounded more like a hypocrite, his own musk mingling with the stench of the setting sun. The young messenger would have worn a rag around his face had he known of the smells which lingered near his lips that day.
The passage of time and the dwindling number of merchants led the young messenger to a stroll. The dwindling blades of sunlight fell to their demise as Thalion continued to amble along the cobblestone path’s, his eyes leaping with delight, gold jingling near his pockets. Delving deep within the tattered trousers of his, the messenger massaged his sweaty palms with the cool texture of gold, the faces of unknown politicians and cryptic symbols brushing against his fingertips.
Finally, Thalion arrived at district of the refined where intricate garments and skillfully crafted accessories lay upon the street side galore. It was as if he was a foreigner for this was the kind of place a commoner such as he deemed to be the far above of his social status. Perhaps it was out of sheer curiosity on where man spent the profits of his greed or simply the sight of a young pickpocket reaching for a wealthy woman's purse. However, Thalion would not observe these sights. Instead the young commoner intended to spend his hard earned gold upon the patronage of a wealthy shoe maker.
The jingling of a quaint shop window suddenly brought forth the attention of a scrawny and underweight, old man. The merchant’s bushy moustache quivered against his spectacles as the man. The merchant whose shop he was browsing eyed the young messenger rather than his tattered clothing and sifting through the assorted shoes that he had available here and now, finding one that would fit Thalion’s surprisingly wide feet.
Whilst the merchant continued to determine Thalion’s ideal fit, the young commoner continued to brose the wares of the shoe maker. Although his leather boots had lasted him for quite a few years, it was now in a pitiful state, its soles completely worn away while strips of leather continually fell off with each step. Thalion had resorted to tying bits of string together in order to keep the boots together. However, Thalion’s eyes quickly caught the gleam of copper in a corner, his steps moving closer and closer towards the curious pair of boots.
Gingerly picking up a single boot, Thalion’s callused palm felt the smooth texture of the black leather, his arms surprised by the feather light weight of the boots despite its bulky appearance. Copper buckles and embroidered string lined the boots as Thalion ceremoniously placed them upon his feet, quickly discarding his old pair. To his great delight, Thalion found the boots to be a snug fit, his toes moving comfortably. Standing up, Thalion suddenly felt energized as if a magical surge of energy and stamina had shot through his body. Pacing across the room, Thalion felt his steps grow quicker and quicker as if he were on a quick jog, rather then the slow pace that he had attempted. The boots felt as if he were walking upon a cushion of air.
“It looks good,” Thalion acknowledged, a little grouchily. “Feels comfortable.”
“And to you, my good friend, a mere two hundred gold, ” quickly replied the merchant
“It doesn’t feel that comfortable,” countered Thalion, immediately starting to undo the buckle. “It feels about seventy-five gold comfortable to me.”
“Ah, you force my hand! I am distraught! But ah, young Master, you do seem as if you could use the gold. Perhaps one hundred fifty?” inquired the merchant.
“One hundred,” Thalion spat. He had spent enough time with merchants to know that they would weasel whatever penny they could get.
“One thirty five,” quickly countered the merchant.
“Done,” Thalion said, musing over the cost of the boots and the comfort they would bring.
“Done.”