1407: Ambitions – Part 4 1407: Ambitions – Part 4 Oliver gave her a gentle smile.
“You need not say so just for the sake of cheering up, Nila,” Oliver said.
“It is not a single victory that I seek but the ans to snatch that victory repeatedly.
As of yet, it seems to that I am still as far away as I once was from all of that.” … … There was planning the tournant to be done, but there was also ensuring that the preparations went well enough.
Oliver had to admit, though they were taxing, he found a certain amount of enjoynt in both parts of those preparations.
The planning was exciting, as far as coming up with new ideas, but walking around the village afterwards, and seeing the enthusiasm with which the people of Solgrim were welcoming the tournant, that quickly grew to be his main driving force.
Without the tournant, he knew, he likely would have found all the excuses he could to hole up in his room, and stare at his Battle board for hours on end, wondering what it was he needed for a breakthrough in that realm.
Stalls were already being put up inside the marketplace.
Naturally, there were always stalls of so kind there, but they seed a different species from what was being erected now.
The wood of their fras all looked to be brand new – though Oliver knew, in large part, that the villagers had simply filed down so of the old wood that they had been using – and the carpenters were out in full force, to make those fras even fancier.
So had the slightest ripple of what seed to be flas carved into the top of their wood, others had a ball of wool, with two crossed needles, for a clothier’s stall, and a butcher next to them made sure to have a cleaver carved in.
“…Bloody hell, it does look good, doesn’t it?” The butcher observed, with his back to Oliver, he saw the final results of the carpenter’s work on one side of his fra.
“Aye, it looks good,” the carpenter agreed.
“But it’ll cost you a pretty penny.” The butcher waved him away with a hand.
“No such thing.
I’m going to rolling in a river of it when these crowds co.
You can take your coin now, and enjoy it, because I’ll be making far more later on.” “You trying to make jealous, you bastard?” The carpenter said, but the coin anyway.
“Still.
I have to say it’s a sha.
You could have done with a better canvas to hang for your roof.
That old thing ain’t white no more.
It needs dying a more interesting colour, but we don’t have much in the way of dyers around here…” “Aye,” the butcher agreed.
“I think I’ll have to decide what to do about that later.
It’s bringing down the whole look of the stall.” “At the end of the day, you are just selling at though,” the carpenter said.
“Pissin’ hell.
It’s a festival, you fool.
I’m going to be grilling that at, and selling all sorts more than I usually would around here.” “Heh?
Well, I hope it goes well for you.” Those rchants that had been lucky enough to already have stall space secured right in the heart of the village were the subjects of envy.
The travelling rchants – of which, there began to be many – who had caught wind of the occasion, and had settled in order to make stalls of their own, along with a quick few coins, had begun to complain rather aggressively when they weren’t given a fair shake for any of the pri in-village spots, no matter how much coin they put forward.
Greeves had been the shield against such disputes, turning them away, but he did not do so willingly.
He saw all the coin that they were willing to put up, and had gone running to Oliver to tell him of it.
“We can make a barrel full of it, if we auction off the best spots,” Greeves said.
“And it’ll work in our favour, even after the spots have been sold.
‘Cos we’ll be able to tax them on their sales – and these travelling rchants will be selling far more than our hotown rchants.
They know what they’re doing.
They’ll put up better stalls, and those fools that flock in for the tournant will be weak against them.
They’ll buy everything they see.” “As tempting as that is, you are to decline it,” Oliver said.
“This occasion should see our own people enriched, not just our pockets.
The rchants that have already been here, working with us, will keep their positions, and you only have my permission to auction off what spots are already free – but that is only if a rchant of Solgrim does not wish to use them first.” “Bloody soft touch…” Greeves had muttered, but he’d carried out the order faithfully anyway.
Even the newly arrived smith Harmon was getting well into the swing of the festivities.
He’d been slowly but surely making the smith shop and house that he’d been given into his own.
It hadn’t been much when he’d first received it, only the barest necessities, but in the few weeks that he’d been here, he’d had a wooden sign carved and painted, with a chestplate on it, and he’d had grand carved tables fashioned to go along with it, to display all his different wares on.
Oliver greeted the man as he passed, peering curiously at the different things that had been put out since he had visited last ti.
“Ser Patrick!” Harmon said, bowing deeply, with his hamr still in hand.
“Err—about your armour, Ser, it’s coming.
It’ll be ready in ti for the tournant, that I can promise you… I’ve just been getting distracted, I admit…” His eyes flashed towards the new wares that he’d just been setting out, including an intriguing pair of gauntlets, whose tal had been stained green, and whose wrist guards sported three dagger-like talons.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t wish to be the one to make you stop making things as interesting as these,” he said, pointing at the strange gauntlets.
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