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Life in Gatley // Medieval Fantasy // @exiconic && @LustfulSins

Morgan Atillius, the 27-year-old city guardsman.

* * *​

Gatley was a small city built on the cusp of a wide, slow-moving river. Surrounded by farmland on one side, and woodland on the other, the city was a quaint place that saw frequent travellers and traders from the riverboats that regularly mored at its docks.

Morgan Atillius had spent much of his life in and around Gatley. The youngest son of a farmer, Morgan had decided to leave his life of toiling and labour and instead enlisted in the city watch. To an outsider, he lived a laughably simple life, but Morgan was happy. The young man had no desire to leave the area and was content spending his days keeping a watchful eye on the streets of his fair city.

Well before dawn, Morgan rose from his bunk in the city barracks and set about preparing for his day. By sunrise, the man was standing in the market square, dressed in simple leather and plate armour bearing the insignia of the Gatley constabulary. There was a quiet business about him as merchants prepared their wares for another day of haggling and bartering.

In a short time, the square would be cluttered with stalls and booths, while the permanent shops would lift their shutters and open their doors to the usual crowd of shoppers.

Munching on a fresh apple, the blond-haired, scruffy-looking guardsman began to rounds.
 
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Name: Markys (mark-iss)
Age: 29 years
Occupation: Traveling mage elf

Markys woke to sunshine on his face, and a sigh leaving his chest. It's so strange, this new life he has chosen. Ten years ago, he left elven territory because he didn't want his skills as a talented mage to be put to use in the elven military. He wanted to help people. So he left in the dead of night and became a traveling mage. Last week, he had arrived in Gatley and fallen in love with a market shop with an upstairs loft home and a view of the river docks. He had purchased it with the last remains of his coin, and yesterday his ordered stock of items had arrived from the capital. It had put him in debt, but hopefully it would be paid off soon. Gatley doesn't have a resident mage, at least not until Markys' arrival.

It takes little more than an hour for the elf to rise from bed, dress in the one pale blue silk robe he has to his name, and head downstairs to his new shop. It would likely take customers a while to appear; he's an elf in human territory, after all. They're likely to be wary of him, even if relations between their species are comfortable.

Markys steps outside to place a standing sign beside his shop door, pushing snow white hair out of clear grey eyes. 'Welcome to Nature's Element', the sign reads, in pleasantly slanted, red ink. Markys sighs, but smiles openly to passersby. He's not going to push his business on the townspeople, those interested would come looking. He stands by the open door nonetheless, watching early morning market goers walk up and down the street as he idly brushes the naked soles of his bare feet on the cobblestones of the street.
 
Morgan began his usual rounds. While Gatley was a peaceful city, it still had its fair share of cut-purses and crooks. That the guard was present was usually enough to keep the worst offenders away, but Morgan kept a watchful eye out for some of the usual, petty offenders he’d come to know and recognize in his years as a watchman.

He’d be lying if he said his attention wasn’t elsewhere, however. Morgan had heard rumours that the old shop by the White Stag Inn had finally sold -- and too and elf, no less. He wasn’t sure if he believed that last bit, but he was curious nevertheless. Morgan liked to be on friendly terms with the local merchants. It made his job a lot easier, and besides, Morgan had always been a friendly enough fellow.

When he crossed the market towards the new shop, Morgan was immediately struck by the sight of white hair and blue robes. He’d thought, at first, that the man was very old, but as he grew closer, he realized how wrong he’d been. The man was young, striking, and most definitely not human.

“Ah, howdy,” the guard said, his eyes moving from the elven shopkeeper, to the sign at the door, then back to the shopkeep, “I heard there was a merchant in town.”
 
As alert as any woodland creature, Markys turns his head toward the approaching soldier. He must be a town guardsman, given that he's not in the full infantry steel plate the elf has seen in other towns. His greeting is very countryside, and amuses Markys, though nothing shows on his face. It's common for elves to show very little emotion. In elven society, emotion is a private thing, only to be shared with those closest to oneself.

"Greetings.." Markys finds himself uncertain as to how he should address the man. If he were an elf, Markys would address him simply as warrior until knowing his name. That doesn't feel right, here among humans, so he just carries on. "I was a merchant, yes. But merchants travel. I do so no longer, so now, I am a shopkeeper. And a mage. Nature's Element has many different charms, trinkets, incense, and other items for what troubles you. I also mix potions and performs custom enchantments. My name is Markys Elethir."
 
Now that he was closer, Morgan took the opportunity to really examine the other man. He was surprisingly subtle about it. While he appeared to only have given the man and his shop a respectable once over, the keen-eyed guard was carefully picking apart every little detail he could about the strange new elf.

"Morgan Atillius," the man replied, "I'm usually on rotation here in the market every morning."

With the introductions out of the way, Morgan said, "Do Merchants only travel? We use the word 'round here to just mean anyone who trades in goods, you know? But wait, ay -- you're a mage?" that last bit had definitely caught the guard's attention, and he was already blatantly peering over the man's shoulder, into his shop, clearly curious. He had met very few proper spell-casters in his life. When he was younger, there had been a few around, but Gatley hadn't housed a real wizard in years. That had certainly piqued the young watchman's interest.
 
With the blue robe, there's very little to really see about the elf. The robes are hung loosely on his shoulders, long, wide sleeves that drape open instead of closing around the wrists. A sash pulls the robes in at his narrow waist, but that's the only defining detail to show his slender frame. The robes halt two inches above the ground, so his bare feet are visible.

Morgan's question puzzles Markys. He had just said he's a mage, had the guardsman not heard him? The elf tilts his head, watching Morgan peer past him into his shop. Shelves of incense, candles, crystals. Displays of herbs and bottles of differing swirling colors. Tapestries with runs on the walls. A half closed door leading to Markys' back workroom and the stairs to the living quarters above the shop. "Yes, I did say I'm a mage. Do I appear too young? I understand the majority of human mages are elder men and women."
 
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