Language Exchange

Log Info

• Title: Language Exchange
• Emitter: Simony
• Characters: Simony, Warrick
• Place: Lower Markets
• Time: March 24th, 2023
• Summary: Warrick and Simony run into each other at the markets, the Navosian cleric asking the man about the language he was using as well as discussing their recent venture. He extrapolates some about Merctalk, Simony eventually asking for him to teach her it in exchance for coin. He accepts.

A clear, sunny day, free of mist, snow and rain, makes for a crowded market. Throngs of people wander between the many vendors and carts, looking to purchase goods and services at bargain prices.

Dodging between people usually much larger than she is, Simony carefully navigates through the market proper. While her path is as meandering as any other seems to be, her goal is a vendor that sells paper, or notebooks, something she can use to draw and write in. Several times she finds prospective merchants only to find the books are already full of print, or that the paper is unsuitable for pencil for reasons known only to the Goblin.

With nothing satisfactory found in the thick of things, she moves to the periphery, seeking out more space and an easier pace to browse for suitable paper.

Warrick is one of the crowd, him flowing with it easily. Unlike before, he's not in his armor, none of the weapons are about him. Save for a familiar longsword strapped over the back of a grey overcoat. He's busy at an alchemist's stall, sighing as he hands over a hefty pouch of gold as he receives a parcels of items.

He breaks out of the crowd, stuffing the parcel into a large pocket on his jacket as he makes a detour to the edge of the market. He himself scanning for similar interests: paper. Better yet, blank journals. There's a pause as he spices the albino goblin about, finger tapping the side of his pant leg idly in thought before- "Simony Smithsdottir," he greets in a dry, neutral tone. "I see you are well."

The Goblin blinks in surprise, looking up at Warrick for a few moments in confusion. She lowers her hood and smiles up at the man. "Warrick! You are looking well, also! Come to spend your hard earned coin on food or magical things?"

A hand runs through her uneven hair, and she struggles and fails to hold back a little yawn. "Pardon me. A late night of study." Her head cants to one side, "May I know how many languages you speak? If uhm that's not too personal to ask?"

"Yes, after cleaning my ears out of blood that is," Warrick says, rolling a shoulder. The question gives him a pause. "... I wish. These ventures are expensive for those that do not have magical capabilities, so I was restocking." He pulls out a stone, similar to the one that was thrown at them last night, shows it and puts it away. "Regardless, we turned in many ruffians, which is more than I can ask for."

Another question after the first stymies him. "... why?" he queries. "I understand Navosian scholars are curious, but you know how important information is."

The Gobbo peers at the thunderstone and grins, but then winces as the reminder of its power hits home. "I am sorry I did not have a remedy for that, but I have since rectified that, for future missions." Simon's expression takes on a shy and guarded look when pressed on her curiosity. "I am interested in language, and was curious. There was one that you spoke that I don't know, and I was wondering perhaps if you would share what it is called. I would seek out an instructor."

Her hand gestures to the market at large. "I am also looking to restock, but I cannot find decent paper or notebooks."

Warrick shakes his head. "It's fine. I'm trained for it. Besides, not hearing isn't the worst thing," ends with a shrug. "I can deal with it."

He appraises Simony for a moment, the guard energy strong on this man before turning slightly to point towards a stall at junction of a street. "There. They sell stationery and related things, I tend to go there if I'm in this part of town." The hand falls down back to his side. "And to answer your question, it was probably the Mercenary Speak. Merctalk for short. Did a stint with the Alexandrian Military, much easier to get a point across in a fight in Merctalk."

Her eyes follow his finger and look to where he points. Nodding, her grin returns. "Thanks very much. I will go there after..." Simony stuffs her hands into the pockets of her robes. "Merctalk. So, something like tradespeak in that it borrows words and such from different languages, but is meant for quick and effective communication while fighting? So you could yell at a merc from a different culture, and expect to be understood assuming they also knew merctalk?"

She looks away a moment. "Sooo I would have to go to a merc in order to learn it?"

Warrick wobbles a hand. "Sort of. Like Trade, but it borrows even more and shortens a lot of words from various languages. Sounds like speaking in code to someone that doesn't know. Also has some hand signs that are completely different from Handspeech. Might work across culture, I don't know. I've only lived in Alexandria, but others outside the country understand me."

He raises a brow. at her. "... probably. But it's very..." he rolls a hand. "... specific and job oriented. For example: 'Draa'ka whiskey jrak.' First bit is shortened word for 'enemy' from Khazdul. Whiskey means 'with', because it sounds distinct. Jrak is from... I think Yrch-Speak? But easier on the throat. Means bow."

The pencil has appeared in Simony's hand, and it moves across a much smaller notebook than the one she normally totes around. Her head bobs up and down as he goes over the some of the language's interesting bits.

"Would knowing the languages that have lent words to merctalk help any? I am decently versed in Khazdul and Yrch-Speak." She rubs a hand on her cheek. "I am willing to offer up coin, if you would be willing to teach me. Or give you a small fee for pointing me at someone who could do such."

Warrick puts his hands into the pockets of his over coat. "Honestly, no. The language structures of other languages is broken heavily in Merctalk. It's about efficiency and precision in Merctalk. You can sure tell where someone is in Khazdul, but that's too many words and too specific. You have a guy above, twenty feet away, behind cover, has a dragonspiter? 'Var-o, draa'ka us, cuv, whiskey spit.' Terrible Khazdul and trade, but very specific."

He shifts a bit. "... I... will accept payment to teach. Considering you didn't suggest setting a forest on fire."

The albino nods, "Ah. I understand. So it's a very .. jumbled structure using the words that fit the best." She cannot help but smile at 'whiskey spit'. "That is my new favourite term for dragonspitter."

Her expression brightens considerably at his offer, and almost immediately she frowns. "I mean, sure, fire is a useful tool sometimes for things like that. But it shouldn't be the first choice. You can't use that in a forest, nor a city, or any place with wood and other flammable materials. One good gust of wind and you have half the countryside on fire."

She crosses her arms. "Also, we were there trying to recover books and such. Not great to go back, sorry, we set the hedge on fire and your books kind of got burnt, that's fine right?"

"It's got some amusing terminology at times yes," Warrick nods, faintly smiling at that. A smile that only solidifies as the gobbo explains themselves. "... right. At least you have your head screwed on straight. Some adventurers just..."

A sigh leaves him, and he shakes his head. "Anywho. Every tool is useful, but some think every problem is a nail. It's why-" he jabs a thumb over his shoulder towards the stall he was at, "-it's important to have a lot of different tools."

He glances to the stationary stall. "Anywho. You need sleep, by the sound of it."

"I think I will take your advice and peruse some of those other tools. I was considering, also, a bow or crossbow or something. Not that I wish to make a habit of staying back and shooting from behind others.. but some flexibility is good."

Simony offers up her hand to him, for shaking. "We can work out what you want in exchange for teaching later, yes? And I happen to think your head is likewise screwed on properly."

"Or a few things to throw, if you've got the arm for it," Warrick suggests before looking down at the offered hand. He clasps it with his calloused one, giving it a firm shake. "Sounds good. And thank you."

He releases and steps away. "Have a nice day," he rattles off in a different, faster paced tongue. <Goblin-Talk>

-End Scene-