(321) Their music makes me want to dance. <_< This is why I sit here at 3 AM waving my arms like a loon...
Vasiliy is by Raze!
Vasi had sorely wished he had more skills to offer his pack on more than one occasion. He was not a creator or artist by any means; instead, his hands were made for laboring projects. Perhaps his personality suited him for this task, as well -- the thought hadn't yet occurred to Vasi, who had picked the mercantile tier for lack of any other discernible skills. If he could make nothing of use to his pack, at least he might be able to trade the wares made by fellow d'Arte members. It was therefore a happy accident -- and little else -- that had given him over to a job well-suited to his skills.
Aye, back in camp. There are eggs, and chickens both, he said, sorrowful that he hadn't brought either of these things along. The eggs would break too easily, however, and the chickens were ill-suited to travel. He might have affixed them to Jakki's back as the stranger with pretty eyes and oils to trade had done, but this had all seemed a big amount of effort without guaranteed payoff to Vasi. Now, he lamented his laziness and could only apologize. I am sorry, I did not bring chickens or eggs. Eggs break, chickens squawk and peck horse.
But sheep -- ah, they make things, yes. Not eggs, they have living baby called lamb. He knew little about the reproductive capabilities of the sheep, but he knew their products. Their coat -- you cut off, it grows back. Does not hurt sheep. This coat called "wool" when cut off, and this wool can be used for many thing. Fabric -- felt -- and... ah, I do not know word. Like thick string, he said, trying to figure out what to call "yarn" without the word for it. It is no thing to go to camp and come back here, he added, smiling. If need chicken, I go get chicken.
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