Her business at the forge concluded, at least for the moment, Aleria allowed herself to wander amidst the stalls and vendors lining the cramped square. Haggling cries and boisterous laughter mingled with the cloying scents of spice and roasting meat, forming a din that should have grated on her senses. Instead, she found the lively ambiance oddly... reassuring, somehow.
Aleria moved from stall to stall at an unhurried pace, perusing the wares on offer with a critical but appreciative eye. Simple foodstuffs, sturdy garments and tools, mundane necessities for day-to-day living - a stark contrast to the more specialised supplies and armaments she had once required.
With a thoughtful frown, Aleria reached into the pouch at her belt to finger the few remaining coins within. Enough, perhaps, to replenish some essentials to stock her new lodgings. A bit of salted meat, some hardy grains and smoked fish, if the prices proved reasonable...
As she meandered down a somewhat less crowded side street, her gaze was drawn to a half-constructed building looming at the end of the narrow lane. The skeletal wooden framework rose several stories high, surrounded by an array of sawhorses and stacks of neatly cut timbers. A small cluster of figures milled about amidst the organised chaos, shouting gruff instructions back and forth as they hefted beams and tools.
One burly silhouette, in particular, caught Aleria's eye - the unmistakable stout, broad-shouldered figure of a dwarf bellowing orders from the middle of the street. Even from this distance, she recognized the craggy face of Oriv StoneDelver.
As she approached, Oriv's gruff bellow carried clearly over the sounds of hammers and saws, his meaty finger jabbing emphatically towards one of the upper levels.
"You there, lad!" The dwarven patriarch's gravelly roar seemed to make the very air tremble. "Those corner joints need double-bracing, ya' daft mudskull! This whole blasted scaffold'll come tumblin' down if ya' don't—"
Aleria waited patiently as Oriv dressed down the young dwarf, her gaze flickering over the chaotic construction site. Despite the dwarven patriarch's bluster, there was an unmistakable twinkle of good-natured mirth in his eye as he berated the lad.
Finally, Oriv seemed to become aware of her presence, his tirade trailing off into a rumbling grunt. Bushy brows drew together in a momentary squint as he peered in her direction. Then, recognition dawning, the dwarven foreman broke into a broad, gap-toothed grin.
"Well, I'll be!" Oriv boomed, raising a meaty hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon glare as he regarded her. "If it ain't m'lady healer, come to grace us with 'er presence!"
Aleria felt the corners of her mouth quirk upwards at the dwarf's boisterous greeting. She inclined her head respectfully even as Oriv waved her over with an impatient gesture.
"Finally managed to escape that clinic I see," he called out in that gruff bellow as she approached. "To what do we owe the honour?"
"Just taking in the sights, Master Oriv," Aleria replied easily, coming to a halt before the dwarven foreman. "Your construction seems to be coming along well."
Oriv snorted loudly at that, shooting a withering look at the sheepish young'un he'd been dressing down moments before.
"Aye, well enough I s'pose," he grumbled, giving the lad a prod with one stubby finger. "So long as this lot of beardless pups don't go topplin' the whole blasted pile atop their thick skulls!"
A chorus of good-natured jeers and guffaws rose up from the surrounding dwarves at their foreman's words. Aleria found herself chuckling softly at the lively banter, shaking her head in mild bemusement.
"Speaking of thick skulls," she said after the laughter had died down somewhat. "How fares Ceidin after his fall the other day? I trust he is on the mend?"
Oriv's bushy brows hiked upwards at that, his ruddy features splitting into a broad grin that caused the bristles of his beard to stick out every which way.
"On the mend?" he echoed with a rumbling chuckle. "That lazy lump's been milkin' it for all it's worth, if you take my meanin'! Laid up in his bed with that cracked leg propped up, lettin' his mother fuss over him like a wee babe!"
The dwarven foreman shook his head in an exaggerated show of dismay, though the gleam of paternal pride in his eye was unmistakable.
"Ah, but you know how dwarven lasses can be," Oriv continued with a wink and a sly grin. "She's like to worry that magnificent beard of hers clean off, smotherin' the poor sod with her coddlin'!"
Another rumble of laughter rolled through the assembled dwarves at their patriarch's words. Aleria found herself unable to resist smiling broadly at Oriv's familiar gruff bluster, giving a small shake of her head.
"Well, I'm glad to hear he's recovering, at least," she remarked dryly. "Even if he does seem to be taking full advantage of his mother's attentions."
Oriv snorted again at that, waving a dismissive hand.
"Ah, pay the layabout no mind, mistress," he rumbled with a crooked grin. "A few more days restin' that leg, and I'll have him back in harness soon enough..."
Aleria felt a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth as Oriv launched into another round of good-natured grumblings about his son's perceived laziness. She waited for the dwarven patriarch to wind down, choosing her moment to interject carefully.
"Speaking of the clinic, Master Oriv," she said once the laughter had died down somewhat. "If you have a free moment sometime soon, I was rather hoping you might be able to stop by."
Oriv's bushy brows hiked upwards at that, his ruddy features creasing into a look of mild surprise.
"The clinic, you say?" he echoed, stroking at his wiry beard thoughtfully. "Aye, I reckon I could spare a bit o' time to pay a visit. What did you have in mind?"
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