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What time you don’t utilise drilling in the Plaza or taking your ease in the local khave shop is otherwise spent exploring the markets of Capara with your translator and remaining companions. Mostly you wander the busy streets, inspecting stalls and window-shopping at certain stores, but a few things do catch your eye. You remind yourself that you are here merely enroute to your true destination as a pilgrim, not a tourist, but you cannot help but pick up a few items to send home. A mark of your adventure, if you will. You wonder if your grandfather was much the same during his pilgrimage, although as you recall his sailed directly to Cathagi without stopping at Langland
Fabio the Elder proves instrumental here, warding off hucksters and publicly belittling copper clippers that are too bold in their haggling. He also steers you clear of the rougher parts of town where you might encounter particularly daring pickpockets or worse. He also politely circumvents or defuses any potential repeat of your run-in with the town guards, not that they’re looking to hard at one more foreigner in the busy Langlish markets.
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Fabio finds you a street artist that specialises in depictions of the choice buildings around Capara. The pictures are not framed, but for a small fee the depictions themselves are covered in lacquer to preserve them. You doubt Father would hang them up in the main hall, Saints you hope not, but he’ll probably enjoy the half-dozen artistic pieces of architecture in one place or another in his study. Fabio and the street artist seem to know one another, but rather than taking advantage of you the man in fact hands what he considers to be his finest piece. For this you do have a frame fitted at another shop, Father will enjoy the signature image of the entirety of Capara as seen from the hill overlooking it and the docks.
Mother is more difficult, as usual, but you eventually settle on a collection of pressed flowers being sold at a stall run by two farmgirls from out of town. Fabio gets you a discount on a few because apparently they are poisonous, from the mild rashes of the Fanciulla Orchid to the outright lethal Nera Lily. You decide to refrain from mentioning that this probably makes them all the more appealing to the Lady Andrei, he might get the wrong idea.
For your older brother Damien, you get a flask of the finest Langlish wine available to compare to your family’s own Romani vintages. As future lord he should know how foreign markets might hold up against his own stock.
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