Post by Weston on Feb 28, 2020 7:10:35 GMT
What is merchandise?
Is it an object of envy? A tool of convenience? A toy to boast of?
Yes, yes, and yes! They must be all of these things, for what good is a thing if the thing does not draw in more attention to its seller? The consumer of the product must bloom desire, and in a grand town such as this, there is no shortage of individuals seeking to feast their eyes on tantalizing commodities.
Why, it is as if Rupees grow in the grass in a town such as this! There are riches to be made and stock to be sold!
In the midst of the bustling alleys of the western district, a rather large and boisterous wagon stood with one of its walls clamped down into the cobblestone floor. Upon the fallen wall was a single counter, with common wares displayed, but higher up the wagon were shelves lined with knickknacks, baubles, and rarer components.
There was a tall, stoic, teal-clad warrior nearby with a helmet tightly fastened, burly, sinewy arms exposed, and a hand tightly clamped around a metal rod with a blunted hook at its end.
In contrast, a little man with white hair and brightly arrayed clothing danced about on the open wagon and swung about a fan made of bright crimson feathers. Upon his pale face was a pair of circular glasses and a disarming, fox-like smile, accompanied by a pleasantly eloquent tone of voice. He spoke with charisma, like a friend who would give all, if only for a small favor, and his graceful movements beckoned passersby as if bees to the flower bed.
“Here ye, my illustrious citizens of Castle Town! Oh, here ye! Come and see the things of which Weston Mercantile has to offer!” he announced with a flamboyant sweep of his hand, “There is naught a thing of my stock that is of no use! Baubles for rods, bottles for jellies! Quality whetstones for sharpening! Do not turn away without gazing upon my wares!”
Is it an object of envy? A tool of convenience? A toy to boast of?
Yes, yes, and yes! They must be all of these things, for what good is a thing if the thing does not draw in more attention to its seller? The consumer of the product must bloom desire, and in a grand town such as this, there is no shortage of individuals seeking to feast their eyes on tantalizing commodities.
Why, it is as if Rupees grow in the grass in a town such as this! There are riches to be made and stock to be sold!
In the midst of the bustling alleys of the western district, a rather large and boisterous wagon stood with one of its walls clamped down into the cobblestone floor. Upon the fallen wall was a single counter, with common wares displayed, but higher up the wagon were shelves lined with knickknacks, baubles, and rarer components.
There was a tall, stoic, teal-clad warrior nearby with a helmet tightly fastened, burly, sinewy arms exposed, and a hand tightly clamped around a metal rod with a blunted hook at its end.
In contrast, a little man with white hair and brightly arrayed clothing danced about on the open wagon and swung about a fan made of bright crimson feathers. Upon his pale face was a pair of circular glasses and a disarming, fox-like smile, accompanied by a pleasantly eloquent tone of voice. He spoke with charisma, like a friend who would give all, if only for a small favor, and his graceful movements beckoned passersby as if bees to the flower bed.
“Here ye, my illustrious citizens of Castle Town! Oh, here ye! Come and see the things of which Weston Mercantile has to offer!” he announced with a flamboyant sweep of his hand, “There is naught a thing of my stock that is of no use! Baubles for rods, bottles for jellies! Quality whetstones for sharpening! Do not turn away without gazing upon my wares!”
