Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there. The heart and shape of the story are my own (as adapted from live-play with others naturally), but I realise it is important to be transparent about my use of AI support in producing it ultimately.
|The following presents a summary of an RP event attended by Vratni – Frimsi’s Dwarven Caravan Market. It is therefore written from his perspective, though is in somewhat a the third person style at times. Part of Vratni's Live RP series here.|
Setting: Post-War: Rivendell
Featuring: Vratni, Frimsi, Geoadoc, Wittkun, Alairif, Guriwen, Caramip, Maytion, Arradril, Nauriend, Diamondcake, Hrothumund, Khotarn, Heledrion (and some others, apologies)…
At the Dwarven Caravan Market
Rivendell Marketplace, Valley of Imladris
Invited to Rivendell by Master Frimsi Gembeard as part of his prestigious Dwarven Caravan Market, and determined to make a respectable show of himself, Vratni arrived in fine form—pack (mostly) full of “culturally significant curios” and tongue ready for trade.
The road was long, his legs were sore (despite not once walking himself), and the elven paths through the Trollshaws were nothing short of confusing—but opportunity whispered to vratni like gold through a cracked lockbox.
Upon arrival, the Caravan was greeted warmly by faces familiar to Frimsi and less warmly by the suspicious eyes of a few elven sentinels, apparently rattled by a Dourhand infiltrator's recent exploits. Details of which passed over Vratni’s attention as he turned to the business at hand.
Always keen to make a first impression, Vratni straightened his tunic, pinned on his dubious “Trusted Seller” badge (still unofficial, mind you), and immediately discovered—alas!—his stock had vanished in transit—blast those winding paths of the Elves!
Not one to panic, Vratni "acquired" some materials from fellow merchants’ unattended stock and, behind the wagons, swiftly cobbled together a fresh set of "newly curated" wares under the hastily scrawled banner: "Copperhand's Collection – Curated in the Valley (Recently)".
The stall was soon bustling, as Vratni sought to sell such fanciful items as the ‘Whisper-Catcher of the West’, the ‘Valley-Stone Candle Keeper’, and a ‘Moonstone Pendant’ that may or may not trap starlight.
Notably, he negotiated with Caramip, a gleeful redhed hobbit lass. She tried charming him down to ten silver for a trinket that may or may not have been an authentic amethyst piece, as she liked the colour purple; he offered to throw in a ‘genuine dwarven steel’ lockbox for it and her other stones (as a Jeweller would have), but they agreed on twn silver all the same… Well, since he came across both for ‘free’, any profit was a profit! After all… she had raised a most curious case of a crate of hers having gone ‘missing’… the contents spilled out by her cart (manure)… and Vratni certainly didn’t want there to be any confusion with the crate he was using to pitch his stall, coincidentally marked to one side, out of view, ‘property of…’ *sctached off*.
Moments before the exchange with the hobbit lass, Vratni had sought to dazzle an armoured Man, Alairif, Gondorian perhaps… with a hand-carved pony figurine and a brooch “Elvish in style” (though sourced suspiciously close to Bree), and a rare shiny stone said to be from beneath the Misty Mountains; however, the Man was engaged in a conversation with an Elf, and Vratni, at times… knows best when to step back. Especially when the questions are of the Man’s origin…
With the marketplace being so busy, and other customers bustling around his stall, Vratni seemed to let this fish go for now… perhaps for the best, Alairif looked like he might be a harder mark than the rest to sell his goods to…
Arradril, an Elven Huntress approached Vratni’s stall with the calm poise of someone who knew the difference between treasure and tat—yet chose not to say it aloud. Rather than critique, she subtly steered the elf Maytion toward one of Vratni’s better pieces, the lapis bracelet, with nothing more than a look.
Thanks to her nudge, Vratni made one of his best sales of the day. A rare elf indeed—sharp-eyed, sharp-minded, and just charitable enough to make a dwarf rich.
Maytion bore robes full of time and silence, much like himself. He seemed touched by the bracelet, by its colour perhaps… said it reminded him of “sweet water and starlight.” Eight silvers, no haggling. A rare moment of trade with an elf where no one got insulted—and I made a profit. Remarkable.
Arradril did seem interested though… in something green… eyeing a buckle of dark wood inlaid with green malachite—one of Vratni’s finer-looking wares (and, for once, not held together with glue). She said it was for her Elf-lord.
Vratni, seizing the moment, spun a tale about the buckle being blessed by a wandering warden and balanced to never tip a quiver wrong. Whether she believed it or just liked the craftsmanship, she paid without flinching. Seven-silver pieces!
Vratni wrapped it reverently and bowed like he was presenting a crown. “For the Elf-lord,” he said, like he’d just forged it under moonlight himself. He even threw in a leather carrying pouch—crafted by mountain folk who know leather like the back o' their hands. Dyed with secret forest herbs, he said, to get a lovely deep green hue. It was Arradril’s again for just another four silver!
Sales patter flowed. So did suspicions. Throughout the event, Vratni half-heard the discussion surrounding the rumoured Dourhand ‘theif’s’ incursion into Rivendell. Vratni made a few clumsy—if not cheeky—comments dismissing the fuss:
"Dourhands in Rivendell, eh? Likely story. More likely them pointy-ears are seein' shadows where there are none. Uh, eh—present company excluded, o' course!"
Despite trying to defuse tensions with humour, Vratni got a few stern looks and was gently reminded by Frimsi’s fast talking (to help him outta the hole he was quickly diggin) to tread carefully in this place. Even so, he kept an ear half-cocked toward the conversation, his main focus ever on the flow of silver.
Nauriend, an elven sentinel, or so Vratni thought he had heard… but also journeyman jewelsmith, seemed interested in a fibula cloakpin that had been catching her eye. The fibula was apparently genuine enough not to be worth falsifying—Vratni’s favourite kind of item to sell. However, feeling the increased glare on the ‘authenticity’ of his goods, and also knowing when to bank the cash in hand… Vratni called it quits. Promising Nauriend a discount on his return again (“only if there is an ‘R’ in the month”).
All told, it was a profitable day—if not in coin, then certainly in reputation. And to Vratni, that’s often just as bankable. Vratni’s stall of oddments, questionable keepsakes, and "unique treasures" won the attention of elves, men, and dwarves alike—though perhaps a bit too much ‘attention’ from some sources too.
Though his stock was rapidly depleted (his customers increasingly suspicious), he left Rivendell promising to return—with more wares, more stories, and perhaps even a bit more discretion... though not too much. This is Vratni we’re talking about.
At the close of the market, with coin clinking in his pouch and a satisfied gleam in his eye, Vratni made sure to be seen counting his earnings near Frimsi. Ever the showman, he made a point of offering the Guildmaster a cut—citing tradition, respect, and “toleratin’ misplaced crates” as justifications.
He handed over some silver with the air of a dwarf doing something noble and painful in equal measure. After all, keeping Frimsi happy meant more markets, more stalls, and more chances to sell stories as much as goods.
