The Norso Market Trading Festival has officially begun in Norso Planum. Civilians all over Norso Planum have packed their things in eager anticipation of the weeks to follow. A huge event that happens only once annually. Children can barely sleep due to the excitement. Trolls and creatures alike will travel hundreds of miles to experience this event.
Below is a tale of young Leesa's experience at the Norso Market Trading Festival for the first time.
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Leesa, a young Hellir troll, huddles behind barrels of peculiar, coloured fruits and plants, clinging to Fathma’s wears as the clunky old cart bounces and bobs along the rocky road towards Norso market. Leesa’s coarse brown hair disguises her well beneath piles of Tupleboar furs her grandmother had skinned and prepared for the Trader’s Market Festival. She looks out to see the cave ceiling above; pure water drips delicately from monstrous stalactites, one half adorned with purple crystals, reflecting and glistening off one another. Leesa tilts back her head to catch some of this refreshing moisture on her tongue.
Fathma, an ageing Hellir troll, slows her kart, grunting as she pulls into the busy market entrance, wafting her papers impatiently at the patroller. Wiping a yellowed rag across her pocked and boiled bulbous nose, she curls fat lips as she waits disapprovingly, her body hunched under heavy fur coats, for its cold in the north when travelling through Frigus fjords, and now weary from her travels, she roasts in the south.
A whiff of something familiar causes Fathma to turn sharply, scanning her inventory. Leesa holds her breath and tries not to breathe until her grandmother returns her attention to her papers before she lashes at the Tumpleboar that pulls her ancient cart. The creature parping and puffing air as it moves its rotund body forward. Its shaggy lilac coat is caked with mud and grime, and its nose pokes out of its fur, snuffling the ground, occasionally licking the ground with its flaccid black tongue.
The cart moves past Torstein’s colourful totem centre stage of the market, carved from chromatic ore, a skin of iridescent magical colour emanating from it, a light source in an underground world. Its beauty catches Leesa’s attention. In all her seven years, her eyes had never seen such a thing. The cart draws to a stop.
Leesa hides, but soon she’s dragged from beneath the furs by her ankles and dangled upside down in Infront of her grandmother’s disapproving face.
‘Do you have rocks in your ears? I told you to stay home with your brother!’ Dropping Leesa to the ground, dressed just as Fathma, Leesa scrambles to help drag furs from the Cart. ‘I will be of use, I promise. I’ll make sure I work the stall and not stray.’ Fathma witters beneath her breath, her heavy stomp shaking the ground as she heaves a barrel and sets it aside in her assigned large stall. ‘You stay on the cart. It ain’t safe for a snubbling like you, my lovely.’ Lifting Leesa onto a remaining fair and watching her settle. Leesa soon drifts, captivated by this new place, all the odd-looking trolls selling their goods and all the unusual creatures and work animals that accompanied them. Spit dragon lizards, four-eyed red Kankle frogs and glass eels were on the stall across. Leesa had only heard of such creatures.
The market was filled with chatter and laughter. Her grandmother was occupied, bartering and shouting with a blue angular Samir troll. Leesa jumped from the cart and scurried to the next stall, popping her nose up over the rim of stone. Her bulbous nose sniffed at the jar of glass eels. ‘What do we have here?’ Alchme, a Lacringi trader, swiftly wraps his green tail around her ankle and swipes her off her feet. Once more, Leesa’s hair brushes the ground, but this time she’s screaming at the top of her lungs.
In horror, Fathma drops the grey Rumplebarb fruit she’s been trying to shift to come to Leesa’s aid.
‘That be mine you have there!’ She shouts.
‘I think not. You can pay me with a barrel of the Gamwhot berries if you’d like her back.’ Alchme chimes.
‘You can’t be serious. That’s a season of picking.’ Fathma winces.
“There ya go, little snubbling, you're mine now.’ He says, wrapping his tail tighter around Leesa’s body.
‘Give it a rest, Alchme!’ Gunnar, the blue Samir troll who’d been purchasing from the Hellir trolls, with no hast, clasps a strong hand hard around Alchme’s throat. Instantly his green tail unravels, and Leesa runs to her grandmother’s side. ‘Better.’ Gunnar booms, releasing his grasp and turning back to Fathma’s stall.
‘I’ll take some Gamwhot berries too.’ Gunnar continues, before releasing a flurry of shining coins into Fathma’s hand and walking off with a heavy stomp.
‘I told you not to stray from the cart!’ Fathma expressed as she scolded Leesa.
‘I know grandma, I’m sorry,’ Leesa sheepishly replied.
‘It’s ok dear, just stay close now. Eat up snubbling,’ Fathma said warmly as she handed Leesa one of the finest Gamwhot berries of the harvest.
