❖ Azalea

Chapter 4: Safe Travels pt. 1

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Clink. Clink. Clink.

Slowly stretching my stiff arm through the silky, maroon drapes of the 4 poster bed, I slammed my fist on the small, but noisy device. Yet it kept persisting on making that high pitched and very irritating sound.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

I sighed, exasperated, resting my arms on my warm forehead for a few minutes. Eventually, I had no choice but to sit up, rubbing at my puffy eyes, as a yawn escapes my dry lips. I attempt to run my hand through my hair, only to be met with tangles and knots. I glance at the chiming, rolling ball besides me, having to squint and rub the sleek from my eyes before doing so- 5:37, the numbers sprawled on it's surface. Great, around 4 and a half hours of sleep? I shouldn't've stayed up so late.

Yet the impromptu study session did prove to be useful, all at such a convenience too. My mind pondered, the old files we have here in the guild are kept right here in this room. Each one detailing almost every single historic significance ever - minor or major.
The matter of interest being intel regarding the several different trade routes of present, which a lot of is practically common knowledge to anyone actively involved. However, backtracking the old prints about the markets and the art of trade itself helps clear the messy cloud surrounding the situation.

Now that I've skimmed through almost every file, hell, some even dated back to our ancestors: I think I know what I now need to do. I just wish it didn't take me this long to figure it out, this whole trade service is too fragile to just cast aside. At least now I have some sort of idea as to where I should begin to improve it, or rather, salvage it.

With that new found productiveness in mind, I jumped out of bed, pulling the soft covers back over as I did. I made my way to the dark wooden dresser pressed against the intricately carved walls, taking out a towel and a change of clothes.

Clink Clink -

That's enough out of you. I really need to get Ehan to fix this thing- although I'm starting to suspect that the whole point of this 'alarm' is to ring non-stop for an hour. I mean, it's effective but hell, if it wasn't annoying.

I shoved the small metal ball in one of the drawers it resided on, still circling around as I closed it, the clinking now vibrating through the wood. Making my way to the cubby hole in the wall, I took my long coat out as I quickly scanned the room -
Mine was shaped like any of the others, but had 2 tiers, a staircase curling down the wall leading to the first. I never liked how my bedchamber was so big. It always felt empty. I'm hardly in here anyhow, so it feels like a waste having it all to myself. I'd much rather sleep in the other smaller rooms rather than this one.

Gliding down the stairs, I slipped the coat on and looked over at the makeshift desk. A small table covered with papers and books, I guess I forgot to clean up from yesterday. But my ink bottle was closed, at least I remembered that.
I crossed over and grabbed my satchel bag, mumbling to myself how it would've been a pain if it had dried up as I slung the olive green leather strap over my head.

The room itself was laid out like a personal office, the walls covered to the brim with bookshelves, as though the pages were about to burst and spill out. A couple of over-sized cotton cushions framed the circular rug in the middle of the room - a bright aquamarine colour.

Of course there was the back wall, hardly anyone could miss that. Tens of dozens of pictures, some polaroid, others printed in different sizes and shapes, some coloured and some even in black and white. All intertwined with bejewelled pieces of string, vertically dangling downwards, like a curtain. They covered the wall completely, each one showing a different memory or story, but all captured through the same eyes.