The Politics of Fish

'My wares are available to you.'
This earned the kindly Tuskarr a reaction normally reserved only for lesser demons and frost mages. The bearded gnome moving about the underground structure which served as a resting place for travellers was seemingly none too keen on the statement. With the influence of light from lanterns and bonfires upon his face, the small form looked almost ghost-like as he turned to regard the innkeeper.
'I dain't bloody like fish.'
Caregiver Iqniq considered this carefully. He was fully prepared to accept the concept that some people would not like some types of fish. Some people preferred cod over tuna, and didn't like salmon at all. But the blanket statement that all fish was disliked, that not a single piece of fish in the world would satisfy someone's tastebuds... this was all too much to handle. He pulled at the long braid that served as his beard, and tried to think of conversation to make with someone who had only contempt for the thing in life he was most enthusiastic about.
Not that the gnome looked ready to talk back. He had been sitting down on the carefully made seats, logs strapped together, for some time, warming his hands on the fire in front of him. When he had originally came in, his teeth had been chattering like the skittering of nerubians, and his first words had been a mixture of stutters and profanity that Iqniq had successfully forced out of his own memory. The gnome, wearing a wizard's hat which had been caked in snow (complete with icing), had settled down since then, and not even sitting in a robe soaked by melted water could move him from his current position.
The Tuskarr turned away from his staring, becoming conscious that the gnome might have taken offence to it. He tried to busy himself, and seem like the wizard sitting in his own inn wasn't intimidating him to great lengths. He longed to escape to the open air, and relax his mind with some fishing on the coast. But Iqniq had a duty to his kinsmen, so his mind didn't wander on diversions for long. To delay for time, he started to check the sacks, made of wolf skins, which formed the supplies the inn relied upon.
As he suspected (and, he admitted to himself, he knew), the sacks had everything in them that was needed. Fish, mostly. It was said that the most common thing that a Tuskarr was to see in his or her lifetime was fish. They would see fish every single day, and normally every single hour. A wandering dwarf had once accused the populace of Kamagua of being fishoholics. No one had laughed.
Iqniq pulled on his beard more painfully now, as he a sound coming from the gnome. Nonchalantly looking over his shoulder, the Tuskarr noticed that the wizard was twirling his hands against each other. His fingers were being arranged in complex patterns, wrapping around their follow digits, or sometimes invisible objects in the air. A subtle blue aura was starting to pulse from this complex display of tiny gestures. Blip. Blip. Blip. Trickle. In a final, more powerful pulse, a strange object appeared in the gnome's hands. It looked, at first glance, to be some kind of bread product. Rich in its texture, it looked like the perfect meal for a hungry traveller.
But not the perfect sale for a bedraggled innkeeper.
'I ask, adventurer, that you eat your meal outside, if it isn't bought from this town.'
The expression from earlier appeared on the gnome's face. Following the Tuskarr's request, the stare indicated, was about as likely as "fishoholic" being amusing. Iqniq started to pull at his beard again, as the gnome continued to stare at him. He really should not have said anything.
'How much for a fish?' snapped the gnome.
'17 silver pieces for our cheapest, traveller. My wares were hard to come by.'
'Right.' The gnome reached for a pouch held by a strip of leather to his belt. Carelessly, he tore the pouch away, and chucked it, rather weakly, at the Tuskarr. It dropped by his feet, with a chorus of jingles from inside. 'There's ten gold in there - gift from the Argent Crusade. Yer use that money, and yer buy yerself friggin' loads of fish. And me, I'll stick to me croissants, y'hear?'
The Tuskarr looked down in embarrassment, and focused his attention on the display of wealth lying, quite contently, on the ground. There was something about the way the gnome tossed it towards him which suggested that he had very little need of money right now - this was an empty gesture, meant to appease an Innkeeper uptight about people not financing his business. Glancing towards the gnome again, it seemed that he was enjoying his "croissant." He ate with his mouth open, and his chewing was as noisy as it was ravenous. After he was done with this curious bread, the gnome wiped the crumbs from his beard, and started to hold his hands back to the fire.
Big Chingo was waiting.
Category:Story