Fifty thousand gil?, he's dreaming. I've seen better quality jewellery around the necks of spriggans. Ul'dah gives me a headache. Between the grit, sun, wind and hawkers I can barely hear myself think.
I've lived here almost 12 years now. I still don't have a tan. Whatever dreams I nursed when I first arrived here fresh off the plains have long since evaporated under the scorching desert sun. Like so many others here I go about my days trying my best to make a few gil. Buying low, selling high - at least that's the idea. Like most of us middle class chaff, I mainly fill in the gaps between the knock-offs and the top-shelf.
I suppose I could pack up and leave, retire to the cool mists of the Gridanian forests, but what would I do there?. Dance with the tree huggers?, no thank you. I prefer to put my faith in cold, hard gil.
With my family gone, I am just one of the massive Plainsfolk diaspora, drifting on the desert winds. Whether the dunes bring me my fortune or the dust storms scour the flesh from my bones - only time will tell.
Meanwhile, I have a shipment of sapphire to grade and some brass rings to mark up.
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21
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15
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4
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23
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1
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27
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