Vuelo the Poor

Vuelo's City ©2011 w.m.ley

Puffing softly on a pleasantly aromatic tobacco pipe, Vuelo pondered over his current life.
He was…poor. Very very poor.
In his former life, as squire to the Prince, he actually was just as poor, but since he was constantly surrounded and embedded in courtly wealth he had always felt rich. Now, alone, exiled, he was making a living as best he could. The skills of a courtly squire didn’t translate well to any lucrative labor; instead he passed the days as a humble fisherman and herb gatherer. In a little while he would head out into the wilderness again to fish at a certain lake while looking for saleable blossoms and leaves along the way. It was a pleasant routine, in its way- simple, outdoors, and peaceful. But very very poor.
There were a couple of villagers at the small rickety dock that served the forest lake he chose for fishing. One was a little boy, intent on fishing. One was an old man, who wanted to teach people about fishing. The third was a middle aged man, a worker, who looked exhausted and was merely leaning on a barrel, staring off into space.
As he fished, a large green frog the size of his head hopped in and out of the water nearby with a loud plloppswoosh. By the time Vuelo had become annoyed rather than interested at the constant noise the frog hopped away unconcerned to plop elsewhere.

After several hours of fishing at the lake, he headed back to the nearby bustling city to sell his catch. He was too humble though to hawk his fish in the marketplace; instead he sold them off to another merchant at a pittance, convinced that was all it was worth anyway.
After this, he slept a bit then woke with the dawn. He was wondering about fishing other places, so he first headed down to the gigantic docks that served the city. He had little better luck here as far as catching anything valuable. So he caught the first ship he could which took him two days journey to an elven port, where he also fished to little effect. From here though he took a griffon across a bit of ocean and came to a second elven port, and here he had much better fortune, catching about two dozen fish, with four being species he’d never caught before. He was thinking now about learning to cook each one and then selling the cooked versions in the market; this seemed like a more valuable product to bring for sale.
By the time he returned to the city he was exhausted and didn’t even feel like climbing the terraces from the harbor. Instead he curled up behind some wagons, nets, and barrels and fell to sleep.

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