#1 - Golden Troll

Prompt: She's a troll with gold skin and golden fur. She creates and sells exotic artifacts.

She pulled the wagon into her usual stall. The other merchants were busy with their own stands, adjusting their fruits and rugs and whatnots, but they always gave her a wide berth. All her life she had been avoided, not ignored per say, but edged around and eyed from the corner. She smiled at them when their eyes met; some smiled back, always nervously though. 

The sun peeking over the rooftops was like a gate, opening the market for business as it had every day before. No sooner than the first customers stepped into the street did the merchants began barking. Best fruit in the land. Finest made rugs made by pretty ladies. Fresh fish. 

She did not bark; she did not have to. They would come to her as needed. That's how it worked. When they needed an emerald vial or a mohair prayer shawl or a silver chime they would come. She stepped back into the shade of her stall and watched, waiting. 

Soon enough a young boy skirted around the tables, once, twice. She glided forward as he peeked around again.

"What do you need, child?" Her voice was deep and soothing. The boy stared; she did not blink. 

"Tooth," he mumbled.

"Mountain goat. Crocodile. Elephant tusk, maybe?" She suggested, widening her eyes a little with each. The boy's eyes grew too. He quivered. 

"Goat," he managed. Then added, "please."

She scooped a few of yellowed teeth into a pouch and extended it to the boy. He continued to stare. An idea came over her and she smirked. 

"You seem like a good boy. Getting ingredients for your mother's poultice I bet. How about a special treat for you," her voice sang in its low and lovely way. She laid the leather pouch on the table and with it a beautifully wrapped candy. "A sweet, it makes you feel happy and warm all over, made by the hermit wizards." 

The boy smiled a little. He reached out, two silver coins in his hand, payment for his purchase. 

"You are gold," he gasped. 

"I am," she replied with a smile. "All my people are." As he took the pouch and candy a woman stormed up to the stall. She grumbled and looked between the boy and the seller. 

"What's this now," she scowled. Snatching the candy from the boy she flung it at the giver. "Trying to poison him I reckon. Don't take nothing from a troll for free. They steal children for their stews!" 

The boy panicked. He ran. The merchant woman shook her head and marched away. 

"Peste," the troll spat at the woman. The dust whirled up and trailed behind her, carrying the word away. 

Leaning against her cart she crossed her arms in the shadows. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, to be accused, but it still hurt. Trolls were a misunderstood race, often associated with Ogres. Most people did not want to know the difference, did not care to. They only knew that some ate people and that was enough. It was like avoiding water because one person had drowned. 

Her mood was darkened for the day, and though the sun shone and glinted against her furred forearm warmly she could not shake the feeling. More customers came. One for a silver oil lamp and sheepskin oil, burned for good luck. One for a fine, sheer shawl darned by fairies, hung over the door for happiness. Others for potion and poultice ingredients. The sales were good, but not a single one would look her in the eye. 

As the shadows stretched over the market street she packed up her wagon. 

"Miss," a voice called behind her. "Excuse me, please." 

She paused and carefully turned. A young dark man stood before her stall, wringing his hands slightly. 

"Hello," the man smiled. She forced herself not to cock her head though the surprise and suspicion was growing inside her golden mind. "Are you still vending?" 

"What do you need?" Her usual question when folks were wary. This man was not wary though. 

"I am looking for a gift. You see, there's a woman and she's lovely, just stunning, but she won't even look at me. I want to, need to impress her," the man pleaded, blushing. "It's silly, but... I just have to give her something."

"What color are her eyes?" She raised her brows. The man's jaw fell, but no words came out. "Do you know what color her eyes are?" 

"I do not," his gaze fell. "Her hair is like the sunrise. Her walk it like the stream flowing. Her smile is like a heartbeat." 

"And her eyes are...?" 

"I am embarrassed," he sighed. "I do not even know her name or the sound of her voice. I am not introduced to her yet. If I bring her a gift, something excellent, then I can meet her and profess my love." 

She could hardly believe this man's speech. The poetry books used words like his, but no actual person said these things, at least not in her experience. 

"You are serious," she said finally. Reaching into a basket she pulled out a silken and scaled scarf, golden bells tinkled on the ends. The light shimmered on the fabric, dancing colors across her golden face. "It is a mermaiden's veil." 

The man took it gingerly and tilted the veil this way and that, watching the light move over it. 

"This is the color of her eyes," he whispered. "Thank you. So many times, thank you."

"You are only welcome if you can pay for it," she clipped. Her deep voice was sharp, but kind. 

"What does it cost?" He furrowed his brow, now suspicious like she had come to expect. 

"10 tanka. And a lock of her hair." The man shook his head and laid the veil upon the table. 

"I cannot ask her to defile her head in such a way," he continued shaking his head. "I am sorry to have wasted your time." 

"What color are her eyes?" She let the words slip, softly and heavy. They swirled around his head, tickled his eyes, brushed his hair. His eyes shifted. 

"10 tanka," he was barely audible. "I will bring you her hair." 

"You will bring it before the new moon," she stated. He repeated and placed the coins on the table. 

"Be well," she smiled. The man smiled too before folding the veil and walking away dreamily. 

Grinning to herself she wrote the sale in her ledger, a palm sized notebook. The scrawls looked like no mortals words, but were written in the troll language. It flowed the like gold of their fur.