Psychadelic, Man

Many years ago, in a small town on the Golden Road to the Sunlight City, a merchant from the Yitranese Conglomerate was traveling through. He wished to collect various fauna and herbs found on his travels, and was willing to trade other such commodities to acquire such things. There, he met a humble farmer. Let’s see how they came to agreement:   A merchant approaches a small farmhouse. Along the way, his hand grazes against small plants that line the fields. Upon reaching the farmhouse, he calls out in a friendly tone.   “Is the owner of this establishment present?”   After a brief moment, the farmhouse door opens to reveal a Peninsulan of moderate build.   “I am he.”   The merchant smiles and approaches further.   “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I happened to be passing by and wished to inquire into the nature of this curious plant life.”   The farmer looks bemused.   “Yes, the Schismate. (Skis-ma-ti) It’s a family crop, actually. Been in my family for quite a few generations. We refine it to make cloth.”   The merchant chuckles.   “Fascinating. To think it could be used in such a common way!”   Confusion crosses the farmer’s face.   “What is your meaning?”   “Did your ancestors travel to a place called Barunziah, by chance?”   “Why… yes. How did you know of this?”   The merchant walks nonchalantly to the nearest crop.   “It is where this plant originates from.”   As he takes the crop in his hand, he seems surprised.   “My fascination knows no bounds, it would seem. It is quite different than the strand I am familiar with. The climate, perhaps?”   The farmer joins him.   “Yes, well, that may be due to our selection s’well. We weed out the ones that don’t work too good with cloth.”   The merchant chortles at something, to which the farmer responds.   “What?”   “Oh, it’s nothing. Though… would you be curious in seeing the original strand?”   “I suppose so.”   The merchant produces a small vial containing crushed herbs. The farmer raises an eyebrow.   “Can’t make much cloth of it like that.”   “Oh no, friend. It’s not for weaving.”   “What? Then, what do you use it for?”   A slightly playful mannerism overtakes the merchant as he pulls out a pipe from his satchel.   “Friend… allow me to show you the world in a new perspective.”   He sits down, gesturing for the farmer to do the same. He begins to fill the pipe with the herb in question, and both of them enjoy the afternoon.