What one will do for a breath of fresh air (attn. Winter Mist) Open!

[Kass]

The slight breeze picked up the strands of her dark black hair and tossed them into her line of vision. Mahima pushed them behind her ears as she stepped onto of the boardwalk and into the filth that was Illian. Her sea blue eyes scanned the street around her, peering through the throng of people. Not a single clearing for fresh air. Mahima's small form slid through the crowd, and finally saw an opening and dashed inside. It was an inn, filled but not overly crowded, much more to Mahima's liking than the mass of people on the other side of the door. She moved to a corner and took a seat, taking a deep breath of relief.

[Winter Mist]

~Dilora~

 

Dilora held her nose.  There were many occasions when she considered being a peddler was the epitome of freedom; today, it was displaying more downsides than an upturned pessimist.  Fragrant Quarter, my shiny-roofed wagon, she thought, crossing the paved streets while she scanned around the roads trying to find the object she was looking for.  If only there were a way to mask it.  Her cunning mind ran through a list of possibilities as she walked towards the harbour, and to her ultimate destination, an inn. 

 

Some rose petals, or dried rose-heads, in a little cloth bag with some bits of lavender or honeysuckle, that attached to the side of the head by a little string and dangled pendant like a necklace, would be perfect to disguise the fact that chamber pots were regularly emptied into this area.  One need not reveal their distaste in business dealings if one could not sense the distaste.  Satisfied with her plan, Dilora kept on walking, the large sign of the Crown of Swords Inn looming large in her sight. 

 

Oh, a drink would be ideal about now.

 

Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have the same idea.  Her form was not large, indeed her slender self might have gone unnoticed were it not for her figure enhancing dress, but she was not precisely short of muscle, either.  Pressing through the throng as though she were merely shifting goods on her wagon, Dilora found passage to the bar and ordered a drink.  Good, cold ale, and a portion of apple pie steaming with fresh cream would go down a treat.

 

Dilora thought of her horse, Altie, left alone on the outskirts of the city while her mistress did some business within.  A few hours to restock and organise some items to carry around to Amadicia, carefully chosen for their non-offensive nature that the Children of the Light might not even notice her, and she could return to her mare with a happy heart to be free from the smell of this place.  Even confined with the animal during inclement weather did not smell this bad.

 

Soon enough, the drink and pie arrived, and Dilora took a long draught.  Oh, it was as good as she remembered.  A few coins were placed on the bar and Dilora turned to the rest of the gathered people to assess their likelihood of profitability.  Several large merchants, all wearing their chains of office and an officious expression, talked in one corner excluding everyone else.  Dilora could just waltz in, place her drink down and some trinkets, and with a few honeyed words and compliments she would have them eating out of her hand.  It would be hard work though, and she doubted they would be amenable to her suggestions, these being hard times for all.  For the most part the rest of the patrons were regular tavern-goers that had little in the way of prospect.  One small form, hiding from the press of bodies in the free space a corner provided, held Dilora’s attention and, upon seeing the tattooed hands, she crossed the floor to her, idly elbowing those that got in her way with a practiced air. 

 

Sea Folk!  In Illian, no less, that meant there would be interesting times ahead.  When a Sea Folk put into port, you should lock up your valuables and your tongue, lest you make bargains you cannot afford.  No doubt as shrewd as she was beautiful, Dilora stood opposite and cleared her throat.  “Is this seat taken?” she asked, gesturing to the empty place.