Threading the Needle - attn: Trerlyn

[Winter Mist]

Amber liquid burnt the throat pleasingly as it coursed down, draining the last remaining trickles from her hip flask as a ward against the evening chill descending over the open countryside where Dilora had decided to stop for the night. Her horse, Altie, was tethered to the side of the small red and gold painted wagon where he would be able to crop at the grass: if it started to rain she had a piece of canvas she could pull from over the top of her mobile home and fasten to two slender canes to provide shelter for her equine companion. Another uneventful day where the only company had been from her horse as she had not passed a single village as she journeyed across the continent towards Caemlyn and the road she stuck to yielded no fellow travellers, no potential customers or even people to gain the latest events from. Rumours were rife in these parlous times. Tomorrow she would venture into Caemlyn itself, aiming to arrive late afternoon and find an inn or tavern with a renown for it’s ale. She had heard particularly good things about the inn she would stay at, not far from the centre of the city and decided that when she arrived at the town and once the gatekeepers were satisfied she was not a thief or possessing ill will or intent, that she would make her way there and do a little trading whilst sampling that ale. Pleasant thoughts to pass the time with, she thought, idly pushing a bit of bread around her tin plate to mop up the last of the juices from her stew. But I should really be thinking about seeking my blankets soon if I want to be up at first light tomorrow. Rising, she went around to the side of her wagon-home and rinsed her plate in the bucket of water Dilora had fastened to the side for just such a purpose. It saved time: all the rainwater that fell on her wagon ran into a little groove at one edge and down into the small bucket for washing up in. On the occasions of dry spells, Dilora was able to unhitch the bucket and take it to streams or rivers in the same way giving her a close water supply should she need it. The plate clean, she whisked up a cloth from just inside the wagon door and scrubbed it dry, placing it on a shelf in the narrow confines of her mobile house. She banked the fire well for morning so she could breakfast on something warm before heading off again, then retreated into the small wagon and closing the ornately painted door to behind her.

 

As usual, the dawn light reaching through the small window woke Dilora. She loved to wake up with sunlight: it felt like a good omen, as if things were going to go well that day and so far she had not been proved wrong. Stretching languorously, she continued remaining in the warm blankets of her ingenious bed, but decided against it and choosing instead to get up and start the day. Dilora pulled on a well-cut skirt of a fine material but sturdy enough to withstand the rigours of a little hard travel and not divided for riding, as she did not like the style. She shrugged into a baggy white blouse and pulled on a purple over-jacket that had a little light embroidery on the breast. Sitting on the bed, she pulled on her trusty brown leather boots, stood up and pushed the bed from underneath so it hinged upwards to lie flat against the wagon wall. Squatting down, she prized an innocuous looking floorboard up with her slim fingers and, putting the plank to one side, Dilora peered into the enclosure built into the base of her wagon until she found what she was looking for. The shallow compartment yielded her belt knife and bow, along with a quiver of well-made arrows of which the last two she propped just inside the doorway within easy reach should she need them. The belt knife she strapped to her belt, the plain leather scabbard clashing with her rather ornate appearance, giving her a slightly dangerous look. She left the wagon and made a hasty breakfast of some eggs and bread before hitching Altie between the shafts and made sure the buckles and straps were tight, but not restrictive. Dilora climbed into the wagon seat and clucked the reins to get their journey underway.

 

The wagon rolled through the cobbled streets of Caemlyn. The sunshine had only followed her for a few miles before the sky had turned to a threatening shade of grey: stormy clouds hanging oppressively over the land before the rain had started falling not long after Dilora had entered the city itself. Altie stepped on as ignorant of the raindrops that fell from the sky; Dilora pulled her hood forward slightly so her dark eyes were shaded and more importantly, her hair protected from the rain. It always went curly when it got wet. Onwards the wagon rolled, a bright red shape amongst the sober colours or grey and slate that the Andorans preferred. She clucked the reins, leading Altie down the streets that would lead to a nice warm taproom and a nice cool pot of ale.

 

Endless grey from building and clothing alike passed Dilora’s eyes as the streets flowed past. The ride was only slightly bumpy and had caused her to grit her teeth against the pounding her bottom was taking. Wincing as a particularly nasty bump almost made her lose her seat, she vowed to herself to get the blasted thing padded. Light, I always forget about this part! There was more activity here, she noted as her mobile home turned the corner onto the street the inn she searched for lay in. The reins were handed to a stable-hand and a silver coin tossed to him, Andoran weight, of course, and walked up the steps to the inn, hoping for a nice friendly greeting and a cold pot of ale to hit the spot after all those cobblestones. The White Rose of Caemlyn would be her home for the next hour or so...

[GiDo]

It was morning in Caemlyn when Trerlyn woke up. The sun was just above the horizon as he walked down the stairs of his parent's home and into his shop. Well actually the shop was his parent's. The curtains were still closed because it wasn't opened yet but in over two hours the shop would be open and some people would come to get a tattoo. Walking to the kitchen he thought about how many customers he would get today, as business was slow the last few weeks and he really was starting to think about getting his business on the road. When he entered the kitchen his mother was working on breakfast and his father was probably on the road already, as he did early the last few months. "What's for breakfast this morning mother?" He asked as he sat down at the table. "Bread, bacon and goats milk. The same is it was when you where younger." She replied with a smile. "What are you going to do today Trerlyn? Because you've been open for ten days straight now, so I guess you're not opening the shop today?" Trerlyn looked questioning at his mother while she said "ten days". "It seems I've lost track of time the last few days mother, has it really been ten days?" He replied as she nodded and put a plate in front of him with his breakfast. "I think I'm going to go out into the city today then, maybe even out of the city. It's been a while since I've been out of the city. I really miss being on the road, and because of the shop I didn't have time to go with father." She nodded as she set down on her chair with her breakfast in front of her. They ate in silence as they usually did.

 

"I'll be home before lunch mother." He said as he closed the door behind him, only vaguely catching her reply. Walking on the streets he walked on as a little child, "It seems only yesterday I chased Ben through these streets while we where playing." He thought while taking out his purse to count how many crowns he had on him. Looking around if anyone saw he quickly put it back in his coat pocket. Ben was the childhood friend he always played with. "I think I'll go to an inn to see if there are any new rumours in the city." He said to himself in a murmur. The city was full or rumours the last year and the one stranger then the other. He actually never really believed rumours because they where different every time he heard them. The sun was shining this morning when he woke up, but now it was hidden behind thick grey clouds. "It will start to rain in a couple of hours." he thought. "I think I shouldn't have chosen these clothes" He told himself softly with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. They where his best clothes, a bright red coat and a pair of brown breeches. "I need to find an inn before the clouds break." He said.

 

Walking through the city a while he remembered a good inn called "The White Rose of Caemlyn". He wasn't far from it, only a couple of blocks away. Thinking on what to do in the afternoon he walked to the "The White Rose of Caemlyn". The common room of the inn was a bit crowded, so there were only a few seats left for him to sit, one at a table with a couple of guys who were playing dice and 3 at another table. He didn't really feel like playing dice this morning so he went to the other table. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?" he asked the woman who sat at the table. Leaving now room for her to answer he sat down. "You look like you could use a drink, can I buy you one?"

[Winter Mist]

She looked up as the friendly voice pierced her quiet observations of the crowded room. Her best smile flashed to brilliance, showing even white teeth. Good. The place had lost none of its atmosphere and charm, even though it had been traumatic the last time she had visited the capital city of her homeland. Born in Baerlon and tempered by the travelling she had done, Dilora still bore a few scars from the fateful carnival and it had taken a lot to get her to set foot in the outlying district. Yes, she thought, I definitely do need a drink.

 

The man’s voice matched his face, holding a suppressed mirth within and having a lovely pair of eyes. Grey one moment, and then blue the next, flecked with green like early morning sunlight glinting on a distantly viewed ocean. He was good looking too, if a little younger than her with hair that sometime obscured his eyes in an artfully tousled manner. And his smile… Light!

 

“I would love a drink, thank you, and the seat isn’t taken, so please, feel free to join me.†A small cup of red wine would go rather nicely with the food she had in mind to eat, which was an elaborately spiced venison dish, particularly recommended by patrons and the whispers of rumour alike. Always trying new things, Dilora was looking forward to her meal. The noise around the room buzzed with tales of local gossip like who was doing what with which Lord or Lady, but predominantly it related to matters closer to Dilora’s heart. Trade, farming, or talk of armies. All of those were topics that were of interest to Dilora Fashelle, peddler and purveyor of news essentials and luxuries.

 

Armies usually always had spare coin to spend on items they didn’t strictly need, such as trinkets or mementoes to send to their sweethearts back home for remembrance or essentials such as soap or herbs to keep them clean or pain free. It also meant that the local villages any armies stopped by would also need supplies, so it was a win-win situation for Dilora, or any other peddler that happened by. Altie could move fast when he needed to, or when his mistress did, and because of the smaller nature of her wagon she had beaten some of the larger traders to similar situations and had been able to make the first sales. The gossip was almost as valuable, as long as the teller had definite proof – it was just hearsay without proof, and like as not she would either be laughed out of whatever town or village she was in, if not chased out with pitchforks. Still, information overheard could sometimes yield a higher price than any trinket, and she was willing to take the risk if the outcome were guaranteed. Dilora had some skill with her weapons, but not enough to protect her from an angry mob… Luckily, that had never happened - a testament to her skill at avoiding parlous situations, or maybe just luck. All knowledge was worth having though. After all, trading was in her blood.

 

She looked with appraising eyes at the man who had taken a seat at her table, his eyes grateful in return for allowing him to join her. Dilora caught the attention of a serving maid, a darkly pretty little thing and asked for a cup of wine and whatever the fine gentleman opposite her was having. In short order, they were served their drinks, and Dilora pressed the correct amount of coins into the little woman’s hand and gave her an extra silver penny for the prompt service.

 

“I’ve been sitting down all day, but I never thought I’d be so glad to have a proper sit down!†Dark eyes crinkled in a smile that transformed her face from merely pretty to something mischievous and cheeky. Her bottom had taken a beating from the cobbles and it found Light-blessed relief in the deeply upholstered chair she had chosen. “My name is Dilora Fashelle. I am a peddler, giving the tidings everyone wants to hear and selling items that everyone wants to buy!†She gestured around her as she spoke; her voice rose slightly in blatant and shameless self-advertising. It turned quite a few heads, and she knew she’d have a few enquiries when she returned to her wagon later. A good job I’m well stocked… She thought with a smile.

 

“And who might you be?†Dilora’s voice returned to its normal pitch and she took a sip of her wine, waiting for her companion to speak.

[GiDo]

"Pardon me for being so rude, I'm Trerlyn Sovaryn. I'm a painter and tattooist, got my own shop right here in Caemlyn." He answered. "And I thought I was going to buy you something to drink not the other way around. Well the next one is on me." Taking another sip of his ale, the one she paid for him, he called for the serving maid again and told her to get them both a new drink. Giving her the money for it he said "and the next 2 drinks are on me to." with a smile to the serving maid and a nod to Dilora.

 

Watching her drink her drink, the one he got for her as he promised. She looked back at him and gave him a small smile, she had beautiful eyes and a really nice smile. He returned the smile. Maybe he could ask her to make a portrait of her or give her a tattoo. He actually never painted anymore since he had the shop but he knew he could still do it, and she had a face he just had to paint some day. "I'm not going to ask her that right now, she will think I'm flirting with her. And if I'm lucky she will ask me. That way I don't have to ask myself." he thought. He never was any good with woman, or girls when he was younger. He remembered his old sweetheart, they got in fights a lot and never wanted to go through that again. "Well a relationship isn't good without them" His father told him after the last fight he had with her. His parents never had any fights as far as he could tell, maybe the fought when he was asleep or not home or something. Everything seemed perfect in their marriage.

 

Hearing a man talk about the latest gossip in town, he wondered whether it would be safe to go out of town for a while. Trerlyn didn't have any experience with weapons, he knew how to hold a knife and he could throw one in the sand in front of him. His father taught him how to use one for survival reasons. "Fighting with a knife wasn't a good idea" he told him, "you need a sword for that." So other then slicing his food or using it to carve things in wood he didn't know how to use a knife. And he never even had touched a sword in his live. "Maybe I need to learn how to fight first before I go away." He said to himself in a murmur.

 

As he looked up from his cup to Dilora he saw her looking questionably at him. "I'm sorry, sort of lost myself in my thoughts there. Would you like another drink?" He gave her no time to respond before he called the serving maid again and ordered another pair of drinks for them. "I got a question. Do you happen to have inks at your wagon? I could use some new colours and I'm almost out of black to. Now that I think of it, I could use a few new needles to." He said after he took a sip of his new ale. He had been staring is his empty cup while thinking about everything and he kind of get a dry mouth from it.

[Winter Mist]

Inwardly, Dilora laughed in spite of herself. Trerlyn Sovaryn, the painter and tattooist, had surprised her by countering her purchase of the first of the day’s drinks with the promise, the promise of buying two further drinks. Light, was he trying to get her drunk? It didn’t matter, of course, as she knew she could handle her drink well, but she would make sure she only chose what she knew she could handle, or small measures so she would not be less shrewd when it came to bargaining. He had a disarming smile, particularly when he was lost in thought. Yet it was not a surprise his asking for needles and ink. Dilora supposed her fame might have spread for carrying items that most others would not normally carry, but she rather doubted it, preferring to believe that the Wheel had woven their paths together rather than floating on her own reputation any day of the week. Many a time she had seen older, fatter peddlers and traders rest on their laurels and lose so much business to those that kept a sharp eye on what was happening in the world. Still, there was no shame in enjoying the fact of her popularity.

 

“Needles I have aplenty.†Her mahogany eyes twinkled like chips of some dark gemstone, dimly viewed from the mouth of a cave, with the potential trades that lay ahead. Mixing business was pleasure was so much fun! “Inks and dyes from far-off Tarabon, and all at reasonable prices.†Her tone was mildly wheedling, knowing full well that she owed him for the drinks he would buy anyway. She liked Trerlyn. He would be after a special type of needle though, made of the finest steel, and easily sterilised to make sure the designs were drawn clean and with a minimum of infection. Having a patron fall ill from blood-poisoning was not the best way to advertise one’s skill, but if he had his own shop, he would likely know this already having completed his apprenticeship with an experienced tattoo artist. He had mentioned he was a painter too though. Did that mean he would paint portraits? It was something she had always wanted for herself – a portrait – something to hang on the wall of her homely little wagon to remind her of the good times she was having now, and if anyone ever stole her wagon to know the story of her eyes. Maybe she should keep a journal to go with it… Resolved, Dilora vowed to start one so that people would know her story and if she had nothing permanent other than reputation to leave the world, her tales might one day become as popular as those of Jain Farstrider.

 

“When we have finished our drinks, and hopefully myself a meal as I’m fair starved, we’ll go back to my wagon and you can peruse the quality of my wares.†Mild overtones of flirtation stained it, hoping to beguile him a little into buying more than he needed, but for some reason she felt a little ashamed for doing so. And if he had no portraits immediately to offer for her to sell for him, maybe she could offer him a service in return by wearing one of his tattoos. So far her body was unmarked by ink or scar or blemish, but the thought of wearing a design so permanently, like the scudding wind whipping piles of autumn leaves or a twining vine up along her spine came to mind unbidden and she could not get it out of her head. That would be adequate payment. She took another sip of her wine and marvelled at how the finer vintages seemed to miss some inns completely. Taking the plunge, she asked him.

 

“Would you draw a tattoo for me? I can advertise your skills on my travels, if you would like.â€

[GiDo]

Jeryl hoped she didn't think he was trying to get her drunk or something. He didn't know how she could hold her alcohol but getting her drunk wasn't the reason of buying the next couple of drinks. The fact that he promised to buy her a drink and that she bought one for him first wasn't that easy on him. He was a man of his word and when he promises something he held on to that promise. His father always told him that keeping a promise was just as important as washing behind your ears. That was just a joke he knew but still it pointed out the importance of keeping a promise. His father seemed to have a weird sense of humour though. Softly laughing he looked at Dilora with her cute smile and beautiful eyes. "I can get lost in those eyes." He thought. "Maybe I should ask her if I can come with her on the road, she seems to be good company and I think she won't ask me for much money I think."

 

"I hope you have good needles, the ones that aren't hard to keep clean and of good quality steel, because I won't settle for less. Good tools are half the work. And good dyes and inks keep there colour longer and don't fade from sunlight, also they are easier to use because they don't dry out that fast." He said with a smile. "Everybody knew that you would cut yourself faster with a blunt knife than with a good sharp knife. It is the same with needles for tattooing, well not actually the same because you can't really cut yourself with needles. You could kill someone with a needle though, if you wanted. But needles aren't for killing, they're for tattooing and nothing else. If I needed killing a knife would do or a dagger of some sorts." "I'm sorry lost myself in my thoughts again, I tend to do that sometimes." He said with a smile to Dilora.

 

Waving for the serving maid for another drink he looked at Dilora and asked her, "So what where you planning to get for lunch then? I was planning to go home for lunch, it's free there and my mother is a good cook. You can join me if you want?" taking a sip of his fresh new drink he started to think on what kind of tattoo she would like. Maybe a rose or something, maybe she even had her own drawing already. If not he could always make one especially for her so she would be the only one who would wear it. "And as for that tattoo, I can always come up with a good drawing. Or maybe you have one already? So just tell me what you want and I can make it for you. I always like a new challenge and I never turn a customer down. Also I make tattoos on almost every part of the body so you can have it almost everywhere you want." He said with a slight smile.

 

The inn was getting really crowded now. It already was when he entered but now the only seats free in the common room were the seats at their table. "If we are going to want privacy I think we'd best go to my home for lunch because it's really getting a bit to crowded for my comfort here." He said as a man walked up to their table and asked if one of the seats was free.

[Winter Mist]

~Dilora~

 

Going back to his place, eh? Well, it would certainly make it easier to trade because there wouldn’t be all those people listening in, and a warm welcome and a nice free meal would certainly go down well right about now. Her dark eyes caught sight of the newcomer arriving at their table, and Dilora certainly didn’t want him sitting with them, not when the trade seemed to be going so well. Yes. A tattoo in exchange for the goods would be exactly the thing, but she couldn’t very well get it carried out in the middle of a crowded in, not the place she wanted it. Where she had in mind no one would know unless she decided to show him or her, but no matter how outgoing Dilora thought she was; she strongly doubted she would be able to have the tattoo done in public. Surely her newfound friend would not make her have it done here? No, he wouldn’t - not with suggesting a visit to his house where his mother was at home cooking dinner.

 

Going to meet the parents already. My, he’s a fast mover! The thought made her grin. She took him up on his offer, draining the last of her drink eagerly – she had been thirstier than she had originally thought – and pushed her chair back from the table. Trerlyn did the same.

 

“You can have this one, as my friend and I are just leaving.†Dilora winked at the burly man and waited for Trerlyn to lead the way out of the inn, smoothing her skirt unconsciously as she did so. The wine had started to go to her head, she admitted to herself, but she didn’t let it bother her. Fresh air would help. “Trer, would you like to lead the way?â€

 

The man was an enigma. He had the soul of an artist and the body of a model, but she sensed something of a kindred spirit about him. Dilora followed him, bizarrely hoping that he would stay a little longer, and she shook her head trying to get it clear. Burn the wine for going to her head! And burn her for drinking it so quickly! But if her goods were up to the standard, then Trerlyn Sovaryn would most definitely wait for Dilora Fashelle, peddler extraordinaire, to buy everything he needed. One way or another, she would see him again. As soon as they got into the bustle of the street, marginally less busy than inside the inn itself, Dilora began to speak.

 

“I need to stop by my wagon first to pick up some belongings. You don’t mind if I see to Altie first, do you? I would hate for him to get lonely out here on his own, and I know he’ll be lonely if I leave him for hours on end.†Her poor horse would kick her if she wasn’t careful and the last thing she wanted was a bruise. “Besides, I need to show you the quality of the needles and the dyes to make the inks from. I have all colours and they have exceptional duration – safe for clothing or skin!†She whirled exuberantly, her skirts flaring a little from her exertions and she made herself a bit dizzy, but it was worth it. On arrival at the wagon, Dilora patted her horse on the nose, feeling the creature snuffle and whinny against her palm and breathe warm air in a happy snuffle.

 

“There, there, Altie. I’d not leave you alone for long.†She continued to stroke his nose for a few minutes so he would feel at ease, and then climbed up to the driver’s seat of the wagon and opened the door. Beckoning down to Trerlyn, Dilora called out, asking if he’d like to come up so he could see her stash of dyes, inks and needles.