The door swung open, offering a never more comforting sight of a bed, a bowl of fresh well-water, and curtains pulled low over a single window. Kallian stepped in, well aware of the man behind her in the corridor.
He had seemed polite enough, even if she could not find the best word to describe how he looked. He could not have been ugly: there was proof of it on that very same face. Yet there was enough there to cause a man to turn away in disgust. They had exchanged a brief greeting before the inevitable question of her heritage was brought up - this she would have smoothly deflected with characteristic charm were it not that she was desperately trying to hold nausea in. Of course, it had nothing to do with the man in the corridor but what the group discovered in the caverns along the shore. Nonetheless, she did not stay to see his expression after her abrupt change of subject.
There was no table upon which she could put her things, but a small chest of rudimentary make in a corner - a courtesy provided by the lodge-owner's for their guests in which to leave their belongings during their stay. Instead, she took the long wrapped object from under her arm and laid it on the bed. This followed by a horn from some creature - she assumed, carved with a design of vines and flowers. She stood regarding them for some moments, absently peeling off her gloves, faintly aware of other doors being opened and shut throughout the house as guests came and went.
She already knew what was in the cloth-wrapped bundle - a slender, curved sword that had somehow found its way past the length of the Golden Way to these shores. Not a common sight in the markets of the city, and therefore must belong to perhaps some skilled warrior who had come this way. A quick examination of the hilt provided no clues except that beneath the rusted metal the handle was ensconced in a silken material of a once-vivid shade before its wielder met his end.
"Let's call it a bet, shall we? I have the gem you want, and you can show me if the tales of elven passion I've been hearing are true."
"What a poor merchant you must make, Thespar, if these are your terms. I suppose this is why you're here...in this little shit-hole; after this long, and still having nothing to your name but the empty desires of an overambitious prick."
"Look who's talking! The mouse who thinks she's a lion! You think you're better than everyone else just because you can climb higher and faster than the rest of us? See how fast you can move now, quim!"
With that, the cat yowled in protest as it was dragged forcibly from under the table. Thespar drove his dagger into its side with sickening precision before I could react.
Kallian was careful to keep the curved blade wrapped after that, securely knotted at its ends that no part of it might touch her palm again.
The horn was a different thing altogether. Her bare fingers traced the curving lines of it, skimming over the grooves made by its engravings. The scent of earth after a hard rain, a fleeting smile of a friend with flowers in her hair. A lengthy prayer had been said over the heavy black ox before it had been taken off the fields. It would provide meals which would last a family at least a month. At the end, its horns were cleaned and taken to a local artisan, who would then turn it into an object of beauty.
Such was the way of the world, she mused, and she stroked the carved horn yet again, turning it over and over in her hands as her battered emotions slowly calmed. I have been too long in the city, she decided, that she could feel her edge slipping.
It was a long time before a poor excuse for reverie came to claim her.
