Sahrien's Story

She stood for a moment in the doorway, taking a long, slow look around the tavern before entering. "What am I doing here?" she thought to herself, "A Hell is no place for a lady..."

The dark and smokey room was filled with the lowest and darkest of men, men of the utmost unwholesome character. But she was on a mission. A rumor had come across that the man of interest was here, and she had been ordered to check into it as she was the nearest available.

She made her way across the room, skirting the tables and patrons alike, toward a table near the fire, the only true source of light in the room. With the fire at her side and the wall at her back she felt somewhat safer. She wished she could embrace the source, but that could only be used as a last resort, just in case. She would need to rely on her wits to see her through this.

She scanned the faces of the patrons stealthily from beneath her hooded cloak. The garment was designed to conceal her shape and form. It would take a sharp eye to discern she was not the hunched figure she appeared to be.

The man she had been sent to seek out and observe had been described to her as short with long stringy blond hair, balding at the top. He also was reported to have a scar on his face. In the Hell everyone had a scar of some sort and most were on faces. Still she didn't immediately see anyone matching the description.

In a low gruff voice she ordered an ale from the barman who came to her table. As her eyes followed him back to the bar she noticed something... or rather someone. Seems she was not the only one who seemed to be where they shouldn't this night.

The young man at the bar appeared too clean and well dressed for the normal likes of the Tavern's inhabitants. His long green coat was much too fancy for the outskirts of the Perfumed Quarter. The cut of the coat as well as his shoulder length dark brown hair, worn loose had a slight curl to it, marked him as a local Illianer.

"You do be making a bad business decision!" she heard his exclaim to the bartender.

"Perhaps that do be so, but you do be hawking your wares in the wrong Tavern, Jaeroyn. The customers here do no drink anything so fancy as that, and do no pay the price for it. This do be a Hell in the Perfumed Quarter, not the palace."

"Please, Bareth, I do be needing this sale! I do be on my own now and do have help to pay. Just one bottle? See if it do sell?"

Throughout the exchange some of the local color began to show interest, not in the conversation so much as the noise it was causing. A few of the rougher sort began to move toward the young man, who I could see now was so young as to scarce be able to grow a beard.

This was going to be trouble. There was no way to avoid it now. It didn't take much to start a fight in a Hell. I took one more look around the place for my quarry and not seeing him decided it was time to act. I rose and started toward the bar embracing the power as I did. It should only take a couple minor weaves to quell these tempers.

"What's this I do hear about higher quality drink? Do you be holding out on us Bareth? I do be interested in sampling something that do no taste like dog piss." I said in the low scruffy voice, using a weave to help with my persuasion. "What say you do buy a bottle of what this lad do be selling and we try it out?"