57th of Winter, 512 AV There was a severe ache in C’arc’s upper back from constantly leaning over to guide her horse through the wilds. All day she had been riding, trying her best to make it to Syrilas before sunset, which proved futile. The skies overhead were turning a rich blue in color, and the air was cooling considerably. It barely touched the winters in Avanthal, however, and the slight chill didn’t bother her too much. She had slid her black cloak around her shoulders earlier, when the sun seemingly rested atop the hills, preparing herself for what she thought would’ve been a freezing night. Of course, it wasn’t. The young woman’s eyes, now a dim peridot color, searched around the small, makeshift sort of village that had awaited her inside the castle gates. There were still many people at this hour; mostly shambling out of bars with loud, boisterous laughs coming from their mouths. There was one in particular that her eyes were drawn to. A red sign and a horse, with the word tavern underneath. It looked like a place she could get a nice, hot meal, and maybe a drink. The lanterns that hung from the outside drew her in, as if she was some sort of mosquito, almost, and C’arc sauntered her way to the entrance of the tavern, and peeked inside. It was crawling with all sorts of people! Some races she had never even encountered before. Though it had looked smaller from the outside, she could see that it obviously had enough room to fit the many men who were scattered about the tables, ales in hand and plates in front of them. C’arc’s eyes went a lackluster blue from slight amusement. The woman sat herself down at a table that rested near the entrance of the place. It had only one other chair, as the rest had been taking and in use, and she decided to rest her tired feet upon the wooden furniture, sighing in relief. She looked at her worn boots, then at the rest of her clothing. Once she had a steady job, she would definitely be treating herself to some new clothing, as hers were getting old and used. She could almost feel the ground beneath her soles when she walked, and her shirt and trousers were looking a bit washed out and threadbare from the rough washing job she did. C’arc’s eyes wandered to the approaching barmaid coming her way, and she sat up in the slightest. The manners her mother taught her so many years ago had not completely left her mind yet. She gave a slight smile to the woman who had approached her, inquiring about her choice for the night. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to order dinner and a mug of ale.” She dug into the bag that sat at her waist, her fingers grabbing the correct amount and dispensing it into the barmaid’s open hand. “Thank you very much.” She knotted her fingers through her dark hair, undoing the tangles that had made their way into the curly strands of hair. Of course, the shimmering blues that streaked through the dark made her easily recognizable as a Vantha, if you couldn’t already tell by the changing eye color. With a sigh, C’arc relaxed into the slightly uncomfortable wooden chair, thinking about what tomorrow would bring. A job, she hoped. But she wouldn’t let herself fret about that tonight. She would drink and get a good night’s rest, then deal with that when the sun would rise. |