It was odd, being back in Kirkwall. This new job – protecting some high born so-and-so – had come with a Hightown mansion to headquarter in. Esme hated it. Or maybe she’d missed this place? She snorted derisively at the thought, building up the fire in the hearth of the small Lowtown house she’d once shared with Ceren.
It had, of course, changed hands. The neighbor had not taken out their common wall, but a handful of semi-feral children bedded down in the old kitchen on cold nights. Esme knew most of them and did not begrudge it. She cleaned both rooms and traded a few trinkets from her travels to her tiny landlords in exchange for her old bunk. Just for now.
She’d work up her courage about the manor house eventually.
For the moment, she was alone. The stranger was lucky to catch her there, though the unexpected appearance of a strange man nearly scared her out of her skin.
“You don’t knock?” Rude. Esme’s expression softened as she got a better look at the stranger. He was very young – perhaps even younger than she was – and seemed feverish. Or, at the very least, quite pale and sweaty. Hopefully he didn’t have some sort of terrible disease.
It seemed unlikely. He was cloaked and armed, for one. While not definitive on their own, it suggested he was much more likely to have suffered an occupational injury. Esme knew the type, being one herself. Second, his movements were awfully stiff, especially the way he held his right arm.
“Yeah. Okay. Come in.” She motioned toward an empty bed and dragged a heavy satchel onto the other. Flipping it open, Esme perused the contents with a critical eye. A pity Horus wasn’t here. Not to sell her talents and potions short, but magical healing was leaps and bounds quicker and she did not relish time alone with strange men.
Well, she could always send a runner if the situation called for it.
“Now what’s your complaint, then?”
It had, of course, changed hands. The neighbor had not taken out their common wall, but a handful of semi-feral children bedded down in the old kitchen on cold nights. Esme knew most of them and did not begrudge it. She cleaned both rooms and traded a few trinkets from her travels to her tiny landlords in exchange for her old bunk. Just for now.
She’d work up her courage about the manor house eventually.
For the moment, she was alone. The stranger was lucky to catch her there, though the unexpected appearance of a strange man nearly scared her out of her skin.
“You don’t knock?” Rude. Esme’s expression softened as she got a better look at the stranger. He was very young – perhaps even younger than she was – and seemed feverish. Or, at the very least, quite pale and sweaty. Hopefully he didn’t have some sort of terrible disease.
It seemed unlikely. He was cloaked and armed, for one. While not definitive on their own, it suggested he was much more likely to have suffered an occupational injury. Esme knew the type, being one herself. Second, his movements were awfully stiff, especially the way he held his right arm.
“Yeah. Okay. Come in.” She motioned toward an empty bed and dragged a heavy satchel onto the other. Flipping it open, Esme perused the contents with a critical eye. A pity Horus wasn’t here. Not to sell her talents and potions short, but magical healing was leaps and bounds quicker and she did not relish time alone with strange men.
Well, she could always send a runner if the situation called for it.
“Now what’s your complaint, then?”
07-26-2024, 06:26 PM
