Go fish

The streets of West Hills buzzed with life, carts rumbling over cobblestones as townsfolk haggled in the marketplace. Kellam cut through the bustle with purpose, his dark coat brushing against the occasional passerby. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, the weight of the ancient tomes inside grounding him in his task.

He wasn’t here for sightseeing or idle chatter. No, he’d brought something that would interest his old friend, Rosalie Rutherford—a collection of ancient Elvhen texts he’d unearthed, and one in particular that delved into obscure writings on the Blight. She’d appreciate the books, of course, but knowing her, she’d appreciate the challenge of deciphering them even more.

Stopping by a cluster of merchants gathered near the inn, Kellam caught the eye of a weathered old man stacking barrels. Without preamble, he spoke, his voice carrying the clipped precision of someone who disliked wasting time.

I’m looking for Rosalie Rutherford. Any idea where I can find her?

The old man glanced up, squinting at Kellam as if sizing him up. After a moment, he grunted and gestured with a nod of his head toward the hill overlooking the town. You can usually find her at the clinic, just up that way.

Appreciate it, Kellam replied with a curt nod. He flicked a coin toward the man, who caught it mid-air with a grunt of approval. Turning on his heel, Kellam set off, boots crunching against the gravel path as he made his way toward the clinic.

Once he arrived, he stepped inside and looked around, upon seeing Rosalie across the room tending to a patient, he quietly walked in and stood a respectful distance away, while she did her work.

@Rosalie Rutherford