Chapter 1: The Traveler
(3rd Day of Sixthmoon, 754)
The pale blue light of the early morning sky crept up from behind as the great steam ship cruised along the river's placid waters. Thick clouds of fog clung to the river's surface like great cotton balls, seemingly shuffling aside to make way for their technological intruder. Hailed as the greatest industrial achievement of the day, harnessing the propulsive power of steam on a larger scale for the very first time, the S.S. Arachne was a fine vessel perfectly optimized to sail along Isilmar's winding, spiderweb-esque river systems. From inside the ferry's luxurious cabins, weary nobles and merchants scanned the invisible horizon with bleary eyes amid murmurs of "Oh, aren't we there yet?" and "Where is that bloody town, already?" as they shambled onto the deck. Many were already impeccably dressed, though clearly still half-asleep. It was plain to see that the vast majority of the ship's clientele were those of substantial wealth, but, unlike the others, one passenger in particular seemed to be of more humble means.
A young girl, no older than 17, fair-skinned and lithe, leaned against the side of the captain's wheelhouse. There, several sliding windows had been opened, allowing the captain to regale his young companion with his vast knowledge of the area and the sea beyond. "Aye, many thought it mad to settle here. Surrounded entirely by water, ya see! Great rivers to the north and east, the mighty Loch of Tirenius to the west, an' the even mightier Southeastern Expanse to the, er, well, southeast! An old fishin' post was all she ever was 'fore the merchants came, but wait 'til ya see 'er. I betchya ain't never seen a finer city come from outta nothin'!" The girl was listening intently, brushing her short, unruly raven hair out of her eyes as the morning breeze swept it in every conceivable direction. "It was in the year 551, it was, when the land all around ya was beginnin' to attract all kinds a' folks from all over, when this secret little fishin' hole brought so many traders and craftsmen that a steady community began ta form." She gazed up at the brightening sky as the captain went on, her dark green eyes catching faint glimpses of stars fading into the morning light. "An' so, by 574, the town of Grüntal was officially on every map 'n atlas in Isilmar!" The girl's attire matched her appearance, with a black tunic and matching pants, a black leather belt adorned with roughly a dozen pouches and bags, a pair of dark green bracers and boots, and traveling cloak so dark in its shade of green that it was nearly black. At her feet, a great black traveler's bag lay slumped and presumably full of daily necessities. "Even Atraxia's scholars acknowledg'd the town of Grüntal in 578, an' those dunces're slower ta make changes to their precious maps than me wife is to clean me shorts!" The captain followed this up with a mirthful laugh--though he bore a great aged scar running down his covered right eye, and his once-brown hair was thinning and graying, the glee on his face made him look as though a rambunctious boy had put on an elaborate costume to live out his fantasy of sailing his very own ship.
She turned her head towards the wheelhouse window and humored the captain with a wry smile, no doubt assuring him that his joke was just as funny as he'd clearly hoped it was. "An' so it was," the captain continued as the ferry sailed westward down the fog-laden river, "that the town was soon needin' ta get its act together--ta start doin' politics, ya get me, lass?" The captain's uncovered eye lit up as his smile grew broader and more mischievous, as if he were about to tell a particularly juicy story. "Oh, ya wouldn't believe the whirlin' shitstorm that Grüntal's governors are! Well, the first 'un, Valenar Tirenius, ya might've heard of him--the Loch's been named after 'im, an' you can see it from town once you get there--he was a stand-up fella," the captain took his hands off the wheel and rubbed them in anticipation, "but once the region started fillin' up with people, the great nation of Tirenius was born, still to this day the newest country on the map!" The girl found her eyes wandering again. By now, the sun had begun to peek out from behind the distant hills and the fading stars were altogether lost from sight. "Ol' Valenar presided over the town, as well as the entire country, once it came to be. An' this is somethin' you'll wanna remember, lass, 'cause it's important--Valenar Tirenius was the governor from 581 to 622, and it was on the 12th of Seventhmoon in the year 598 that the nation of Tirenius was born!" The girl nodded comprehendingly, though she privately thought that 7/12/598 was probably among the hardest dates imaginable to commit to memory.
The captain's delight could barely be contained as his snickering was poorly stifled, "'stoo bad Valenar stepped down and left his idiot son in charge! Phillipe Tirenius, the Horse Lover, he was called, and it only took three years for his pervert hobbies ta come ta light!" The captain's laughter was so loud that many of the nobles on-deck proceeded to glare at the girl and the wheelhouse, and became so protracted that the girl, once she shook off the aristocrats' deathly stares, began to eye the riverbanks with mounting unease. "An'-an' ever since," he went on despite choking back tears and guffaws, "it's always been some merchant lookin' ta get himself more power that went 'n ran for governor, and every time," more stifled snickers and guffaws, "every time they's always gettin' caught diddlin' little boys or sleepin' around with everyone's wives or, by the Light, ya won't believe what Marla Graus, Tirenius' first 'n only lady governor, did ta get the post!" At this point, the young traveler began to thoroughly block the captain's stories out, determining that both the trip and his stories still had several hours to go.
For the next hour or so, boredom and fatigue clawing at her eyelids, she endeavored to flash the captain a humorous smile here and there, nod or shake her head regularly whenever the story might call for it, and in general pretend that every one of his baudy tales was absolutely riveting. Along the riverbank, she spotted small settlements more and more frequently, which was a good indicator that her long river cruise was nearly at its end. "Ah, looks like we'll be comin' up on Grüntal's river port in a half-hour or so, so if you don't mind, I'll be skippin' right ahead to more current matters," the captain spoke hastily. "So, Tirenius is currently bein' led by one of the few noble governors in its history: Arthurius Windstrom, a conservative but very honorable man!" The captain puffed his chest with pride. "It only makes sense, as our country was facin' a huge economic crisis when he stepped forward. I believe Windstrom was elected in 732, or-or was it 733...?" The sound of a scruffy beard being scratched wafted through the wheelhouse window. "Well, whichever it was, he right then 'n there started all kinds o' programs ta get our country back on its feet--worked with the elves in the Eastern Hunt, he did! An' if anyone's got their shit together, it'd be them elves! Long time they've been sayin' we humans don't know how to keep our economies floatin', and Windstrom knows the value of tradition, even if it ain't human ones!"
The girl's private thoughts wandered briefly towards the idea that this Windstrom guy must not be all that conservative if he's all for trying new ideas, but the captain's tale continued, "An' so Tirenius was pulled out of the recession an' business was boomin'--Grüntal had the world talkin' once again, bein' the first human town to adopt elven economic policies without completely shittin' the bed! It was a big deal--I mean, makin' sure every last man, woman, an' child got a certain amount o' money every month? Ya'd have to be a bleedin' High Elf to figure that stuff out! An' yet, ol' Windstrom did it, by the Light! But what's even more interestin' about Windstrom's administration is the fella who was ousted just a year or so ago." At this, the girl spun her head towards the wheelhouse so quickly that her neck cracked. For some reason, this was the first thing the captain's said all morning that aroused any real interest from her (not that he would've noticed). "Darimus Kinstrode was his name, I think. Real unpleasant fella. Short 'n fat 'n got a big bald spot on top of his head. An' if Governor Windstrom showed us what a good conservative politician's all about, Kinstrode sure as hell showed us what a bad one's sure ta do." The captain leaned over to the opposide end of the wheelhouse and spat a massive wad of phlegm over the starboard side before returning to his story, a grimace plainly visible beneath his bushy moustache.
"Most greedy an' racist piece o' shit I ever did see," he grumbled. "Well, granted, never met 'im myself, but every word of his in the paper's always some trash like 'uncultured midget terrorists' when the dwarves invented the steam engine, sayin' they're some kinda inferior race tryin' ta take over our lands an' defile our women an' all that bunk." The sun was high enough now to illuminate the valley stretching ahead downriver, and the vague shapes of a city were now in view. The captain opened up a small hatch attached to a bronze tube, and shouted into it, "WE'LL BE ARRIVIN' SHORTLY! IF'N YOU AIN'T READY TO LAND, IT'LL BE YER OWN DAMN FAULT!" He closed the hatch and cleared his throat, turning back to his captive audience member. "Anyway, that Kinstrode bastard worked as Windstrom's chief secretary, which gave 'im full run o' Grüntal, unfortunately, an' he fought tooth-an'-nail to keep 'that degenerate elf policy that rewards beggars and moochers'," the captain relayed in a mocking high-pitched tone, "from ever bein' passed in the town's legistive...legalist...law-makin' hall. Betcha it was to keep his pockets full, as a lotta people say he was makin' a lotta quinas offa keepin' the poor, well, poor. So there 'e was, rollin' in quinas while his constituents barely got two vanas to rub together, fightin' against a law that would make everyone's lives better 'cept his." A triumphant smile flashed across the captain's face. "Thought he'd have a word with 'is boss, that Kinstrode did, an' he was fired on the spot! Then 'e tried to campaign against 'im--imagine that, a greedy toad like 'im tryin' ta win an election against Windstrom, who's pretty much loved by everyone 'round here!" A derisive laugh, seemingly deserved. "Well, you can guess how it turned out. Ever since, that Kinstrode bastard's been holed up in 'is mansion an' rarely shows his face anymore. Not than anyone's complainin'. An' now, with that all said, I'd say yer up ta speed, lass." He gave an important nod and held out his arms in a grandiose fashion. "That's the full, truthful history of the fine fishin' town of Grüntal! And I'll be eatin' my hat if it ain't so!"
The girl had a sneaking suspicion that, despite the captain's rough and off-the-cuff presentation, this whole story of his was actually well-scripted and well-rehearsed, because as he finished his tale, she was surprised to look up and see the town's river port fast approaching. The timing had to have been deliberate. Nevertheless, she seemed to have been satisfied by some part of his tale, because as she reached down to hoist her bag over her shoulder, she took a small piece of parchment from a roll attached to her belt, placed it under her cloak while making some strange gesture, and pulled it back out to hand to the captain. With a smile and a wave, she left the wheelhouse behind and stepped onto Grüntal's large and lavish pier. What a lovely girl, the captain thought to himself. As he gathered his things, no doubt preparing to get some supplies while in town, he unfolded the parchment the traveler handed to him and was curious about the message it contained: "Thank you for all your help, captain. The information you have shared will be most valuable in my investigation. Should my efforts prove successful, you will no doubt be among those who played their part in saving Grüntal from its destruction."
* * *
Grüntal was, indeed, a city worthy of being called "The Crown of Tirenius." The main thoroughfare leading from the pier was lined with shops and businesses of all kinds, in quaint storefronts or gargantuan stone towers. Side streets and alleyways, bustling and overflowing with people on their way to grab some lunch, formed a vast network of human activity. The town center, ironically located next to the pier and not really in the center at all, boasted the most successful businesses and most cutting-edge technologies (including a steam-powered foot massager, wherein a pump moved steam in and out of a bellows that raised and lowered a contoured foot stand, much to the delight of onlookers). A magnificent fountain in the town center depicted the nation's founder, Valenar Tirenius, in polished granite decorated with gilded armor and a lavishly-gemmed circlet, holding aloft a great water jug high to the heavens, the stream pouring out of the jug's lip and into the pool below. In the water's shallow bottom, a random assortment of coins could be seen, from numerous small silver vanas, several bronze zennas, a handful of green donas, and, from what the traveler could see, only a single golden quina. At the statue's feet was an inscription, bearing the legend: "Our Founder, Valenar Tirenius, 549-626. Blessed by the Light Eternal, the rivers of his wisdom flow like mighty waters through this great nation."
One of the first buildings along the thoroughfare was marked "Immigration and International Travel Bureau," and, as it was apparently customary by virtue of the fact that she witnessed an older couple from the steamship enter mere moments ago, the young traveler approached and let herself inside, as well. The building's interior was slightly shabby, the ancient wooden walls cracked but otherwise immaculate. A great long, bent table shaped like three sides of a square cordoned off a handful of clerks--an older man with a wispy white afro and a monocle discussing passport portraits wheezily with his customer, a plump middle-aged woman adorned in a shockingly-green cardigan cackling merrily at a joke told by a dashingly-handsome man she was assisting, and the third clerk appeared to be a beautiful, shapely woman carved out of wood, with her long bark fingers rifling through a nervous young man's paperwork--and in the middle of the room, three short lines had formed. Above each clerk hung a small, well-worn plaque indicating each of their stations' roles: The wispy older gentleman sat below "Passport Preparation - Putting Your Best Foot Foward!," the plump and amiable woman sat beneath "Your Destination Destination - Where Will You Go and How Will You Get There?," and the serene wood-woman's plaque read, "Documents Authentication - Are You Really Who You Say You Are?" The raven-haired young traveler shuffled on over to the Documents Authentication line, and found herself behind the aristocratic old couple she saw earlier. The wait time seemed to drag, and she found herself eavesdropping on them, catching phrases like "...can't believe he's taking so long..." and "...hope the steamship's still in port to take us to Vernalia..." as they whispered waspishly to each other with very little effort to conceal their impatience.
After fifteen minutes, the old couple finally reached the wood-woman's desk and the husband made it a point to display their documents swiftly and sternly state which paper was which. At this point, the girl in the dark green cloak decided a similar course of action was necessary, as she reached into the folds of her cloak to seize her own paperwork. The couple's haste seemed to have paid off, for their business was already concluded by the time the traveler found the last of her forms, catching her slightly off-guard. "I can help whoever's next," the wood-woman's smooth, calming voice wafted through the air like the refreshing scent of pine sap. The raven-haired girl shuffled sheepishly up to the Documents Authentication desk and presented her files to the wooden official. "Ah yes, Ms., err...Malrissa?" She looked quizzically at the girl. "No formal last name or family name?" The girl shook her head, nervousness draining her already lightly-colored face. "Odd for a human, but not unheard of," the wood-woman's silky voice caressed the office air as she shrugged off the unusual detail. Now that she was up close, the traveler Malrissa noticed a small placard on the official's desk, naming her Nal'anya, Head of Authentication and Forgery Detection. "Born in Tenthmoon of 737--awfully young to be traveling alone as a human, my dear--current residence is a cottage in town of Fenn, nation of Kritania on the Verdant Stretch--that's quite the distance you've come, young one--portrait appears accurate--and drawn exceptionally well, you must've found an excellent artist to handle your portrait..." Nal'anya put down the passport and began reading the sheet below, an official confirmation of legal permission to cross the Tirenian border from the bordering elven nation, The Eastern Hunt. "You came from the capital, Roselake, as well? Must've been strange for such an isolationist kingdom to get so many human visitors, so I can only assume that this Border Exit form was completed very quickly." Malrissa tussled the hair on the back of her head nervously, thinking that it was significantly and suspiciously quicker to gain permission to leave The Eastern Hunt's borders than it was to enter. A moment of silence sat awkwardly between the two as the brightly-dressed woman at Your Destination Destination was making animated conversation with a new customer, before Nal'anya finally seemed to have pored over the last few sheets.
"Well, Ms. Malrissa, I could detect no forgeries in your paperwork, and I have received confirmation from Mr. Alavash'nir of Roselake's International Travel Bureau regarding the validity of your credentials..." the wooden clerk proclaimed serenely, though Malrissa was left wondering as to how she had obtained such confirmation so quickly, "...so you are now free to go." Nal'anya nodded in the direction of the neatly-stacked documents in front of her. Malrissa gave a grateful smile as she scooped up her paperwork and ushered them haphazardly into her cloak pocket. "And I'm sure you won't need me to tell you this, young one, but be sure to enjoy your stay here in the great nation of Tirenius, and may the deities of your chosen faith watch over you and keep you safe." Malrissa raised a curious eyebrow at this unusual nicety. Nal'anya shrugged. "I would have simply given you blessings from the Life-Goddess Vilara, but, umm, I know that most humans know nothing of the gods of the fey, so I felt that such confusion would be unwarranted." Malrissa exited the International Travel Bureau feeling thoroughly more perplexed than perhaps the lackadaisical clerk had hoped.
* * *
Summer sunlight flooded the cobblestone streets as stifling humidity caused every inch of Malrissa's tunic and pants to cling tightly to her body like an inconsolable mother to a son who had just joined the king's army. Her large travel bag cut into whichever shoulder she hoisted it over after only a few minutes, so she contented herself to drag it along the ground. 'It's boarhide,' she thought to herself, 'It'll be fine. The road's clean...ish." It didn't take long for her ventures down Grüntal's winding streets for her face, neck, and damn near everything else to be drenched with sweat, but at least her travel bag was taking its abuse in stride. "Man, it's hot!" a gruff voice cried out from a restaurant on the right, cutting through the unmistakable smell of smoked meats. A thinner male voice responded, "The magi at the Climate Center said these next few weeks will be the hottest of the decade!" A grumble, a sound like a heavy, full dish clattering, and the gruff voice returned, "Goddamn pantywaists! Why spend your adolescence learning magic if you're just gonna waste your time predicting the weather? Hell, I'd cut off my beard and donate it to charity to learn how to use magic, just so I could control the damn weather and show those losers how a real mage operates!" Malrissa was already half a block away from the steakhouse, and still the gruff voice sounded clearly enough to be right next to her. Without warning, the smokehouse's smell wafted into her nose once more--apparently the road she was walking along was downwind from the noisy man's establishment--and Malrissa felt the unbearable weight of sweat and humidity fade away as the hunger drive began to take over her brain. With her paperwork now in order, the time to grab some grub was nigh, and she sure as hell wasn't going to spend a meal listening to more gravelly ranting. And with that, Malrissa straightened herself up and continued down the blinding-bright stone road in search of sustenance.
'Come to think of it,' she came to think of it, 'I still need to find a place to stay while I'm here. Grüntal's a big town, there's gotta be inns all over the place.' It's one thing to order a brain to look for food whilst hungry, but pulling double-duty and demanding it also look for lodging is too much for a starving teenaged mind, and so Malrissa's brain took the lazy option and sought exclusively an establishment that was both a food stop and an inn. Fortunately, it didn't take long at all to find it: "Levanne Bed'n'Bread," a loud red sign exclaimed on the building's wood-panel exterior, with a smaller brown oval sign subtitling, "Rolling and rising a-bread of the competition since 681!" Everything about them was pure pain, but sweat and hunger urged her onward. Hoisting her dirtied but durable bag over her right shoulder once more, Malrissa stepped on up to the poorly-named inn and entered. Immediately, the inviting smell of fresh dough overrode all thought processes, and Malrissa caught herself wandering aimlessly towards the source of that warm, heavenly aroma. She then proceeded to act like she was taking a roundabout pathway to the front desk. Snapped out of her stupor, Malrissa noticed that the interior of the inn was much like the exterior--light brown and wood-paneled. She remembered the sign outside saying this place was founded in 681, and seemed to recall reading somewhere that wood-paneling as an aesthetic construction method was popularized around that time, the brain-child of a famous mage who was unsatisfied with academia and turned to carpentry instead. Portraits and busts of what were apparently local heroes served as decoration in a spacious pub area off to the left, and she could've sworn she saw a six-foot-long mounted Antarctic Mackerel on the landing leading up the stairs to the guest rooms. Stupid thing must've been a thousand miles away from home when it got caught.
As she finally approached the counter, Malrissa saw a young girl who appeared to be her own age behind the counter, sitting on a wooden chair with a large hard-bound book in her lap. Great bunches of long, wavy, light-brown hair fell upon the girl's shoulders and chest, which--to Malrissa's consternation--was quite ample, indeed. A pair of narrow reading glasses were perched upon her perfectly-shaped nose, and--again, to Malrissa's envious irritation--her skin was radiant and absolutely immaculate. Scanning the book's pages were the most gorgeous blue eyes she, or perhaps anyone, had ever laid their own eyes on. A thin, delicate, gentle hand lifted itself from beneath the gigantic tome and turned one of its pages. 'You've gotta be kidding me!' Malrissa's mind raged inwardly, 'How the hell does someone win the genetic lottery like that?! I mean, compared to her, I'm--' But whatever universal injustice Malrissa was about to mentally expose was put on hold, for the unnaturally-attractive girl finally took notice of her guest and, with a flurry of flustered gestures and the thunk of a large book falling to the ground, she rose from her seat and practically prostrated herself before Malrissa. "Omigosh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please pardon me! I was just so absorbed I didn't notice--ah! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to imply that you're not interesting or important to us! I mean, welcome to Brevanne Led'n'Bread--I MEAN!! WELCOME TO LEVANNE BED'N'BREAD MY NAME IS WINONA LEVANNE PLEASE FORGIVE ME DON'T RUN AWAY I AM SO SORRY!!"
This girl, who had looked so downright beautiful and elegant just a moment ago, now looked remarkably childlike with her hair laying about her shoulders and frustratingly-large chest at random, glasses askew, face scrunched up in desperate supplication. At once, hunger hijacked Malrissa's brain once more, and she fumbled around at her belt, opening a small black pouch containing a portable roll of parchment. She tore a small piece off with her right hand and, from her left hand, a small mote of green fire manifested itself right before Winona's obscenely blue, unbelieving eyes. The green fire snaked its way from the mote onto the parchment, its iridescent light illuminating Malrissa's face and chest before dying down suddenly, its task complete. She handed the parchment to the astonished Winona, and its surface bore two messy, poorly-scrawled words: "I HUNGER." Before even stopping to consider how odd it was that her guest used such a roundabout method to communicate such a simple message, Winona doubled over with laughter, "Y-You mean, that wonderful, light show, just now, was just for this? It's, it's too much!" She was now huddled on the counter for support, shoulders quaking. "'I hunger'! Y-You can use magic, but, but...'I hunger'!" Malrissa crossed her arms in annoyance at the girl's melodious laughter. 'She'd be likable if she wasn't so damn charming, beautiful, and friendly!' her thoughts grumbled bitterly. Winona had finally composed herself, straightening her glasses and wiping tears of hilarity from the corners of her eyes, "I'm terribly sorry for the trouble. Please, right this way," she gestured gently towards the pub area before breaking out into a fresh wave of stifled chortling, "I-If you still hunger, that is!" It was patently obvious that this Winona girl was good-natured and wore her emotions on her sleeve, but dammit, was the note really that funny?
Malrissa was seated at a table for two just inside the pub, mere feet away from the front counter, and the still-giggling Winona brought her a menu printed on a large sheet of paper with a strange clear, protective coating. She was briefly curious about the covering, but that could wait--she tore her eyes up and down the menu's contents, instinct guiding them greedily from one entry to the next. The fact that the place was called "Levanne Bed'n'Bread" should've been a giveaway, but Malrissa was surprised at how prominently grain played a role in every dish: Steak-and-pepper rolls with boiled potatoes, seared lamb served with steamed leeks and huge dinner rolls, bread-fried fish fillet served in a buttery bread bowl alongside some poor hapless greenery that could only disappoint after ingesting something so fluffy, decadent, and beautiful. "Have you decided yet?" Winona's gentle indoors-voice was alarmingly calming, and any previous agitation Malrissa had felt towards her flaky host strangely seemed to melt away. She nodded, held up the menu and pointed blindly at the roughly-estimated spot where the fish fillet item was located, specifically a variant version served with various kinds of hot peppers. "Ah yes, a wonderful choice!" Winona crooned, "And what can I get you to drink?" Malrissa hadn't thought of that, and now she felt pretty foolish. She awkwardly fumbled for her parchment roll and, in the familiar display of green fire, etched a few, more neatly-written, words onto a small square piece: "Just water will be fine, thanks."
"Umm..." Winona began with an air of cautious friendliness, "I don't mean to tell you what you can or can't do, I mean...but, umm...wouldn't it be faster to say what you want? I-I mean, I'm not saying you should! I-It's totally up to you! I just, I..." but before Winona could fluster her way into a deeper hole, Malrissa waved her hand dismissively and smirked before pulling down the neck of her tunic--there, clear as anything, a horrendous and jagged scar as thick as two of her fingers tore across the whole of her neck, the reason for her silence blindingly obvious. Winona's gasp of horror was as deep and dramatic as it was startlingly genuine. As Malrissa flashed a don't-worry-about-it wave of her hand, her host clasped both of hers on top. Winona's infinitely-blue eyes were suddenly streaming with great, fat tears. "I'm...I'm so sorry! I've d-done nothing but harass and insult you! How could I be so rude?! I just, I-I--" And just like that, she ran off with surprising speed while wiping her eyes with her forearm, presumably about to attempt a land-speed record for Fastest Food-Prep Service in Tirenius. Winona was still tearful when she brought out a large pitcher of ice-cold water and a beautifully-sculpted drinking glass, but as Malrissa raised her hand to wave in thanks, her host bolted once more, evidently wishing to be as little trouble as possible. 'Aww dammit, now I feel bad,' Malrissa thought, 'That girl's simply too good for this sinful world!' her mind mused to itself with ironic mock-sanctimoniousness.
About 20 minutes later, as the afternoon sun was now visible through the pub area's tall windows, a handful of customers started trickling in one by one. A new figure emerged from the direction of the kitchen (presumably) to see to them, and considering the friendly conversations that ensued, they must be some of the regulars. Malrissa had been taking a swig of water and very nearly spat it out in surprise as her new host approached, since she was very nearly the spitting image of Winona, albeit slightly more aged, curvier, and somehow, miraculously, even bustier. Slight dimples at the corners of the woman's mouth were the only indicators of imperfection, mesmerizing attractiveness apparently being hereditary in the Levanne family. "Hello dear, my name's Hilda Levanne, and I'm terribly sorry about the wait," the woman said in a naturally deep and, strangely, sultry voice as she balanced two large glass plates perched upon her left arm. "My lovely young daughter--you must be around the same age, I imagine, so very young to be out and about all on your own--but my daughter came crying to me saying she'd insulted a guest and then locked herself in her room! She can be a little dramatic; I hope you can forgive her." Malrissa waved both her hands frantically in front of her, indicating that the situation was not as it appeared, and she tore a several-inch section of parchment from her belt and formed the mote of green fire to write on it. "Oh, my...to think we'd have such a talented mage patronize our humble inn!" the woman crooned as Winona did earlier, placing the large plates on either side of Malrissa's little ritual. As the green flame died once again, Malrissa handed the slip to the now-freed hands of Winona's mother.
The parchment stated: "It's not like that--the Winona girl's just being inordinately hard on herself. She was curious about why I don't speak, and so I showed her my scar, and, well, she thought she insulted me...somehow? Do tell her it's alright, I haven't been harassed or whatever it is she thinks she's done. (Also, while we're here and this is all out, I'd also like to buy one of your rooms for the next week.)"
Though she still felt slightly guilty, Malrissa's hunger reached its peak, so she pulled the plate containing the fried fish fillet bread bowl towards her and began to chow down unceremoniously. "Why of course, you're welcome to stay in one of our rooms for the week," Mrs. Levanne said with a warm smile so very much like Winona's, "and I'll be sure to let her know she's worrying over nothing again. She really is such a sweet girl, and she takes her job so seriously, too, even if she is a little flaky. Well, I'll be back shortly to check on you, dear." Malrissa bowed her head gratefully, and as Hilda Levanne turned the corner, she went back to ravaging her meal like a beast gone mad. The fish was perfectly prepared, but it seemed the inn's pride in its grains was not misplaced, as the second dish containing two cheesy biscuits and the inn's specialty, the Tirenian Pepper Roll, easily stole the show with their glutenous glory. Malrissa's belt mysteriously felt much too tight to be her own by the meal's end, when Winona made a surprise return to collect the dishes, looking sheepish and embarrassed. She seemed hesitant to look Malrissa in the eye.
"I, umm...I'll go ahead and take your dishes, and i-if you give me a few minutes, I can then show you your room--I mean, show you to your room--I-I mean, I guess either way's fine, huh? W-Well, I'll be back!" Winona stammered awkwardly, her hand shaking slightly as she gathered up the two plates, the glass, and the pitcher. Malrissa reached into her pants pocket to retrieve a handful of golden quinas to pay for her meal, and placed them on the table before standing up to pace about the pub. The minutes seemed to pass by with inappropriate sloth, as Malrissa studied the local heroes' portraits and busts in vain for any details the steamship captain neglected to mention early that morning. The man certainly knew his stuff, apparently. Winona reappeared about 10 minutes later, hands folded in front of her and fidgeting slightly, still quite sheepish. "If you come this way, I-I'll show you where you'll be staying." She suddenly balled her hands into fists, striking a determined pose. "I've decided to take a hit in my pay to let you stay in our finest room at half its usual rate!" she exclaimed with righteous fire blazing in those blue, blue eyes. Malrissa smiled bashfully, left hand reaching for her belt to issue a reply before Winona seized it with both her own hands. "It's alright! It's how I want to make things up to you! I'm also treating you to all your meals all week long!" Malrissa wanted to protest--this was clearly too much--but she continued on, "And, and...anything else you need, don't be afraid to ask, okay? So please...just let me make it up to you." Malrissa's eyes met hers, the muddy green standing no chance against the heartwarming sincerity bubbling up to the surface of those fathomless blue pools. Malrissa found herself thinking again, without irony, that this girl really was too good for this sinful world. She returned to her chair, hoisted up her travel bag, and followed Winona to the stairs.
Up the landing to the second floor, Winona took the left-hand path to a door at the end of the hall. "Here it is: The best room at the Levanne Bed'n'Bread!" she cried out triumphantly. The candles in the room hadn't been lit yet, and the evening sunlight seeping through the curtains didn't make things any brighter, somewhat dampening the illustrious introduction. Winona pulled out some flint to light a candle, but Malrissa had this covered--with a wave of her left hand, bright sparks sought out the room's many candles and braziers, lighting them with magnificent white flames. Now illuminated, the room bore luxurious midnight blue curtains and beautifully-made wooden dressers, a mirror-polished wooden floor with small, sleek animal fur rugs, and a spacious four-poster bed with silk sheets. It really was the most wonderful room Malrissa had ever seen. Winona, meanwhile, stared in awe at the dancing flames. "Wow, that's incredible, umm..." In that moment, Malrissa suddenly remembered that she hadn't yet given Winona her name. She tore a parchment fragment and, with the help of that green mote of flame, quickly etched: "Call me Malrissa." Winona stared at the parchment, seemingly trying to engrave every detail of the short message into her heart and mind, before looking up and smiling at her honored guest. "Well, I'd better go down and see if my parents need any help," she said meekly, to which Malrissa returned a smile and waved, bidding farewell to her beautiful, overenthusiastic host.
Now, as the sun began to set and she was left in private, Malrissa undressed out of her dirtied traveling clothes and dug through her bag for a fresh change of undergarments and a light sleep outfit. There really wasn't any need to go outside for the rest of the day, so she might as well sit tight and relax. It was a pretty normal day, all things considered, but from tomorrow on, the investigation will be in full swing. And based on the current information, the once-prominent politician, Darimus Kinstrode, was the primary suspect. Malrissa began to mentally put together a battle plan for tomorrow, so that, hopefully, as she had promised the captain, by week's end she'll have saved Grüntal from its fated destruction.