It was mid-morning when the pair made it to Vel Termos. It was a quiet coastal town, barely more than a hundred people, and it was built almost entirely of blinding white marble. The air was thick with salt and ocean spray and the sky was dotted with gulls, terns, and the occasional pelican.
The road had gone from cobblestone, to gravel, to dirt, and finally to densely packed sand the closer they got to the sea. Nathaira and Rumer, her apprentice of sorts, had made this journey like almost every other: on foot. The Forsaken were rarely permitted the luxury of horses or, heavens forbid, carriages. Their place was in the shadows, on the margins of society. When speed was not paramount they were expected to make their own way, unseen.
It had taken almost four days to make the trek from Vel Anir, a bit longer than had Nathaira been on her own, but the girl’s endurance had been growing. This was good. ”Sstay close,” Nathaira reminded her ward as they approached one of the only two-story buildings that the town had, its singular inn. A wind-worn sign swung in the morning breeze and read “The Pelican’s Nest.”
It was a stark adjustment from the bright coastal sunlight to the dim interior, and Nathaira’s slit-pupils widened dramatically beneath her cowl. Her hood was pull up as far as it would go, and she had wrapped a plain scarf over most of her face. Her appearance would draw attention, and there was no reason to reveal herself when she had a pretty, innocent-faced girl to do the talking for them.
They had been granted a very meager stipend for the trip, and Nathaira had given Rumer enough of this to book a room for the night. She gently nudged the girl towards the innkeeper so that they could be seen to their room at once.
While the girl took care of this, the half-naga’s eyes scanned the room. A small smattering of people, a few hon-humans, nothing out of the ordinary for a small border settlement. It would do.
The road had gone from cobblestone, to gravel, to dirt, and finally to densely packed sand the closer they got to the sea. Nathaira and Rumer, her apprentice of sorts, had made this journey like almost every other: on foot. The Forsaken were rarely permitted the luxury of horses or, heavens forbid, carriages. Their place was in the shadows, on the margins of society. When speed was not paramount they were expected to make their own way, unseen.
It had taken almost four days to make the trek from Vel Anir, a bit longer than had Nathaira been on her own, but the girl’s endurance had been growing. This was good. ”Sstay close,” Nathaira reminded her ward as they approached one of the only two-story buildings that the town had, its singular inn. A wind-worn sign swung in the morning breeze and read “The Pelican’s Nest.”
It was a stark adjustment from the bright coastal sunlight to the dim interior, and Nathaira’s slit-pupils widened dramatically beneath her cowl. Her hood was pull up as far as it would go, and she had wrapped a plain scarf over most of her face. Her appearance would draw attention, and there was no reason to reveal herself when she had a pretty, innocent-faced girl to do the talking for them.
They had been granted a very meager stipend for the trip, and Nathaira had given Rumer enough of this to book a room for the night. She gently nudged the girl towards the innkeeper so that they could be seen to their room at once.
While the girl took care of this, the half-naga’s eyes scanned the room. A small smattering of people, a few hon-humans, nothing out of the ordinary for a small border settlement. It would do.