Trade Routes (Oct 1)

[wisp]

Derya sucked at her teeth as she examined the bags and pouches laying on the small cot in front of her. She sighed softly as she selected a few potions, a few coins, a few snacks and stashed the rest of her belongings under the mattress. The elven woman pulled her brocaded coat on, wearing a full shirt beneath for once rather than the corset she tended to favour. The days were getting colder and she wasn't used to the chill, having spent half a century much further south. As she dressed, wrapping colourful scarves about her neck and head, she hummed the tune to a bawdy drinking song. Finally set, Derya slipped out of her cabin, still humming to herself.
She walked the jingly swagger that had become so practiced for her as she passed through town, a carefully maintained casual appearance gracing every motion and the curve of her lips. She didn't want to be stopped, didn't want questions to be asked. She had work to do and it was the sort of work that was better when no one else knew of it. Every now and then she'd cast a look about, a long look designed to appear to be one of taking in her surroundings, as if she were simply enjoying the scenery. A look to make sure she wasn't being followed.
Down by the creek she went, walking softly as she considered trails, clearings in the brush, fords, passages, and most importantly, cover. Smuggling wasn't exactly profitable if folk could see you doing it.
She had a plan, the point-eared swashbuckler. She had many plans, actually. Such was the benefit of being long-lived, she had the luxury of time. But this plan, this plan she thought could work out rather well for her. So she scouted, tested the ground, examined the approaches and considered spaces for stashing goods.

 

[wisp]

Walking along the creekside, Derya began to let her thoughts wander. She was prone to these flights of fancy, her mother had often scolded her over them. Child, she would say, keep gaping at the ocean like that and she'll have you, eat you up whole and leave not even bones for your poor mother to find. And then it was a swift cuff to the side of her head as she was told to keep scrubbing this or that.

The Elven lass stopped paying heed to her steps which was, indeed, an unfortunate choice. The heavy rains from earlier in the season had washed away the lower half of the bank. The added weight of the tall archer was too much and the soil gave way beneath her, sending her sliding into the cold water and mud. A yelp sprang from her lips as she landed hard on her arse, her coins jangling at her hip. "Bloody moon week of an angry troll..." The mutter came out a bit more venomous than the woman had perhaps intended, but she was rather focused on the obscene amount of mud and water seeping into her trousers.

 

[Dramm a'dan]

(OOG: Ringht now you are sitting around the fire talking to Garnet and Crow, Can not be in two places at once.)