Scene 1 –
Priscilla is taken by, and from, her bath.
The evening strengthened as Priscilla stepped out from the drinking hall and into the quiet township of Quakestir. She’d arrived at the tavern earlier than expected, and felt thankful the residents from the last village overexaggerated the distance. On a journey as long as this, it was the small things to say the least.
Arriving early meant she got to a hot meal and a fiery drink (or nine) sooner, but it also meant she tapped out sooner. Leaving for the inn before true night fell meant the barmaid she’d been eyeing up all evening, the one with the dark, hawkish eyes, wouldn’t be accompanying her. However, rising upon first light would jumpstart the final day of travel before she reached the mountains. Even from a 10 hour’s walk away, the peaks smudged the skyline.
Adjusting the leather strap of her heavy dragongun, she rolled her dusky green shoulders in anticipation of a warm bath and a cozy bed. These were unheard of luxuries on the road, but Priscilla was accustomed to treating herself to the finer things. She deserved to, anyway, when she was between contracts. When as skilled as she, her type of work paid handsomely. However, there was a type of debt simple monarchs couldn’t fix. That was why she was eager to pray directly to the Vulture of Blood for forgiveness when she was within the mountains.