Thread Title 
It was the first day of Daichin Togloom, a day upon which many were busy celebrating the holiday with games and festivities. A day which Areya had loved in her old life. She had loved watching the feats of strength and skill, seeing the other men and women competing with one another. But as she traveled now, hood up, ducking between the crowds, she felt nothing but the weariness of a long season upon her shoulders.
She'd spent so much of the season to strengthen her body and skills for the mission she'd been given, spent so much time trying to glean any info on her target, as well as the Third Deep. And she didn't feel any closer than she had the day she'd been given the task. She was exhausted. And it showed on her face plainly, deep bags beneath her eyes, cheeks more gaunt.
Which is what finally led to Torria to snap at her.
Torria had never acted that way with her, and Areya heard truth in her words, albeit stubbornly so. She knew she was becoming frayed. She needed to clear her head. So she took her privilege of going topside while leaving Torria stewing in their now shared cell. She shoved through the crowds, not sure where she was going, but was going there angrily and in a storm of frustration.
And eventually she found herself standing in front of the Velvet Cabaret.
She looked around, not realizing she had even been walking this way. Then she remember Ary and the smallest of smiles grew upon her face. He had been so easy to talk to. Though he'd said he wanted to get out of his... lascivious, maybe he was still here. And since she had more free reign these days, and resources to boot, she could visit him without it being for work.
And so, Areya walked through the front doors of the Velvet Cabaret, greeted by the guards that she had filled in on that night, what felt so long ago. It was just as she remembered, dark and warm, filled with hush whispers, flavorful smoke, and a well lit stage. She looked around but didn't immediately see her friend.
She moved over to the bar and sat down, and a bartender came over, a spritely elf woman. "What can I get you, darlin?"
"Something that burns. Do you know if Arvalyn is still here?"
The bartender smiled politely, "Oh I'm sure he's around here somewhere. I'll keep an eye out and pass a word for you if I see him."
The barkeep poured her a glass of a smoky whiskey, and Areya opened a tab in the name she'd been given for bookkeeping purposes by the Sky Guard. The money minder that kept her books had not once questioned any of the purchases she had made, and she doubted he would start now. After all, the Shohane herself had signed off on giving her carte blanche.
Areya down the first whiskey in a single gulp, scrunching her face up at the burn and signaled for another. She swirled in her seat, leaning back against the bar, sipping at this whiskey now and watching the room. She had given her cloak to the coat check, and now she she was there in a clean, light brown shirt, a rarity to most in the Legion, the ties at the top slightly loosened in the warmth of the room in Searing, and a pair of equally clean linen trousers, a shining pair of boots meant for traversing the slippery and treacherous stones of the Warrens.
She was certainly the same woman despite not likely looking the part.
Searing 88, 121
It was the first day of Daichin Togloom, a day upon which many were busy celebrating the holiday with games and festivities. A day which Areya had loved in her old life. She had loved watching the feats of strength and skill, seeing the other men and women competing with one another. But as she traveled now, hood up, ducking between the crowds, she felt nothing but the weariness of a long season upon her shoulders.
She'd spent so much of the season to strengthen her body and skills for the mission she'd been given, spent so much time trying to glean any info on her target, as well as the Third Deep. And she didn't feel any closer than she had the day she'd been given the task. She was exhausted. And it showed on her face plainly, deep bags beneath her eyes, cheeks more gaunt.
Which is what finally led to Torria to snap at her.
Torria had never acted that way with her, and Areya heard truth in her words, albeit stubbornly so. She knew she was becoming frayed. She needed to clear her head. So she took her privilege of going topside while leaving Torria stewing in their now shared cell. She shoved through the crowds, not sure where she was going, but was going there angrily and in a storm of frustration.
And eventually she found herself standing in front of the Velvet Cabaret.
She looked around, not realizing she had even been walking this way. Then she remember Ary and the smallest of smiles grew upon her face. He had been so easy to talk to. Though he'd said he wanted to get out of his... lascivious, maybe he was still here. And since she had more free reign these days, and resources to boot, she could visit him without it being for work.
And so, Areya walked through the front doors of the Velvet Cabaret, greeted by the guards that she had filled in on that night, what felt so long ago. It was just as she remembered, dark and warm, filled with hush whispers, flavorful smoke, and a well lit stage. She looked around but didn't immediately see her friend.
She moved over to the bar and sat down, and a bartender came over, a spritely elf woman. "What can I get you, darlin?"
"Something that burns. Do you know if Arvalyn is still here?"
The bartender smiled politely, "Oh I'm sure he's around here somewhere. I'll keep an eye out and pass a word for you if I see him."
The barkeep poured her a glass of a smoky whiskey, and Areya opened a tab in the name she'd been given for bookkeeping purposes by the Sky Guard. The money minder that kept her books had not once questioned any of the purchases she had made, and she doubted he would start now. After all, the Shohane herself had signed off on giving her carte blanche.
Areya down the first whiskey in a single gulp, scrunching her face up at the burn and signaled for another. She swirled in her seat, leaning back against the bar, sipping at this whiskey now and watching the room. She had given her cloak to the coat check, and now she she was there in a clean, light brown shirt, a rarity to most in the Legion, the ties at the top slightly loosened in the warmth of the room in Searing, and a pair of equally clean linen trousers, a shining pair of boots meant for traversing the slippery and treacherous stones of the Warrens.
She was certainly the same woman despite not likely looking the part.
