Timestamp: 73 Spring, 512, After Sunset Location: Soothing Waters The petching city was gross. Hardly a breeze stirred the place, and those rare exceptional times when it did, it was laden with the stench of knights in armor, offal in the streets, and musty old stone singed by the horrors of the djed storm. It made Pash'nar's skin crawl and his eyes water—this was no fresh, salty air, no beautiful open sea. It was horrible. The fortress city's docks were destroyed, which was, of course, even more depressing than the state of the rest of the place. There had been nothing but bad news—sad sailors and sad tales. After almost a week and a half on his casinor from Alvadas, however, the sailor was at least going to enjoy a bath. Even if he had to run through the streets all the way back to his lovely old ship to feel clean for a few extra hours, he was willing to dish out the coins and have himself a relaxing soak. However, it was easier to avoid any suspicion his Svefra skin seemed to draw when he waited for the sun to set to present himself clothed in all of his former—though fallen—glory. A tall shard of moonlight carved into the shape of a man left guards gaping and others with their tongues quite held in place. This was, after a day like today scrounging the tiny little dives of Syliras for scraps of ship work, a relief in itself. He'd enjoyed the Soothing Waters before, though he found himself lacking the coin for all its benefits this evening. Work had been slow, though he understood that the djed storm had actually opened some doors instead of closed them when it came to the sea. Not everyone saw the opportunity. The ethaefel splurged for a private pool and the laundry service, though he wasn't entirely sure he'd find the right bath once he was handed his chipped and faded number card and key for his locker. Leaving his clothes with an attendant and shoving his few possessions into the tiny square space, he padded off in all his opalescence toward the private baths, squinting at his number card with all the hope his weary mind could muster. Pash'nar didn't look up as he passed others, didn't bother to notice the expressions of those who may had never seen his kind before. He was too weary for those conversations, to disgusted by the city, and too much in a hurry to get back to the somewhat familiar sanctuary of his rickety old boat. Ah-ha. Most of the numbers on the door matched his old wooden chip. He squinted between the two and decided they must be close enough. Adjusting his towel around his neck and ducking as he opened the door to avoid scraping milky, obsidian-tipped horns on the stone archway, the moonlit sailor found the private bath to be empty. He must have made the right choice. Hopefully. Soap was put to use hardly a chime or a heartbeat after the door was shut, Pash even willing to undo the mess of his sea foam hair and make sure he was actually, thouroughly clean. He might as well get his mizas worth, after all. Besides, when was the next time he'd be getting a real bath? Exactly. Not in a hurry to escape the steaming, refreshing waters and the quiet, unpolluted retreat when he considered his petching walk all the way back down to the docks and his home moored as far out as he could stand, the ethaefal settled comfortably into the corner of the bath and set about contemplating the recent events of the season while examining the back of his eyelids. It seemed productive enough for the moment, considering how the day had been an improvement already. |