When she arrived at Caiyha’s Round she found it to be an unpleasant surprise, in more than one way. For starters there were a few less people than she had initially hoped for – literally no one was in attendance, the usual bustling of activity seemingly stalled for her individual frustration. That was good as it meant there would be no fight to get her own way, she would get her own way not at all. The second realization was that Faresha was obviously not there, a factor that meant she would not need to split her attention between Caiyha’s Round and the Mess Hall – the confrontation portion designed to provoke her opponent would be possible with a few choice words and a little bit of physicality. She would just have to find her first, a prospect which annoyed her somewhat – there was little time left in the day and she wished to resolve at least one of her ‘problems’ before the sun rose again.
Where would they be right now? Where would there be enough people to ensure relative safety? she thought it through, deciding that it would be best to start at the Mess Hall and work outwardly from there.
She gave a tired and frustrated grunt from the back of her throat, expelling the air through her nose with a snort, and made her way towards the Mess Hall with hope beginning to flicker out of her heart. She had done so well at the infirmary and now she had hit an obstacle she had no prior experience of dealing with – that of silence. Silence of the tongue she could deal with but the complete absence of people rendered her skills utterly pointless. It was something that she loathed with the depths of her being and it spurred her pace all the quicker as she slipped through the trees and side tracks towards the place she was absolutely sure would be filled with some people, at the very least.
“If their weak link isn’t there then at least I’ll be able to spread the word as to my living conditions and location, that will be a portion of success right there all things considered” she told herself as she began the slow climb up the mound the Mess Hall was situation upon.
The noise was the first thing that greeted her senses, the general bustle of the only place in the Spires that never closed washing over her senses. It lifted her spirits ever so slightly to know that it was not as devoid of life as Caiyha’s Round had been. That was until the full scope of her task crept back into her mind, nudging her consciousness with nagging doubt and cutting self-deprecations. The second thing was always the warmth, even in the winter months the sheer wall of heat that ebbed and flowed from the doors and windows the of mess Hall ensured that it was never in danger of being snowed in and put out of work. The wide doorways were merely covered with long reeds and they did little to keep the warmth contained, instead releasing it into the environment every so often as the wind rustled them aside. She pushed her way through them and stepped into the interior, her body veritably melting as she did so.
Ah, these are my kind of people… she thought as the noise dulled momentarily until she was recognized and it picked up again, her appearance ignored as food became the patron’s main priority.
She walked in amongst them with pride, shoulder’s squared and hood pulled back so that her head was revealed for all to see – there was no point hiding here, it would be counter-intuitive to her goal. She wanted people to recognize here, she would be seeking conversations in partnership of recognition. She would need both to leverage towards her intended goal. She joined the line for food and set about casting her gaze across those gathered. For the most part they were grubby, stocky men of varying varieties, a few more unsavoury women dotted here and there. She smiled slightly as she spied a few of the other guards in attendance – they were useful for spreading news and gossip, the living equivalent of almanacs. Being handed a bowl of assorted nuts, tubers, meats and fruits she wove her way through the gathered bodies and sat down with the guards.
“Zandelia! By the gods it’s a rare sight to see you gracing our presence, usually out knocking skulls aren’t you?” one of the more abrupt members gestured toward her, mouth half-filled with food that sprayed across the table slightly.
“I can’t think why when I could be in here, covered with gold and surrounded by intelligent conversation” she responded, almost flippantly as she placed a few pieces of meat in her mouth.
“What you trying to say!?” the man responded, thumping the table with his fist and fixing her with a glare that did little to inspire intimidation.
“What I am saying is that I’ve been forced to move my tent so that I don’t need to live in an area overwhelmed by your body odour you lummox” she retorted, a grin creasing her lips just enough to let him know she was only being half-serious.
Laughter broke out as her verbal sparring partner stammered for words for a few moments before giving up, shrugging, and sticking his face back into his bowl of assorted foodstuffs. Silence followed once more, filled with nothing but the chewing of foods and the odd belch and bodily action. She let the words filter into their skulls, wondering how long it would take before they were assimilated and considered as a possibility for serious discussion. It was a fine balance one had to use when trying to create inception within others, they needed to think of the idea themselves rather than be seen to be given it – otherwise it would be rejected out of hand. It was partially why a good sense of sarcasm could work more wonders than a thousand orders of action. She ate some nuts as she waited, watching their faces until the spark of gossip began to flare in their eyes.
“You really had to move Zandelia?” one asked her, voice giving blatant revelation to the fact he thought he was being circumspect.
“I’m afraid so, though not because of his smell,” she jerked a thumb at the first man, “and not because I don’t just…love…your company gentleman. I had to move because of the weather – find a more secluded spot” she set about integrating talk of the weather into her tent move, it lent it both credence and weight of complaint – two important points that would ensure it was remembered and mention every[.i] time they now spoke of weather and cold.
“Aye, tis getting mighty cold and the snows be increasing these days. But to have to move? Well, that is a shame indeed. Need any help?” she was asked by another.
“Not this time thank you, friend, but it took a while. Had to find a good place out eastward. Near a stream it is and between a couple large outcrops of rock. Good shelter from the elements at least. Bloody longer walk though! Fifteen chimes at least now” she grumbled, trying not to let a smile of success creep into her countenance – the planting of information for Faresha and the others would be ruined if she could not keep up the ruse.
“Strange…there was a woman asking after you earlier in here, wondering where you lived. Waned to sign up under you for some reason, told her didn’t know where you were – no one did. Must’ve been ‘cos you moved then!” another piped up, impressed that he had made that apparent connection.
[i]I can/t believe my petching luck… she giggled to herself with glee.
“Yes, I had heard they were asking in the Injury Ward too. I got some supplies for her too, gave them to me. Well, if you see her tell her where I am, I have to go get ready for the night. Oh! And make sure to tell her I have her things” she winked at them, adding the last portion in with a flippant air.
She tried not to exit too quickly as her feet, feeling lighter, almost began to dance with anticipated success. She had stolen their needed goods, learnt of a weakness in Faresha, planted her location within the gossip mill and was sure that when Faresha learnt she had stolen their medicine’s the goading out would handle itself. The guards were good men, for the most part, but their duties were boring and they would talk about anything to pass the time – another woman trying to track Zandelia, the weather forcing camp movements and the possibility of getting a reward for letting Faresha know Zandelia was trying to get goods to her were enough to ensure interest for a few days at least.
Hopefully I will not need that long she told herself as she made her way back to her camp.
She wondered if she were a terrible person, to be able to manipulate without much thought for other’s experiences. She shrugged it off after a few chimes, she would need her concentration for the conflict she could feel rising on the horizon.
I expect that bag of herbs to go to Faresha.
