Thar Shaddin

Fall, 126PW

Poltek was a bad city. Everyone knew that. Located near the Eyropan border and southeast of Zhaltev, it was set in the middle of a large pine forest in a hilly locale. Perched on a hill as an old vulture might lurk atop a tree, it was a dreary sort of place, built of granite over the ruins of its former incarnations. Poltek and the Empire had never really gotten along. Though its mother province had a long history with the Eyropan Empire, and gave her loyalty without question, Poltek was a bit of an outlier. It was often inhabited by nomads, and was comprised of settlers from the Sooqui Plains long ago.

The clash of culture with Theogios' expansion resulted in the city being leveled twelve times over the course of its existence.

The present day incarnation, as Iarei looked upon it with swollen eyes, was a clash of architectural styles and materials. Still, however new the most recent rebuilding was, it still looked decrepit next to the cities she had fled from not two weeks prior. It was the type of city that one did not choose to live within, and likely were it not for its use as something of a trading post with the troublesome nomadic tribes of the Plain, as well as northmen from the mountains north of the Plain, it would have been abandoned long ago. Had Iarei a choice in the matter, she would not have ventured within sight of it. Sadly, she didn't have a choice.

She was wanted.

There were no laws that Iarei had been found guilty of breaking. Her greatest offense was to be the source of jealousy for another woman, and it wasn't something she'd understood at the time. Hungry, thirsty and dead on her feet, she still didn't get it.

The walls loomed large before her as she stumbled up to the city, though their gates had long ago ceased to provide any real function. There was a garrison of the Empire's Guard stationed there, and their queries as she entered did nothing more than squeeze out a few more drops of fear from her. She was too exhausted for much else, having met trouble on her road away from her former troupe. She'd been robbed of most of her valuables, leaving her with hidden stashes of bishani she was only too afraid wouldn't last much longer. She was left with her voice, her wits, and bishani numbering no more in number than sixty; the exact amount she hadn't checked.

The sky had darkened into early evening, and Iarei stared into the sprawling, narrow streets ahead of her, not knowing where to start or what she should do. Where should she go? Poltek's reputation had preceded her the long journey east, and now that she stared at it she couldn't imagine what worse fates might find her besides what she'd already endured on the road.

One step at a time, girl.

Remembered words from a better time. Taking a deep breath, she started to move forward with her shoulders back and her chin up.

Never let them know you're afraid.

“And as promised here is the rest of the payment,” the heafty trader said tossing the mercenary a decent sized bag of bishani, “anything else I can do for you?”

The mercenary said nothing as she reached into her grey surcoat and pulled out an envelope bearing the mark of the Red Ravens Mercenary Company, and handed it over to him.

“Ah right, for completion of services rendered, almost forgot.”
After briefly fumbling though his pockets for his spectacles and auto-quill, he quickly opened and signed and returned the parchment before handing it back to the silent sell sword.

“Thanks again, I will definitely look into hiring from the Red Ravens when I return to Trelham.”

The Mercenary nodded in thanks, watching the trader flick his reins and pull his carriage off towards the center of town. Once he was out of sight the mercenary turned and started walking down another one of the cities worn roads, her boots kicking up small clouds of dirt from the old stone beneath her feet. She had never been in this region of Pal Tahrenor before, her life mostly being spent on the seas surrounding Eyropa, which didn’t let her venture this far inland. She almost missed the wooden building bearing the mark of her Mercenary Company, distracted by a street merchant’s twinkling display of brass goods and trinkets, and headed up its worn stairs that were in desperate need of repair. After giving three hard thumps on the door with the door with her fist a a small panel in the door slid open, revealing a set of tired eyes.
“State your business.” A gruff voice asked from behind the door.

“Turning in a completed contract.” The mercenary from outside the door answered, pulling down the part of her surcoat and armor revealing a tattoo of a Red Raven over a black spiked ring.

With a grunt the panel closed and the sound of several locks being unlatched were heard, followed by the thump of a heavy wooden door bolt, before it was opened by a bear of a man with a large beard.

“Well don’t just stand there, hurry up and get in you letting the warm air out.”
Not needed to be told twice, the mercenary slipped through the opening before the man went though the process of locking it up again.

“Stews in the pot if you’re hungry, it aint much seein as we hadn’t had a decent shipment of meat in a while but it’ll keep ya from starving.”
The mercenary nodded as she made her way over to the pot of thick bubbling stew, pouring a ladle of the thick greyish brown liquid into one of the small bowls laying near the large black pot before making her way over a nearby table. Once he was done the large bearish man joined the merc at the table with his own bowl of stew.

“First things first, you got the contract and payment?”
Pulling the envelope from within her surcoat and slid it to the man, before tossing the bag of bishani onto the table, causing it to spill out some of its contents. The mans eyes flicked back and forth between the mercenary across from him and the contract, mumbling to himself slightly as he read it, before he reached over and dumped the rest of the contents of the bag onto the table. His fingers worked fast for a man of his size as he quickly counted the pile of coins, his eyes still occasionally flicking towards the mercenary. After a few moments all of the coins were in a small pile next to him, where he then separated fifty and slid them back across the table before putting the rest back into their original bag.
“And that’s your cut for services rendered.” He said before eating a few spoonful’s of soup. “You must be new to the Ravens, I haven’t seen you up round these parts before and I’ve seen near everyone in the whole damn company.”
He chuckled a bit as he spoke watching the new comer put away her payment in a small bag of her own, tucking it away before removing her mask and taking a spoonful of her own stew. His eyes were immediately drawn to the jawbone tattoo across her lower face.

“Spooky piece of art you got there, got a fun story behind it?” He asked returning to his bland meal.

“A story yes, but not a fun one, I’d rather not talk about it.” She said not looking up from her bowl.
“Fair enough we all have our secrets. Though names aren’t usually one of them and as long as you’re here you might as well know mine. You can call me Jurgen, and what should I call you?”

The mercenary stopped eating for a moment before looking up and responding. “ You may call me Clarisse, Clarisse Dronne.”

The advice had been well meant. Iarei was finding, however, that advice given in a vacuum and put to the test in actual practice was quite different. It was easy to puff up one's chest and strut about when one was backed by seven wagons and several dozen people, a reputation for being well liked by those well up in the upper reaches of the social strata and topped off with hired guards. Not so easy when one was completely and totally alone for the first time in memory. There had always been people around Iarei. Friendly faces. Known personalities and ways of behavior.

She kept her face set somewhere between nonchalance and a stiff bravado, pulling on years of training as bard and actor to keep herself from crumbling into a useless pile of dramatics and tears. She had thought she'd known the personalities and behaviors of those she'd grown up with. Let that be her first life lesson: no one can ever be completely trusted. No one is ever worth such a cheap thing as love.

Perhaps a trifle dramatic after all, but stepping down the badly maintained road (a travesty in the empire, really: Iarei was well versed in four tavern songs, one lay and one epic that contained some grains of information about Poltek and the numerous acts of violence that had taken it down multiple times. Too bad none of them had been permanent; mayhaps a new town further west would encourage a proper city to grow rather than such a nest of wolves and vultures) she continued to be faced with her rather new and alarming position in the world. Or, more aptly, her lack of a position in the world.

The stones were certainly worn, bearing marks of reuse and magical damage. The buildings they formed had been poorly constructed, no doubt lacking a proper architect or magical assistance to see them raised with any form of safety or longevity. The result was that they looked to be derelict, half sagging and crumbling in some places, and had Iarei not known better and not seen life within the city, she very well may have thought the place an abandoned ruin. Except there were people and they happened to be staring at her as she made her uncertain way -- trying to appear as if her movements were nothing of the sort -- down the streets. The people weren't much different from the old stone bones of Poltek. They wore clothing that looked at least two people past its prime, and several years distant from its creation. Passage of years and hard times had carved deep runnels into their skin, had left behind grime on them as it went. Water evidently was not in high demand when it came to washing things, and their stink was as oppressive as their suspicion and predatory glowers.

Iarei was attracting attention. That was part of her profession, and she was used to receiving it, but this was not the sort that gained one fame or money; such attentions received could only result in loss, or in the gain of experiences Iarei was in no hurry to call her own. Now or ever. Panic followed in the wake of that realization, and try though she might to conquer it, Iarei found her steps quickening. The memories of her misfortune on the road followed her, dogged, and she found herself looking for anywhere reputable to spend the next several minutes while she collected herself.

But she was in Poltek. There was no place she might consider reputable within its confines.

Desperation won over consideration, and she found herself in a candlemaker's shop with a thick tongue and an unconvincing request to see wares for the store's minder. Eight minutes saw her back on the street with ears smarting from a good tongue lashing, and new information gripped tight in her mind. There were mercenaries in town, up for hiring. The minder had delivered this proclamation with scorn and disgust for her ignorance and obvious disinterest in purchasing candles, but Iarei didn't mind. A purchased protector was something she hadn't considered. Shoulders prickling with paranoia, she walked in the indicated direction with something dangerously close to hope quickening her steps.

“Well Clarisse Dronne, as you can tell from the look of the place business is a bit slow so you might as well make yourself at home, you’re pry gonna be here for a bit.”

Clarisse nodded and she finished off her bowl of stew, getting up from the table and placing it in a large wooden basin with half a dozen other dirty dishes. “So what does one do while waiting for a new contract?” She asked, curious to what there was to do in this rundown town.

“Not much, but don’t worry I’ll put you to work ‘round here when I can… you’re not a carpenter of sorts are ya?” His voice was a mixture of inqurery and joke as he looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Sadly I’m not, I’m more at home with rigging in my hands then with a hammer.”

“Aye, be a sailor then eh? Closet ship you can work on is up in Zhaltev.” Jurgen said clearing off the rest of the table and disposing of the dirty dishes, “They come down here once in a while but don’t get your hopes up.”
“Never planned on it,” A smirk crossing her face, “Just got off a ship, dry land is a nice change of pace.”

“Good to hear, cause there’s a lot of it around here. Anyway I’m going to take care of these dishes, been piling up on me.” Jurgan said rolling up rolling up his sleeves and plunging his hands into the water. “Normally this would be YOUR job but, seeing as you just got here I’ll let you get some rest, bunks are in the other room.”

Jurgen pointed to an adjacent room with his thumb, not looking up from the pile of dirty plates and cups in front of him. Grabbing her bag from the floor she made her way toward the room, the old wooden floorboards creaking underneath her weight. The room itself was much more decorated than the more Spartan-esque main room, its walls adorned with hunting trophies and various antique relics. Disposing her bag onto an open bunk she took a moment to examine some of the wall decorations, noting that most were Eyropian in origin though there was the occasional oddity.

“Where did you get these?” She asked Jurgen, “People just leave them here on accident?”

“A mercenary who forgets their weapon usually doesn’t last too long in the Ravens, or out in the wilderness for that matter. Most of them are spoils or something we received as payment, more so the later.”

Clarisse nodded in understanding; though Jurgen didn’t see it he took her silence for such. Feeling that she asked enough questions for now, she went about the process of removing her weapons and armor, setting them down on a chest on the foot of her bed. Removing her surcoat she rolled and stretched her shoulders, enjoying the lack of weight that she usually carried on them, before laying down on the bed and relaxing either further.

“See my sailor assumption was correct,” Jurgan said peeking into the room, surprising Clarisse a bit, “Got more than just ink on your face I see… anyway was just letting you know that I’m going to be stepping out for a bit, see if that trader you brought into town has any supplies we need.”

Clarisse nodded to Jurgan as he turned to leave “If anyone comes by, tell that I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, I don’t dally at the stalls for to long anyway.”

After she heard the sound of Jurgen closing the door behind him, Clarisse kicked off her boots and closed her eyes, she was more tired that she had thought and a nap would do her good.

It took two fumbles with the door for Iarei to realize it was locked. Of course it was locked. Poltek fairly demanded it, especially so close to night when, doubtlessly, those with foul deeds on their mind would begin to rise. She stopped herself and took two deep, shaking breaths, palms flat against the door. She was better than that. She was, and even if she wasn't she had to be. There was no more troupe, no more adopted family, no more support. Surviving on her own was the way it was going to have to be now, and panicking or falling to pieces would be the last thing she did before someone decided to give her her last smile.

Steeled, Iarei straightened her shoulders and rapped twice on the door. The sound of it was more confident than she felt. She'd earned herself a temporary reprieve from her nerves, though she knew from experience those past few weeks that the false assurance would vanish in a matter of seconds should something new and unexpected happen. She could handle it. She must. Dying wasn't an option.


Silence stretched for what felt like minutes, though Iarei knew from stage experience that it was her taut nerves making time lengthen. She'd thought she'd knocked hard enough, but perhaps the walls were thicker than she'd originally thought. They could still be thick and look to be in miserable repair. She had raised her fist when the door opened, surprising her. Four steps back cleared her out of the path of the door and the man who exited from it. He was huge. Intimidating. Iarei's insides withered even as she forced herself to stay still despite the awful feeling in her middle. The man in question had caught sight of her as soon as he'd become visible. The hard-eyed glare he leveled on her, his eyes narrowed, made her guts turn to water. The training she'd received since early childhood was the only thing that saved her.

"What's your business, then," he said, the question turned into a statement by his scowl and suspicion. He stepped fully out from the building, letting the door shut behind him.

Okay, maybe they hadn't heard her knocking.

"I am . . . I wish to hire a -- " words seemed to float away and out of her head, and in the awful, queasy silence she gestured helplessly. The man did not see fit to offer suggestions for her lack of words. He watched her. He was clearly unimpressed. " -- a, um, a man. Or someone. With a sword to, uh, protect me?"

If Iarei's old master could have heard that, he would have whipped her for it. There was never an excuse for a trained bard to lose her composure, and considering her master's pedigree she had shamed him with that stuttered mess. Even out of sorts, she was shamed by her inability to get some grip on herself. She was better than that. Her face flamed, and she licked her chapped lips. That her appearance was ragged likely did not help her in this man's estimation; he might as well think her some sort of substance-addled buffoon come wandering out of the gutters to gibber on about paranoid delusions.

But he was better than she estimated. He grunted and reopened the door. Without taking his eyes from her, he leaned slightly back in and hollered for 'Clarisse', whomever that was.

Clarisse’s eyes shot open when she heard Jurgen call for her, and was curious if he had even left yet or if she actually had fallen asleep. Glancing out of the window told her that he hadn’t left yet, and she begrudgingly put her boots back on before walking out the door. Must want to show me where everything is so I can be his errand girl.. she thought to herself leaving the room.

“Aye Jurgen, what do you need of me,” She said brushing a strand of raven black hair out of her face.

“Appears you’re stay might be cut a bit short,” Moving aside revealing the rather plain looking girl that was hidden behind his frame. “This one here wants to hire one of our sell swords, and seeing that you’re the only one that’s still in town, it appears that it’s your job.”

Clarisse narrowed her eyes at her potential new employer, sizing her up and wondering why someone like her would need hired protection. She eventually dismissed the thought, figuring that if this stranger could pay her fee she didn’t really care what her story was.

“So I see. I’ll get my gear then, you two can take care of the other matters.” Clarisse said before disappearing back into the room to put her weapons and armor back on.
Jurgen motioned Iarei toward an open seat at the large wooden table, before grabbing a small box off of a nearby shelf and in the empty chair across from her.
“Take it it’s your first time hiring from us.” He said pulling a quill and some parchment from the box, before taking out small candle from the box and lighting it. “The fees are reasonable, the harder the job the more you pay.”

Jugen’s writing flowed across the page as he spoke, it was clear that he had done this several times before as he wrote up the contract. “Unfortunately the only mercenary we have at the moment is Clarisse.” Thumbing to the door as he mentioned her name, “Don’t get me wrong she’s good, she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t, but she’s still new within the organization so I can’t attest for her skills personally.”

Jurgen stopped writing and quickly blew on the page, drying some of the ink before he slid the piece of paper and quill across the table to Iarei, “Feel free to read it over before you sign it.” The contract was very well written, something of a surprise coming from a man of Jurgen’s demeanor, and clearly spelled out what was to be expected, an initial down payment along with a daily for however long the mercenary was needed.
“Whenever you don’t need her anymore or in the misfortune that she parishes, just sign her release and bring it to the nearest outpost, or pay her and she’ll bring it their at no extra cost.”Jurgen gaze intensified adding “And make sure you do pay, the Red Ravens will get they’re payment one way or another.”
As if on cue Clarisse emerged from the back room clad in her weapons and armor, tying her facemask in place before pulling her hood up, giving a nod to Jurgen as if to say ‘I’m ready when you are'

As Clarisse inspected Iarei, the bard was paying the same respects to the mercenary. The woman stood taller than Iarei, and had the same build Iarei had come to expect from those who dedicated their lives to violence. A thorough estimation of Clarisse was curtailed both by Iarei's own exhaustion and by the eerily detailed artwork that covered Clarisse's lower face.

It would've been easy to stare at the intricately detailed jawbone for a long time. It was done well enough that Iarei couldn't be sure whether it was artwork painted on via cosmetics or paints, or if it was a tattoo. Planes, for all she knew it could have been some sort of magical applique. The rest of her was washed out by comparison, a bronze and black blur that Iarei didn't quite register as her wordless reverie was broken by Clarisse's words.

Iarei blinked as Jurgen started talking to her, and she quickly looked at him. There was uncertainty in her at that moment, as she considered her bishani and how far it would stretch counting the actual fee and her need to feed herself, clothe herself in garments not so ragged, and the purchase of a new lute.

The thought brought on a pang of anguish as she watched Jurgen write. The rest of it swirled over her head, barely acknowledged by her mind as she nodded and made little noises of acquiescence and understanding as he spoke. All the while she thought of her beloved instrument, gift from a treasured master who had, in the end, betrayed her by silence so much as her beloved Sindre had by word and deed. Even thinking the name brought a taste to her mouth of ash and vinegar; foul business it had been, and the small amount of time that had passed hadn't done much to ease the bitterness of its happening.

"I will pay," she said, absentminded, as she stared off at her memories. Clarisse's entrance was what distracted her away from her thoughts, and her gaze focused a little. There was an air of dazedness to Iarei then, and mixed with her roughened, dirtied clothes, mussed hair and smudged face she looked some ragamuffin rather than a proper employer.

Still, Poltek was Poltek, and it was like as not that such disreputable individuals often came to the Red Ravens looking for mercenaries.

She scanned the proffered paper and nodded to Jurgen and then, more cautiously, to Clarisse. Her body language indicated readiness to bolt at the first sign of danger, though she herself was unaware of how badly her control had slipped. "Is that it, then?"

As Jurgen flicked his eyes between the document and Iarei, Clarisse stood patiently trying to conceal her eagerness to run out of the door. Her mind wondered briefly as to what her new employer was going to make her do, looks could be deceiving in her line of work, so she didn’t put anything out of the question.

Her thought was interrupted by Jurgen breaking the silence, “Everything seems to be in order here.” Folding the paper in thirds he poured some of the wax from the lit candle over where the two pages met, before stamping it with his ring, leaving a mark identical to the tattoo on Clarisse’s chest in the red wax. Handing the letter to Clarisse he looked her in the eye “Remember if she dies, it’s on you, debt payment and all.”

“I understand.” Her reply cold as the blades attached to her hip, “and it’s not my intention to let that happen.”
“Good.” Jurgen said with a nod, pushing himself up from his chair and making his way toward the old wooden door, “Best be getting on your way then, time is money after all.”

Clarisse looked at Iarei before heading out of the door, "We shouldn't keep him waiting, otherwise your word is my command."

Iarei blinked and inhaled, sharp, and then moved for the door. Her first two steps were almost that of an automaton, stiff and jerky, but she soon smoothed them easily enough as she slipped past the older mercenary and back onto the streets of Poltek. She walked forward still, conscious of him locking the door of the building behind all of them and yet wanting to go back inside because she was cold, and hungry, and tired, and that was the first place she'd been in for weeks where she'd felt some small modicum of safety.

Breathe, girl, and stop being such a useless bint.

"It has been some time since I've had a proper meal. Know you of a decent place in town to get food?" Iarei didn't quite look at Clarisse as she said it, not wanting to be caught staring as she knew she must with her wits so scattered. She put a small, delicate emphasis on the word 'decent', having no desire to be caught later with her trousers down due to bad meat or tainted drink.

“I just arrived in town earlier today myself.” Clarisse said from her position slightly behind Iarei’s side, “So I’m not very familiar with the town myself. Though I suspect that we can find you something decent, or at least something that won’t kill you.” Her smirk hidden behind her mask.


Stepping up, she began to lead her new ward to where she suspected the main business district was, judging from the direction the trader she escorted earlier was heading. After heading down a few of the twisting roads, and past multiple rows of derelict buildings, her gamble paid off as she caught a glimpse of the district square. Compared to most large cities it wasn’t much, just several vendors advertising their wares to the small mill of people picking up their daily supplies, as well as a few shops that tailored more to specialty items such as armor, weapons, and upper class clothing.


“I’m sure you’ll find whatever you need here,” Gesturing towards the square with the wave of her hand, before dropping back to position behind Iarei.

The building was filthy. There was no way around that. Moss grew upon it, over and around a certain slick slime that was visible even on the approach; the stone behind it was discolored so badly that Iarei could not be certain what its original color even was. She suspected it to be a pale grey, but as far as she knew it had once been white. Beyond the things that grew upon it, dirt and dust had also settled there, and it was obvious enough when she put her hand upon the door's handle (grit and stickiness, leading to the sort of tacky sensation only soap and hot water would have any sort of hope of removing) and pulled that the word 'repair' was some sort of horrible epithat. Yet, there was a proper sign above it with two equally hideous pictures indicating food and drink, and with a stomach so tight with hunger it had given up on growling, there really wasn't much of a choice.

And all of that was really just Iarei's mind going on overdrive to hide the fear she felt at facing what was behind the door. One, two, breathe, open --

Nothing.

She blinked and moved cautiously inside, looking around the empty tavern or restaurant (while it lacked cleanliness, it didn't stink of alcohol which was what she'd been expecting). It wasn't a very expansive place, having a fireplace and five small tables. There was a bar, but it was very short, hosting a grand total of two stools at the end of their lives and room for maybe three more people to crowd in. It was true that the time was rather late, but that was when Iarei most expected to see such an establishment full of people.

She moved inwards enough so Clarisse could come in alongside her, sidling forward with an unconscious readiness to bolt. "Hello?" She called, her fear giving way to irritation: now that she had the promise of food as an idea her body had seized on the notion with steel fingers. She was starving, almost literally.

Silence, besides the small noises she and Clarisse made simply by being alive, greeted her. "Hello?" This time she called a little louder, before she turned to look at Clarisse with no small measure of irritation and uncertainty.

It wasn’t the first time Clarisse had been in a rundown place looking for someone, though it was a bit different when the person she was looking for didn’t owe her or her companions anything. After slipping in she began to look around the establishment for any sign of life as her compatriot did the same with her voice.

“One would think that someone in this town would be excited to have someone in their establishment,” Peering around the edge of the small bar as she spoke, “I doubt they get much business.”

Momentarily giving up her search for any sign of the owner, Clarisse procured a bottle of brownish liquid from behind the bar as well as a hunk of bread and some cheese wrapped in a light cloth. Setting her newfound treasures onto the bar top with a thud, she whipped out one of her knifes, spinning it momentarily in her hand, before cutting a slice of the bread and cheese. Lowering her facemask, she took a bite out of the half sandwich she made, a look of displeasure crossing her face as the semi stale bread crunched in her mouth. Grabbing the bottle she pulled out the cork with her mouth before spitting it across the room and took a quick swig from it, washing down the bread and cheese with the bitter liquid that was inside.

“Breads a bit stale, but it’ll hold you over for a moment while I look around for the owner.” She said offering Iarei the rest of the simple meal. “He’s pry passed out in the back, lazy bastard.”

Clarisse left the bard alone in the main room as she disappeared through a door leading into the back of the establishment.

There was no one there. It was empty. Completely, wholly empty.

Iarei knew this because rather than stay put and wait for someone to enter the tavern-restaurant thing and catch her holding bread, cheese and bottle that she had not purchased, she drifted after Clarisse with the subtlety of a lost puppy. Though she knew better than to get in the way of a working guard, she kept Clarisse within sight, nervously looking around behind her every so often as if someone might pop out and try to knife her in the back. She needn't have worried, however, for in order for someone to have done that there would need to be someone present in the first place.

Meanwhile, Iarei was stuffing her face with as much as she could fit. Her flight from her troupe had left her with a debt to her body that she couldn't settle soon enough, and if she didn't have to pay to do it there would be no sense of shame in it: her only fear lay in getting caught, not any false moral quandries.

As Iarei ate, she thought back to their trip from where she'd hired Clarisse: entering the city she'd seen any number of disreputables, but heading into the market district there'd been almost none. The thought made her uneasy, and now that she had someone to be uneasy with. . .

"Did you. . ." Iarei minced closer to Clarisse, mouth full of dry, hard bread. She swallowed. Or, rather, she tried to swallow and only got half of it down while she choked and coughed over the other half. When she had cleared her throat, she tried again. "Did you see anyone on the way here? The streets seemed rather. . .empty, now that I'm thinking about it. Maybe that's not unusual around night, but in this sort of place, you know." She shrugged, her sense of uneasiness growing to engulf the entirety of her stomach.

“If anyone was on their way here, I didn’t notice them.” Clarisse said, cutting another slice of cheese and eating it off her knife. “Though I suspect that if anyone wanted to be here they would be by now.”

The lack of people, or at least an owner, bothered Clarisse a bit not that she minded the free food, but someone should of at least been there to try and sway them out of some coin. With the thought of money the mercenary’s thoughts and gaze moved over to the only other living thing in the room. While she didn’t mind paying for something’s such as a meal or maybe a room, she would have a hard time explaining to the guild about how she lost money on a job.

“So, if I may pry, what brings you to Poltek?” Pouring herself a glass of the bitter tasting liquid she had found earlier, “You don’t seem like the type that frequents these parts.”

Iarei had met guards before who were bold as brass, unlikely to budge from whence they'd set themselves no matter what the situation. To Iarei, however, the same cavalier attitude in a place such as Poltek was just asking for trouble. No matter how good Clarisse was, she didn't think the woman would be able to keep herself and Iarei alive or, perhaps, uncaptured should the Emperor's Guard involve themselves. Or if they didn't. She shivered. Poltek had its reputation for a reason, and she didn't doubt there were those who'd happily trade in flesh whether or not the person started out as free.

Rather than say that to Clarisse, however, she just shook her head. Then she shrugged; she found herself not quite feeling like talking at all.

"We should. . .we should find a place to stay for the night. We'll need supplies. I want to go south, away. . ." swallow that statement. She shook her head again, "Hopefully there'll be someone selling food and drink in the morning."