On a crisp autumn day, with clear skies but the smell of ice on the air, most of the inhabitants of Yancy town would hie themselves to the hot springs as soon as they could and conduct as much of their remaining business for the day in or around them. Most of them, save the staff of the Frolicking Dragon (who had work), the mayor (who was up to his eyeballs in letters) and the ex-paladin (who wouldn't be caught dead near the hot springs if anyone else could happen upon him). All found themselves in the Frolicking Dragon, and since only one of them had any proper work the others hovered around him like hyenas waiting for a lion to finish with a carcass.
Sacriphant didn't become the Mayor of Yancy Town by breaking his neck under the yoke while others watched. The barmaids could be sent to fetch snacks, drink and paper and practice their reading by reading the letters out loud to him. Pironne, the mistress of the Frolicking Dragon, well... it was hazardous to one's head to presume to order her to do anything so Sacriphant let her be. Kolitra, the ex-paladin, could check the replies he wrote for spelling errors (not that there were many, it would just be one less thing for Sacriphant to do.) and re-write them if he deemed Sacriphant's handwriting too abysmal. It was, so Kolitra would need fresh paper of his own to rewrite Sacriphant's scrawled horror of a letter into his copperplate handwriting. Pironne would sweep by their table every now and then to listen to her barmaids reading, and once all the letters were read, to see how they were faring on snacks and to coo over Kolitra's handwriting and drag one of her barmaids to see.
She had one girl hovering with her over Kolitra's shoulder now. A tall, pretty thing with a cloud of brown curls and big green eyes who was steadily growing less and less fascinated as she realized Pironne intended for her to learn how to write like that. Kolitra bore their hovering with grace, copying the letter without a hint of annoyance. Sacriphant stopped writing his current letter, propping his chin on the back of one hand. Watching them while pretending to think.
It was funny, a little. How Pironne, a middle-aged human woman whose mousy hair was going grey, ample with years of snacking and always wearing dresses with hems down to her ankles, was such a force to be reckoned with. Every now and again Sacriphant wondered if she had a husband or fiancé or father or some man that was cruel to her before she found the Syndicate. She had a short temper with men and seemed determined to make sure any woman or girl that found herself in Yancy Town was taken care of, at the very least by a man that wouldn't hurt her. The sudden interest in Kolitra's handwriting probably wasn't to let the girl, Sacriphant thought her name was Kern, see how dainty and lovely handwriting could be. Pironne was probably scheming to have Kolitra at the alter by this time next year. Sacriphant would have to warn him, but not now, not with Pironne so close. For now he pretended to think and watched.
Kolitra snuck a glance over at Sacriphant as he finished another letter, once he dotted the last period and wrote in the salutation he nudged it back across the table for him to sign. It wouldn't be right to write in Sacriphant's signature, it looked like a person came up from behind him and shook him while he was trying to write it and it was probably distinctive to the letter's recipient. Sacriphant took the letter and had a look at it again, his bi-coloured eyes (the right was brown, the left powder blue with a stripe of green cutting it in half) sweeping through it quickly before he scribbled in his signature. Sacriphant claimed to be descended from many different races and Kolitra would be damned again if he was the only one that looked at Sacriphant without trying to guess which ones. His pale brown skin was no help. He wasn't abnormally tall or short for most of the humanoid races of Le'raana. The little tusks in the corner of his mouth were probably orcish. The long fingers with an extra joint in them probably goblin. The fur on the back of his hands from some race Kolitra didn't know. That nose was definitely human... or maybe fey, a harsher, darker sort of fey. Fey was the only way to describe his short hair, which changed colour with the season (now it was red, with splotches of orange, yellow and tan). For the rest of him, Sacriphant wore too many layers to really see much else. Kolitra could still guess though, to keep himself from paying too much attention to Pironne and her girl.
"Go bring them more rondir Kern," Pironne suggested to the girl at her side, who was biting her bottom lip and clearly dreading learning any handwriting beyond clearly legible. Kern was heading toward the bar before Pironne could finish her name and Pironne seated herself at the table, across from Sacriphant and next to Kolitra. "Pass me a leaf of paper Koli," she asked, pulling a quill from the inside of a sleeve and dipping it in the inkwell by Kolitra.
Watching Sacriphant writing and Kolitra re-writing letters all morning made Pironne remember that she needed to write to Darklis again. Once Kolitra handed her a sheet of paper she tapped the feathered top of her quill against the paper a few times, her eyes wandering first to Sacriphant who was writing again and then to Kolitra. She hadn't seen many elves that she believed to be proper swordsmen, but Kolitra didn't look like he would break in half trying to swing his greatsword (currently at his room in town). He reminded her a little of Celendir, personality-wise. The two couldn't have looked any different, it was almost hard to believe they were both elves. Kolitra was very pale, with bright silver eyes and hair as soft and white as dandelion puffs. She would, of course, have to figure out why he was an ex-paladin, but, overall, she thought him a good possibility for Kern. The girl wouldn't amount to much working for the Syndicate. Too squeamish.
The girl, Kern laid two glasses nearly full to the top with ice and a bubbly reddish-brown liquid on the table, stepped back a few paces and looked nervously toward the door. At the rate he was writing, Mayor Sacriphant would be finished with that letter soon and Mrs. Pironne would be dragging her over to see that elf's impossibly pretty handwriting. How could she be compared to an elf? Kern watched the door, hoping someone would happen in. If anything, it would make up for them not being free to lounge around in the springs.
