Stumbling was not something that often happened to a girl so nimble as Idani Umbele, especially not with such force. That's uncanny, came the thought, as soon as her feet were out from under her, mercurial as the action its self. There had been a force at her back, otherworldly and foreign. She had felt magic, many times; shops in Drasil, around the Sand-Eater campfires, dancing with the Empty-Handed Gypsies. This was unlike any of those things.

She landed hard on her side, having turned with the impact, produced a loud grunt and curled in on herself. Her left arm was caught under her, stretched awkwardly on the dirt; but it was unbroken. She dug for purchase and scrambled to her feet; casting a narrow glare along the path behind her. Idani's mind raced, though nothing moved among the trees. But what was it? My body feels fine. Concussive explosion? Whatever it had been, it was intent on hiding itself. Her fingers slid to a hilt of a dagger hidden in her one sleeve. The forest remained much the same. Sun dappled and full of birds.

An assassin? She did not draw her blade, but stared ahead, wondering, Out here? Oakheim wasn't far ahead, that much she was aware of; a small hamlet renowned for the quality of it's Forgehert Smithery. Idani slid her left leg back, bringing her arms up; and kept her fingers lingering near the blade. The barest moment passed before a small hum pierced the air, breaking her guard. Then came another rush of the pressing force. Idani saw it, this time; a writhing crescent that distorted the air hurtling towards her. Pivoting, she took a long hop away. What was its source? None of the branches were broken and it was in the middle of the path. Again came the force. More clearly.

Now! For a long time Idani had been used to running and twisting and avoiding. Even if I were hit, it didn't do much but knock me down. Still, she knew that falling closer to the energy's source could be dangerous. Like the time in Undhand's Tomb. Despite the foreign feel, she was determined. In her rapid approach, she saw it; something that hadn't been moments before. Yet, there it was; a book. Flinging bizarre projectiles at her.

Idani Umbele did exactly what her instincts demanded. Her momentum was put into the jump, flinging her toward the prize she was going claim. Safe, she told herself as she slid behind a thick tree. The book continued firing as she crouched low, taking her fingers away from the hilt of her hidden dagger. Branches rattled and leaves fell, but the tree remained standing; giving naught to the paltry onslaught. Now, what to do? Naturally, she wanted the book. It obviously held some kind of power. Unless a crazy Magi threw their journal into the forest. It's too far to knock askew with a branch, unless I get a particularly large one. I doubt that would work well.

Adjusting her hood, Idani rose from her crouch and darted to the next tree. She proceeded to do this three times, then paused. The noise stopped after she had passed the second. By her judgment, she was behind the book. Did that actually work? Idani skirted around, peering out slightly.

Indeed, it was laying there. For a moment, tension; Idani fully prepared to retreat. Nothing happened. No strange surge. She tested the tentative peace. Within four seconds she was crouching near the book, her dagger produced and halfway wedged under the grimoire's cover. It was bound in worn black leather, bearing faint letters near the bottom. Not any language I'm aware of. Of course, she only spoke Drasilian and Volanci; with enough Seresish to make slow conversation. Slowly, she lifted it; fully expecting a trap of some sort.

Nothing happened. Part of her was disappointed, the other half was still wary. With the book splayed open, Idani tested a page. Seems fine, now. Strange. Her fingers touched the edge of the first, eyes lingering over neatly scrawled characters that she could almost say were Runes. The ink seems rather faded. Lifting it was still a cautious motion, but the vagrant girl had relaxed. Whatever the problem had been, it seemed to have become tame.

A smile touched on her face as the book fell into her pouch. She didn't know what it was for, or how important it was; but Idani knew that it was magic, and that it was probably worth something. Better to be rid of it, quickly, then.

As she turned toward Oakheim, she felt a small chill at the nape of her neck.

"What?" She said to something that could have been a whisper on the breeze. "Are you talking to me? I'm not quite sure I know what it is you're saying." Idani's eyes slid shut, her words turning to a quiet mutter. "No, I don't think so. I haven't seen anything like that in some time." While she was not aware of it, she was laying down, sliding her satchel under head head. "I really should be going..."

Within her next breath, she was asleep.

Idani Umbele had long left the patch of path behind her, the strange book tucked safely away and mostly forgotten about. She had strode through dusk, impudent and certain; there were few who could surprise her well enough to win a battle that began with an ambush. As most louts and thieves seem to think it's an advantage, you had better learn to look for it, she told herself the words, though they were not originally spoken in her voice, They're a coward's lot, to be sure. Act quickly, and don't stop for small-talk. Small-talk's their bread-and-butter. Gives 'em time to think. She was mimicing her 'mentor's' motions, as she walked, but thankfully few were in view to notice. The rules still followed her, down the many roads. Worse, his voice still lingered with her.

She shook her head, noticing The Traveler's Respite in the distance. All warm glows and small carvan rows. It will do, for a short rest. Idani didn't intend to spend her coin in a place like that, unless it was for Risat; a Drasilian game that had long since spread to much of the world. Idani favored games where there was more than chance involved. It was a tall building, and the last true stop before one reached Oakheim. I'll rest up, a little, and be on my way before sunrise.

Her footfalls brought her ever-closer, smells of seared meat and the surprising scent of heavy liquor. Soft singing, from those who stayed close to their caravans. Probably the assistants of whoever got a cushy bed for the night. Or those without coin for a proper stay. For a moment, she considered making her way to them. To join in the dancing and singing. Part of her loved the idea, to cut completely loose after the strange dream she had suffered. The more practical side said to slide into the inn and figure out something more lucrative, or to at least spend her few hours of rest in a chair; rather than the ground.

"What?" Idani said, stopping short; bathed in the building's side shadow. Despite the relative warmth, she shivered. It had to be my imagination. Shrugging it off, she made her way around to the front. The door was solid, but bore signs of age. Though it was heavy, for her, she managed to make opening it look nonchalant and slid inside.

Smoke lingered, as it almost always did in these places, overhead; creating a thin layer of acrid clouds above those huddled at the tables. Given her late arrival, the drinking crowd had thinned down; a little. There were a few raucous gamblers that she marked for later interaction, a pretty serving girl and a few homely ones. A bartender with a broken fence for teeth, and a man who crouched at her side; his bulk still showing over the considerably low counter.

Eyes fell on her, as her eyes fell on others. She felt it, and another shiver, but didn't bother seeking their source. Instead, she approached the bar and spoke. Idani tried to subdue her Drasilian inflection, keeping her words as close to the Volanci 'lower dialect' as she possibly could.

"Uh, hello. I'd like a tankard of..." Idani considered, many places didn't carry her favored drink, but it rarely stopped her from asking. Here, however, it seemed prudent to exercise caution. No Coldfire tonight. "A tankard of King's Blood, if you would." King's Blood was Volanci, through and through; a brew originated in Izia's Kiss, a small village she knew little of...but had heard the name lauded in many brew-halls.

The woman gave her a look she couldn't fully identify, and the crouching hulk muttered something quick in Volanci. Idani raised an eyebrow, taking her eyes from the rise of his rippling back and directed them toward the woman with the rotting mouth. "Just one. That should be more than enough. I don't intend to stay here."

“King’s Blood, eh lass?” An eyebrow raised, “Not many pass here ask fer ale haf enuff clout between their ears to know brews haf names, but we’re refined lass, ladies, ain’t we?” She winked and gave a holey smile, “Aye, I kin getcha yer drink.”

She flicked the rag onto her shoulder and went about pulling a tankard full. Wood slammed again wood, and it sloshed as the lady slid it across the bar to Idani. She wiped it up with her yellowed rag.
“Mind, bes’ not be trav’llin’ by yerself, 'specialy at this hour, any man would be daft to, and a pretty fing like you…” She spat onto the wood and began polishing, “ach, it don’t do to fink about.”

Another quick utterance from the hidden big man. Idani ignored it, taking up her tankard and tilting it back; a firm gulp following the motion. She watched them over the rim, before lowering. She knew well what the woman was talking about, but had avoided the fate a few times; mostly thanks to luck and an astounding capacity to weave believable lies. "That we are," she said with a half-sigh, smiling, "having a refined palette is part of being a refined lady." A wink, offered with a continuing smile, her elbows propped on the counter. "Thank you, very much, for the drink and the words of caution. I've been on the road for a good bit."

Time to get to work.

Despite her earlier statement, Idani fully intended to find a way to stay beneath a roof tonight. The nap she barely remembered taking had left her somewhat drained, despite how long it had seemed to last. Without thought, her fingers trailed to the satchel at her side. "I know a fair deal about herbs, as well. If it would help earn me a nice bed for a few hours, I would be willing to part with a fair bundle of Grinning Grass." That part was whispered, barely noticeable to those outside of their immediacy. A silver coin clicked against the counter, before Idani slid it carefully to the woman's side of the counter. It was more than enough for the drink, but not enough for the bed; and, unfortunately, it was all she was willing to part with...aside from her array of worldly goods.

The woman sniffed, her face crinkling like old parchment.

“Smell that lass?” Her eyes drifted upwards, scanning the ceiling.
The hand drawing the rag in circles continued, cleaning the top in front of Idani, despite the spill being long gone. One might have noticed the coin too was gone, likely now nestled safely in an apron pocket between a length of twine and some needle and gut. Perhaps the glint was never silver at all, just the woman’s ring? One could not be certain…

“Smells like a deal. Better not be horse shite. Life can be a wee bit hard on you and yer like, but,” Her eyes came down from the ceiling, piercing emeralds among the haze of smoke, “a woman’s word is always sacred.”

She busied herself, flicking her hands to her maids, sometimes even needing only a singular look. The bustled round with trays and bowls of soup and bread.

“Lass,” another flagon was set down in front of Idani, “This is t’ good stuff, don’t want that wallowing piss. I’ll take yerself t’room when yer ready. Mind, yer’ll hafta share with me, ‘course,” She huffed, “but et’s the only place to be safe.

Sacred? Nobody has a word that is sacred, dear lady. However, I can't deny that there is a certain understanding between our gender. Idani veiled her thoughts with a broadened smile. With fluidity, she moved her hand to the satchel's mouth; reaching in without ceremony. The Grinning Grass was still its perfectly sickly shade of high yellow and similarly acidic green. She had acquired it through trade, of course, with an Empty-Handed Gypsy who had recognized her on the road some odd miles across the Drasilian border. She takes me to be of a similar ilk, it seems. I suppose that's not terribly far from the truth.

"Then it's a deal done," the Grass was offered with an open palm, Idani leaning forward to cover it from prying eyes, "you have my word on its quality. Though I think your eyes can discern that for themselves." In a moment, it was gone, Idani back to her seat proper; a flagon before her. She took a sip, this time, testing it; her smile bordering on mischievous. "I don't mind sharing a room, and you have my thanks for your consideration and hospitality. Is this Kneeling Man or Crowfeather?" She had become somewhat trained in the taste of all forms of alcohol, given her mentor's disposition. "They share a similar body and aftertaste, but I believe I 'm quite uncertain as to this particular brew."

She tended to the second drink with more care. Listening to the patrons, picking out particular conversations among the quiet mumbling and more raucous rumbling. She watched the woman, though, somewhat impressed. Her hands were fast and she struck Idani as the sort to take business seriously. She probably owns the place. A flicker of her gaze at the large man, who had stood and begun walking away while Idani did what she did best. "You run a fine establishment," it wasn't a lie, for once, Idani rather liked The Traveler's Respite, "I'm assuming some travel here from Oakheim?" She had spied calloused hands and dirty clothes, mingled with the usual traveling sort.

In truth, she was fishing for information; in her casual way. Idani yawned, despite herself, and again propped herself on the counter. The second flagon in one hand, while the other danced lazily across the counter's slick surface. She imagined herself playing some grand instrument, though she had only learned a little of the lute and flute. Whatever it was, it occupied the nervous energy running through her; and kept her fingers nimble.

The woman looked for no more than a handful of seconds, and then hid her gaze by wiping beads of sweat from her upper lip. She nodded.

“Ach, fink nothing of it, lass,” she flopped her hand at the air, “I used tah travel in mah yoof. I know how it can be.”

“A mighty refined tongue you have there,” She leaned back, tilting her head, “What yer be tasting is a special brew I traded fer a while back, my own reserve. A man from a place called Highford, far west o’ here, came by ta get him a metal man fer his business. Sold me a story, about how the mugwort used grows in a ruined abbey, local like, that burned down. All sorts of wild stories about that, but that’s nary a fing to concern yerself, just hocus pocus and bored seamstresses wiff lives too boring fer their own good,” Her eyebrows twitched slightly, and she paused, staring of, before shaking her rag at Idani, “It grows in the ashes, guess all those books were good fer somefing after all, because it has a fine taste indeed.” A raucous, stale laughed husked out from between her teeth.

“Fanking you kindly madam,” she looked about, “Probably. We gets all sorts, caravans tend ta stick in the ring outside, musta seen et coming in? Besides from that, Oakheim attracts a motley bunch, not many just passing through, mainly theys eiver coming or going from the place.”

Idani took another sip, still quietly tapping out a rhythm that most minstrels would probably find maddening. Her eyes, though, told another story. Slight sorrow. I was wrong. It didn't matter, much, but she liked to think herself better than to be wrong about a brew. Of course, she knew it would probably happen again; at some point. "Did you?" Idani's tone was chipper, but still within the realm of casual exchange, "I've been on the road for about six years." That much wasn't a give away, she had come to learn. A surprise, to some; a curiosity to others. Still, Idani had her stories.

"It's good, though the abbey burning is a shame. I can't fault the result," she managed while drinking, "and I have to give you my thanks for providing it. To share one's personal stash is quite generous." Idani watched the woman, as she continued, folding her arms on the counter, "And I suppose you have the right of it. I've learned to speak quickly and to speak well. My mentor was sure to ensure my hidden predilection was made manifest." True, she did speak well; though her mentor had little to do with it. "I was going to be a singer, until he passed." She reclined, a little, though not so much as to sit properly.

Stupid old man, came the bitter thought, you should have just... Idani brought her satchel to sit in her lap, using her left hand; returning it to rest after her belongings were in their proper place. "I had thought of staying with one of the caravans, but..." A shrug accented what she had to say; Idani being small and lithe as she was, "trouble tends arise when I put myself in rough company." That, at least, was honest. Again, a yawn unbidden. "I'm curious to see one of the Oakheim-made Golems, myself. I've heard a few stories about them. Once I've done that, I'll probably be on my way; again."

She lightly tapped her fingers, after draining the flagon. Her head was fuzzy, but Idani enjoyed the usual feeling. "I'll retire, soon, if that's fine with you Miss," Idani hadn't been given a name, and hadn't asked for one. She rather liked that, though she was sure it would come up in conversation, eventually. "I must ask, before I do, however; what is it that made you stop?" She broadened her smile, a little.

“’Tis what brings most folk ‘ere, ta be sure.” She chucked the rag into a basin lined with lye suds and then turned back to Idani, brushing her hands together slow and absentmindedly, searching the sleight girl’s face. She muttered something, a prayer, perhaps, and drew a symbol in the air. “May he pass on well.”

“But a singa, hmm?” she rubbed her chin with still-damp hands, “Coulda paid yer way with that, too, if yer kin hold a note, not like these folk’ll see much past yer face anyways, most ah the sods, that is.”
“Aye, I’ll be coming on now too,” she took of her apron, revealing a simple white dress underneath, and hung it upon a hook beneath a large hog’s head.

Eyes are a curious thing, the proverbial gateway to the soul, and even for how little their features change, this holds iron truth. When Idani asked her closing question, those emerald doorways transformed, memories flashing in a furnace of emotion, forming an amalgam of sorts, a counterpoint to the room, and to her; those eyes had seen far more than most. They gazed into the far off void over Idani’s head.

“I lost something invaluable,” it was a whisper, “something I could never hope to replace.”
Then her eyes focussed, and she coughed, flushing slightly.

“Lez not ‘member my youth though, et’ll just mek me sad. This was to er room,” and she turned abruptly, striding off to the stairwell.

"I'm sorry," Idani said, rising from her seat, "I understand well what you mean. Thank you, for your blessing. I know he's somewhere better than where he was, when he passed." She took a few hopping steps to catch up, her smile half of what it was before. The look in Miss Barkeep's eyes had stricken Idani deeply. She was, despite her somewhat cynical nature, very much attuned to the suffering that surrounded her; so long as it didn't impede her ventures, or her purse. "My master's name was Kinrothu Brei. He came from Jova. I called him 'Kin'. Mayhaps you've heard of him?" Idani still spoke to her, though she was a little behind; her mind drifting to the Cherry Leaves and kind people of Jova. She had spent nearly two years there, in hiding. "His 'performing name' was 'Roth'. We never made a lot of money, but I've never seen a man who could better play the lute."

That was strangely true. Despite the man being perpetually drunk, or seeking to become such, he was an excellent musician. And an even better liar. And an even more practiced thief. Kin had become her father, for a time, after she had fled her home. It was he who had taken her from danger and delivered her into a life that the young girl wasn't fully prepared for. Still, I adjusted well. There are few who could have walked my path with such grace. A quiet chuckle, at her own sarcastic comment. She had slipped up many times, earning a good clout on the ear; a good many times. He had toughened a soft girl and made her see the world as it was.

I wish he hadn't, sometimes.

"You've a fair point, about how people would see me. If I wanted to be admired for my body, I'd have become a dancer when I had the chance," though the kind matron wouldn't see it, Idani broadened her smile, once again, taking the stairway in dainty strides. "I...don't think that sort of work is for me, though." A fingertip pressed against her lower lip, she continued. "If you're ever in need of a singer, though, and I happen to grow tired of my wandering...perhaps you and I could brighten the night's mood in your lovely Traveler's Respite!"

She passed by several rooms, until the kindly woman opened the door. She slid in, behind her; smiling. It was wonderful, despite being hardly anything special. There was a fairly large bed, a window, a couple of chairs and a lamp already lit. Idani brought the satchel from her side and picked a spot on the floor, sliding it behind her. She sat upright, but gave a bow. Sleep had already begun to fall upon her, and she had little time left.

"Thank you," she said again, smiling broadly at the woman who she felt would be a true friend...if Idani had the time to spend with her; perhaps someone she would come to adore. "I will be taking my rest. Perhaps, in the morning...you and I may speak more." Idani Umbele truly meant that. She had intended to say more, but within her next breath she was curled up on the floor; her head resting on her satchel...a whispered lullaby luring her back to the darkness.

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