Kyra Pfalz-Karstadt,
most definitely not Lutatia Eichenwald von Brudel
There was a certain irony, Lutatia thought, that it was likely her fellow envoys had spent weeks, if not months to gain their bearings and make the journey to Coris. In the meantime, her lifestyle had hardly changed from the time of the Before, and the vibrant merchant capital remained her home in the intervening months. In fact, that was probably truer now than in her previous life.
If she had been more conceited, she would have entertained the notion that it was because the other envoys would naturally congregate around the Envoy of Agamemnon that everybody would gravitate to this city. Clearly a silly notion, but it was still an amusing coincidence that she wouldn’t complain about.
The Brudelian princess, in her long-held disguise as Kyra, had not been sitting idle, however. Dying and turning into an envoy was complicated by her particular manner of dying, unlike the others. Being the target of an assassination
yet again meant there had been many, many loose ends to tie up, lest they interfere with her goals as an envoy. The obvious and easy solution had been to dispose of her current persona, since it was likely compromised, although given the natures of the trade she couldn’t be completely sure whether or not the assassins were from Brudel or from a particularly vindictive merchant rival. Had she survived, she would have done just that. But she did not, and there were too many advantages to the cause to not remain as Kyra, martial merchant advisor extraordinaire.
She had burned a lot of political and monetary capital in Coris in ensuring the remaining integrity of her disguise. The intrigue of a rich, multi-ethnic mercantile republic was no less treacherous than that of the Brudelian court, and there were some very
interesting ways to find solutions to problems there, even as the threat of northern aggression loomed ever-present.
Even then, she still wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t be ambushed once more in the future, this time with far greater consequences.
Such was the price of a second envoy of Agamemnon.
That state of affairs had taken some weeks to sort out, but it was worth it. It was a shame that she had to leave her mostly cushy position at the North Bay Company, but the departure was amicable and even understandable when she turned back up at the merchant house looking bloodied and half dead. There were connections there that she and her soon-to-be fellow envoys could lean on in the future.
That left her a couple precious, unmolested months with which she could enjoy her home in peace. That home, as it happened, was one of the few things together with its contents that she hadn’t traded away for favors or hard currency for her mission. She was still committed to her host’s dying wish of a comfortable retirement, after all. It also made a very good place to catch up on training for the journey ahead, as well as on the stacks of neglected tomes that she hadn’t found the time for during her tenure with the North Bay Company.
Aside from her regular excursions with Lede to keep up her flying hours –she held herself and her partner to a strict training regime, after all-- she had kept up that routine until today. Earlier in the morning, she had gotten a feeling that she should probably make her way to a certain tavern by the docks soon. She had time enough, though, to enjoy the city for a while longer, as she strolled the city square. It was only marred by the rantings and ravings of a hoarse foreign cleric.
It was a better sermon than from one of the city’s usual suspects. She even found herself agreeing with the entirety of it, but that wasn’t surprising, considering her own views. She had always resonated well with Anhur and his faith, after all. And he was right. Latis, and by virtue of association, Coris, remained in a very precarious geopolitical spot. As long as the status quo remained, there was no doubt that the Twin Kingdoms would eventually fall. Although it had a body of water between it and Nuniel, it was not her homeland either, equipped with the finest air force on Edanica and ringed by impenetrable mountain ranges as it was.
Lutatia continued with her errands, leaving the voice behind. Nonetheless, she had a feeling that she would be meeting its owner before the end of the day.
---
The Red Snapper was truly an unremarkable place. She was not familiar with the particular establishment, but there were dozens like it along the length of the city waterfront. They were all grimy, with some variety of sun-bleached, frequented by rough, but mostly honest sailors, with the occasional handful of scoundrels in between. This particular one felt trawler-themed, though the oversized stuffed red snapper above the bar proper made her wonder if it was a true red snapper or another species of fish covered in red lies.
The establishment seemed to do good business, with its clientele a mix of fishermen and wealthier merchant sailors, with the occasional mercenary and soldier types here and there. Lutatia stood out somewhat, if only by the quality of her clothes; she had dressed simply, with a pair of durable pants, and a loose white button shirt. Her sword remained at her side, though she had foregone the cloak—it was too conspicuous. There was more than the usual to be wary about here, after all.
It wasn’t quite so busy that she couldn’t slip into a seat at the bar, next to a dragonborn that did not belong here at all. Ignoring him for the moment, she caught the barkeep’s eye and slid a small silver coin down across the rough wooden surface.
“Small beer and a bit of bread,” she tapped, glancing in the corner of her eye the armored foreigner at her side. She remained silent until her drink and a chunk of rye bread was in front of her before letting slip.
“From Anhur, are you? Nice speech earlier, better than what I hear most days in that square.”
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