Ulipher observes the barflies still buzzing around the Taproot Tavern. A pair of Dwarves has set up shop down at the far end. Animated grunts alert him to their desire for more hot toddies. He stops wiping circles into the wooden bar and throws the dishrag over his shoulder.
Stealing a glance at the flame-haired Human sitting in one of the banquettes, he wonders what she has planned. Her presence in the Rest of Ages Inn has not been unwelcome since she started frequenting. She does tip rather well, he chortles to himself. She claimed the spot several weeks ago. He knows how she likes her liquor and serves her accordingly every time she wanders over to see him.
After a prolonged sip from her cup, the woman raises her drink to Ulipher in appreciation of his talents. He smiles in acknowledgment and continues working. She collects some supplies from inside her haversack and sets to task. Unfurling a charred piece of parchment and dipping her quill into dark blue ink, she starts writing in loopy, feminine script.
"Curator,
I am confirming that my request to the Lyba Khalo is on its way. I would be in your greatest debt if you can spare a good word for me. You know my journey, and you know I am sincere in my desire. My devotion to the Guild never waivers, and I know I can continue my service in an even greater capacity while working to become a Sister.
Regards,
Pythea"
The woman sets her quill on the table. Her fingertips touch the golden locket resting on her chest. Shaking her head, she grabs her julep and unceremoniously gulps the rest. She chews on a few mint leaves briefly before spitting them back into the cup.
Looking up, she notices the barkeep standing next to her. He stretches out his hand. With a half-smile, she makes crisp folds in the parchment and hands it to him. Ever so gently, he pats her shoulder and asks, "Another?"
"Keep 'em coming," she replies, staring into space.
