The difficulty of keeping the window open has to be the unpleasant scent wafting from the areas where the canals flow slowest. As winter’s hold loosens and spring in a coastal city blooms, there is little other chance of avoiding the growing heat.
That they settle in this loft in particular is a matter of practicality. Inexpensive, close to where they are most needed when they are not away, but the stagnant reservoir and the muted stone outside remind her of reality.
What pieces they have left of it are the things they are able to reclaim. Friends far more stubborn than a line drawn in the sand and a few clever arcanist contacts allow them quick trips in and out, but even the rich red-golds of furniture and drapery, the stowed crates of her shop’s inventory ( recovered at last! ) are an unsuitable substitute on days such as these.
At this rate, she might have to open a few of those crates and gently sear the stems for their aromatic qualities alone.
“ The more I stare out into the water, the more I’m convinced something does live in it. What was the rumor again? The Sewer Beast? ”
Perched at the window seat, she turns to face Thalendor just long enough to lift a questioning eyebrow.
@renserrar – plotted starter.
Once, Thalendor could've simply ignored the smell. He's rolled in enough muck, stuck his fingers enough unsavory jars, and been privy to too many unique battlefield scents to be truly bothered. But now his senses seem strange, dulled until he can barely enjoy the simpler things in life. The smell from the canals might as well be stale air on a stagnant, Quel'Thalas night.
He stops his inane prodding in her inventory (waiting for the next job always has him more than a little antsy) and drops dramatically into one of their recently recovered pieces of furniture. It's almost like home, except his sorry excuse for an apartment back in Silvermoon was barely the size of this. An upgrade, in Thalendor's book.
“ Ah, yes, right, the Sewer Beast. Talk of the town. Terror of the canals. All that, ” he says, rubbing his chin as if he recalls the deeply disturbing tales. Then, his signature smirk crosses his face, “ To tell the truth I haven't really paid attention to the specifics. Something to keep children from swimming in filth no doubt. ”
Not that it does much good. He still sees children kicking up water in all directions.
“ Why the sudden interest in monsters? ” he asks, swiftly pressing on. “ Thinking of giving this all up to be a hero of legend? ”
theartofmadeline
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