Thick fog is hugging the feet of the forest. Sleepy spruce and pines are surrounding Roseville. It took me a while to notice the city hiding behind the trees. Only when we ascend the hillock, turning from the main tract to the narrow path that only foot way travelers or locals use, I can see the pink roofs of the houses.
"The colour of the roofs is pretty unusual for this part of the world," I say to myself, putting my hands into the pockets.
I haven’t been talking to elfia for a while, neither haven’t I payed attention to my new tailed friend. The mermaid is tired of running. She is slowly trailing behind us like a sulky child who has been forced to travel on foot all the way home. Swimming is much more interesting than using new legs!
Svartalf turns her head in my direction, "This is an elven technology. Roseville is not far from the border. Local builders buy the most reliable materials from the elves." She’s sure I want to talk with her, Amixantra forgive, such a naive soul!
"Why do you think elves have the most reliable materials? Don’t get me wrong, I'm certainly not a huge fan of Westlandia, but it is obvious that their magical and non-magical technologies and materials are much more powerful. They don’t have enough wood and other resources, but, let’s be honest, they are pretty good at inventing solid things and thingies."
Elfia wants to say something, but the pointedears tightly purses her plump lips, confidently continues further down the path. Finally she understands that we are not besties or something like this for a girlish small talk (after all she has said to me).
The tavern was a little more interesting than the one we ingloriously left yesterday. Wrinkling a nasty thin nose, a hostess poisonously announced that there were no vacant rooms. She did not like our only-girl-squad, besides, one of them was a ragged, vagabond looking she-mage in pants. I, obviously, did not instill a lot of confidence. It’s easier to refuse us than to require Coven to compensate her for the damage done to her tavern during the "uncontrolled witch-woman" stay.
Svartalf looks at the arrogant woman with even greater arrogance; she confidently rummages in her bag, takes out something from there, and throws several gold coins on the table. Some of the cousins are boasting with the elven emblem (one elven gold coin costs at least five human gold coins).
"Prepare us the best room, and be quick about it, woman. We don’t want to wait. If necessary, kick out the guests. My servants are tired."
"This very minute, Madam Elfia!"
She starts bowing, piercing the warm air of the living room with her sharp nose, "All the best for you and your servants."
I grunt. No wonder, she would not have earned this much even during the summertime season.
"I do really want to have a bath..." I remark sarcastically. "Will my Lady allow her powerless servant to wash?" I add in a plaintive voice.
The elfia opens her mouth in indignation of my arrogance, but then she closes it again and nods, "Bring them a water trough or something like that."
"Thank you for your generosity, my Lady! Let me kiss your noble fingers!"
"Get away from me!" Svartalf recoils from me when I try to lick her smooth fingers. The mermaid tries to do the same, but with the other hand, not realizing that I’m frankly mocking my boss.
"Leave me alooneee!"
Having watched our insane scene, the hostess of the tavern believes that the elfia is a very important lady: she rushes to command her servants; the most sluggish ones are getting her towel smacks and spanks on different prominent parts of their bodies.
"Maybe I should do the same to you?" Svartalf grumbles, nodding towards the hostess who is boxing someone’s misfortunate ears.
"Why?" the mermaid asks naively.
I’m about to offer to spank my tight ass, but I change my mind, since Svartalf is not a freedom-loving academy student, not a playful metropolitan waitress, and she’s certainly not a "bashful" farmer’s daughter after a second glass of plum wine... She is a noble girl on a task of national importance.
When we entered the room, the first thing I noticed was a wooden bathtub filled with hot clouding water. A huge leather shoe was lying forsaken on the floor, an expensive one, by the way: someone was going to leave the room very quickly, or, to be more precise, someone was kicked out of the room. I suspect that it was a noisy gnome family we met when climbing the stairs. They swore and shout at the sharp-nose hostess’s assistant, threatening to complain to the very head of the city, but the assistant carried an absent expression on her indifferent farm-dull face with a potato nose plastered in the middle. She was obviously a teenager at her first part-time job, and she didn’t care what they thought about her. What an attitude, she’ll flourish in the future!
"Dibs on this bathtub! It’s mine!" I playfully announce, quickly undressing in front of my travelling fellows. Joyfully I throw off my heavy leather jacket, soft pants fly to the nearest wooden chair, and a linen shirt lands on a warm log floor. I should definitely ask servants to wash my clothes, for the money Svartalf payed for this room is enough to buy and wash all sorts of clothes for the whole year.
The mermaid is keenly examining the ineptly painted aquaticish picture above the bed head, but the elfia is embarrassedly eyeing me.
"The colour of the roofs is pretty unusual for this part of the world," I say to myself, putting my hands into the pockets.
I haven’t been talking to elfia for a while, neither haven’t I payed attention to my new tailed friend. The mermaid is tired of running. She is slowly trailing behind us like a sulky child who has been forced to travel on foot all the way home. Swimming is much more interesting than using new legs!
Svartalf turns her head in my direction, "This is an elven technology. Roseville is not far from the border. Local builders buy the most reliable materials from the elves." She’s sure I want to talk with her, Amixantra forgive, such a naive soul!
"Why do you think elves have the most reliable materials? Don’t get me wrong, I'm certainly not a huge fan of Westlandia, but it is obvious that their magical and non-magical technologies and materials are much more powerful. They don’t have enough wood and other resources, but, let’s be honest, they are pretty good at inventing solid things and thingies."
Elfia wants to say something, but the pointedears tightly purses her plump lips, confidently continues further down the path. Finally she understands that we are not besties or something like this for a girlish small talk (after all she has said to me).
The tavern was a little more interesting than the one we ingloriously left yesterday. Wrinkling a nasty thin nose, a hostess poisonously announced that there were no vacant rooms. She did not like our only-girl-squad, besides, one of them was a ragged, vagabond looking she-mage in pants. I, obviously, did not instill a lot of confidence. It’s easier to refuse us than to require Coven to compensate her for the damage done to her tavern during the "uncontrolled witch-woman" stay.
Svartalf looks at the arrogant woman with even greater arrogance; she confidently rummages in her bag, takes out something from there, and throws several gold coins on the table. Some of the cousins are boasting with the elven emblem (one elven gold coin costs at least five human gold coins).
"Prepare us the best room, and be quick about it, woman. We don’t want to wait. If necessary, kick out the guests. My servants are tired."
"This very minute, Madam Elfia!"
She starts bowing, piercing the warm air of the living room with her sharp nose, "All the best for you and your servants."
I grunt. No wonder, she would not have earned this much even during the summertime season.
"I do really want to have a bath..." I remark sarcastically. "Will my Lady allow her powerless servant to wash?" I add in a plaintive voice.
The elfia opens her mouth in indignation of my arrogance, but then she closes it again and nods, "Bring them a water trough or something like that."
"Thank you for your generosity, my Lady! Let me kiss your noble fingers!"
"Get away from me!" Svartalf recoils from me when I try to lick her smooth fingers. The mermaid tries to do the same, but with the other hand, not realizing that I’m frankly mocking my boss.
"Leave me alooneee!"
Having watched our insane scene, the hostess of the tavern believes that the elfia is a very important lady: she rushes to command her servants; the most sluggish ones are getting her towel smacks and spanks on different prominent parts of their bodies.
"Maybe I should do the same to you?" Svartalf grumbles, nodding towards the hostess who is boxing someone’s misfortunate ears.
"Why?" the mermaid asks naively.
I’m about to offer to spank my tight ass, but I change my mind, since Svartalf is not a freedom-loving academy student, not a playful metropolitan waitress, and she’s certainly not a "bashful" farmer’s daughter after a second glass of plum wine... She is a noble girl on a task of national importance.
When we entered the room, the first thing I noticed was a wooden bathtub filled with hot clouding water. A huge leather shoe was lying forsaken on the floor, an expensive one, by the way: someone was going to leave the room very quickly, or, to be more precise, someone was kicked out of the room. I suspect that it was a noisy gnome family we met when climbing the stairs. They swore and shout at the sharp-nose hostess’s assistant, threatening to complain to the very head of the city, but the assistant carried an absent expression on her indifferent farm-dull face with a potato nose plastered in the middle. She was obviously a teenager at her first part-time job, and she didn’t care what they thought about her. What an attitude, she’ll flourish in the future!
"Dibs on this bathtub! It’s mine!" I playfully announce, quickly undressing in front of my travelling fellows. Joyfully I throw off my heavy leather jacket, soft pants fly to the nearest wooden chair, and a linen shirt lands on a warm log floor. I should definitely ask servants to wash my clothes, for the money Svartalf payed for this room is enough to buy and wash all sorts of clothes for the whole year.
The mermaid is keenly examining the ineptly painted aquaticish picture above the bed head, but the elfia is embarrassedly eyeing me.
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