Sigil: City of Doors

In one quarter of the hive ward, close to the tattoo parlour and one of the more well known brothel houses, rumours abound:

"Looks like she finally put 'er foot down...the quiet one...and stood up to 'im."

The two harlots stood gossiping, waiting for trade and watched the slightly built elf, making a few trips, arms full, between the parlour and building next door that they often frequented to take 'care' of the more well paying customers in rooms rather than lean-to's.

"Eh dearie?" the second one waved a greeting to the girl as she passed recieving a short polite nod in return, then turned to the jinkskirt friend "She movin in wi us?...she never bin the type fer this...too skinny by far...but she's movin' in right enough...takin stuff with her"

"Rumour has it...." the one leaned in closer to the second, heads together, yet their voices rang no quieter in the square "...a clanful of orcs be expected through that Archeron portal o'er there to be visitin' the parlour any day now....likely askin for her ...and she didn't want anythin' to do with it...left Lervak on his own until threat be passed, keepin her head down, layin low.....an you know that geezer...lazy sod...left her to do most the work, free labour...all the tatts an piercin's poor mite...overworked she is..."

"Movin in with her lover I 'spect...that other quiet pointy-ear..y'know...the one who took the room up top...wonder for how long?...she's been tied to tha parlour for...ooooh long as I bin workin this spot...an more I reckon."

They watched Lyra pass a couple of times, noted several bows over her shoulder, a glowing magical looking bag and arms full of sketchpads, easel, painting supplies, a bandalore, a couple of flutes resting atop a small box, some scrolls and books. She traced her steps up to the attic room as a couple more of the harlots gathered to gossip with the first two, then they turned to the evening's call for custom as one adventurer passed close on his way to the sewers, afew of them raisingskirt to show leg, others opening necklines, calling out their invitation and touts under the watchful eye of their pimps.

Leldaren paused in the shadows listening to the harlots debate about the situation of the parlor and it's occupants. Slowly the ranger stepped from the shadows and approached them, Khaz at his side.

"Do you see her often?"

"Yes" stammered the 'leader'... the rest hiding behind the speaker, seemingly afraid of this dark ranger and his companion.
"She goes in and out... sometimes 'lone.. sometimes in w'ith others. She's a tattoo artist.. but she does 'ave a lover."

Leldaren's green eyes shimmered for a moment, but then returned to normal. Calmly reaching a hand into a pouch at his belt, he pulled forth a letter, and handed it to the speaker.

"Say nothing of my presence here. In passing mention my friend here *he waved to Khaz* and see if she becomes interested. If so, give the letter to her. If not, burn it. If you value your health, I suggest you do not open it. It is meant for one person and one alone."

With that the ranger slipped back into the shadows, Khaz close on his heels, and was gone.

"'Ere Lyra lass!" the elf in blue tunic turned and stepped across to one of the working girls at the call, dipping her head in greeting.

"Funny thing 'appened...got a few of us shook up ....what ye know of large black cats...ye know...really big uns...fangs an' all...?" the girl shuddered a bit and wrapped her shawl about her as she watched Lyra. In reply, Lyra stepped closer, tilted her head, a puzzled but interested look to her face.

"..one came roun 'ere see...with.....one of your sorta kind" Lyra's lips parted and her hand darted out to grip the girl's arm, she nodded swiftly to encourage the girl to continue, her grip hard for all her petite size.

"Oy! ease up lass!" the harlot chuckled "..'nother lover of yours en?....you in trouble? " Lyra scowled a bit at the girl, a sharp stare had the harlot raising her brow with a smirk "Ye do know them then....'ere....told me ta give ye this..." and she passed Lyra the letter "....swears I aint peeked at it...more en me life's worth....odd types ye keep lass.....lucrative, are they.... them elf fellas? "

The jinkskirt gave Lyra a knowing wink. With a dry look back at the girl, Lyra took the note and held it tightly to her hand, brought it to her nose and sniffed it for trace. It smelt mostly of cheap scent, but there....undertones....there it was....leather and moss. Lyra caught her breath recognising it. She gave the girl a few jinks for her troubles and padded off quickly tucking note swiftly into her tunic pocket to find quiet spot to read it.

The letter was ordinary in every fashion, but had a unique wax seal on the back. Lyra would notice the icons, though smudged from the hands of the jinkskirts, a blade crossed with a bow.

*upon opening*

Lyra would notice the letter perfectly folded, and the language a flowing elven, with a smooth hand.

Lyra,

Long has it been since we last walked the planes surrounding Sigil. Since my last visit I traversed many more, and even stayed again in Neverwinter for a time. Perhaps we might travel together again, with or without your... other.

My secrets guard themselves. May yours do the same.

*Lyra might feel the writer had a sly grin on his face when he wrote that line... it might even cause her to look around to the shadows at hand, wondering if he happened to be near, or for how long he'd been back, and what he'd seen?*

The letter was unsigned, though the second half of the letter was a picture. An elf with black scars across his body... it even seemed to be in her own style of drawing and paints.

A cool wind howled outside for just a moment, then all returned as it was.

On one such occasion when the darkly robed elf would be seen leaving the building that the Harlots made use of so frequently, the elf would listen to their idle gossip with amusement. Should they seek confirmation of whether or not that he and the other elf were lovers he would merely remain quiet neither confirming nor denying the validity of such.

However when the rumors of orcs from Nishrek seeking the slender elf's skill at tattooing, the elf would have but this to say. "Think you that she hides to avoid such work? Mayhaps she simply leaves this task to he whom owns the establishment. Verily she does most of the work not he."

The elf would smirk and depart towards the bazaar.

Quite close to antipeak, hidden amidst the deepest shadows of the Hive Ward's buildings and cloaked in concealing magics, a slim elven figure makes her way to get a good look at the building beside the tattoo parlour.

Careful to avoid a sighting from the windows (or the jinkskirts milling around out front) she makes a note of the uppermost floor openings and the directions they face. When she finishes that, she lingers a time, watching, as if hoping to catch sight of those in the room going about their business.

" 'tis a sad day when friends must tip-toe around friends...even if one doesn't know it yet." She mouths wordlessly to herself, and finally slips away, taking a roundabout route to the Lower Ward.