The Rest of Ages Inn is quiet this time of night. Most patrons departed the Taproot Tavern a bit ago, and the other transient visitors have all retired to their rooms upstairs. Only a handful of regulars inhabit the bar. They nurse their drinks and make small talk with the silver-haired tapster. He nods and smiles congenially without betraying his boredom. After all, he has heard their drunken stories a hundred times before.
A flame-haired Human sits stiffly inside a cozy banquette. Her eyes glide over the room, making note of exits and potential threats. After she is satisfied with her assessment, she visibly relaxes and adjusts her posture. She raises a mint julep to her lips, takes a sip, and savors the sweet sting on the back of her tongue.
The woman retrieves a charred piece of parchment from her haversack along with quill and ink and places them on the table in front of her. She snaps her fingers softly to jog her memory and to drum up exactly the right words for her pending missive. With a final crack of her knuckles, she exhales loudly and begins to write in loopy, feminine script.
"Most Respected Lyba Khalo,
Please accept my warmest salutations and well wishes. While I do not believe the two of us have ever been formally introduced, I am sure you are aware of my dealings with the Sisterhood in the past. I have a deep fondness and the utmost respect for several of your associates. Our paths have intertwined on more than one occasion, each of which has heavily shaped my existence.
Time weighs heavily on Humans, and as we are wont to do, I have spent much of the past few years reflecting on my station in life. The world has changed, for better or worse, and I stumble when trying to identify how I fit into my surroundings. Though my spirit remains adventurous, I cannot deny the urge for consistency and purpose. Perhaps it is my age, perhaps it is the uncertain cultural climate, perhaps it is my particular sense of kinship – whatever the reason, my path has once again led me to the Sisterhood of the Rose. I now know my calling.
Therefore, I humbly ask your permission to begin studies toward becoming a Sister. I am undoubtedly aware of the immense sacrifice and commitment required as well as the delicate balance of diplomacy and discipline. My extensive experience within the political realm would serve as a great asset to you and the Sisters, especially in relation to the daily workings of the Chateau. If you require testimonials, I am positive that Sister Satarra and the Curator would vouch for my capability and sincerity.
Thank you for considering my request. Even if you decide I am not worthy, please know that I plan to continue shaping my life according to the Sisterhood's values. My services are always available should you need assistance. If you wish to meet, I make my home nearby, and I am able to travel to Ain Ghazal whenever you need.
Regards,
Pythea Fiacha, Ambassador Emeritus of Zoluren
P.S. - Please send my regards to Maiden Alrina. When I said my goodbyes to her those many decades ago, she was under immense stress and mental turmoil. I hope her mind has healed with the Sisters' impeccable care."
Balancing the quill between her fingers, the woman rereads her letter several times over before nodding to herself. She folds the parchment in three, satisfied. A large gulp finishes the mint julep, so she stands and walks casually to the bar.
Ulipher smiles at her approach. Finally, a respite, he thinks to himself. "What's your poison?" the barkeep asks with a teasing tone.
"I'll take another if you don't mind," she responds, swirling the greenish dregs in the bottom of her cup.
"Certainly," he says and gets to work. "Extra mint, just how you like it."
She grins, appreciating his attention to detail. Leaning over the bar with parchment in hand, she whispers, "Also, if you could be so kind as to ensure secure delivery of my letter via the next skiff, I would be very grateful."
The two share a meaningful stare as he rests her freshly made beverage on the bar. He nods in silent agreement and gives her a wink. She raises her cup to him. "Cheers," she says. She slides the parchment across the bar, which he accepts and slips into his apron pocket.
