Not so quiet night
Posted: Wed Jul 30, 2003 3:07 am
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Itanya repeated the litany for at least the tenth time that night as she paced outside the Tavern. She had taken a room for the night, ignoring Pritchard’s comments about her sleeping alone. She had no desire to seek the company of the only man that shared her bed these days. That meant leaving Myrkenwood, trusting herself to her husband’s magic. If she wanted to make this place more than just a town to drown her sorrows in, she was going to have to make an effort to get comfortable.
Still muttering to herself as the rain continued to fall, the swordswoman reviewed the night’s disaster over and over again. Even now, she could not say why she had chosen to use fire on the chair thrown her way. It had been an instinctive reaction to an external threat. Those instincts were going to make life in Myrkentown difficult for her if she was not careful.
It was only luck that no one inside the Broken Dagger had recognized that sudden flash of flame for what it was. The downside, of course, was now that some people would think she was a mage. That might have its advantages, except that she had not intended to show anyone in Myrkentown that particular gift. Pritchard knew about it, damn his eyes. She would be lucky if he did not try and charge her half the price of the Inn just for torching one chair.
Having walked off enough nervous energy for one night, she settled on the stairs. A number of things had begun to bother her. The drow, Jirai, had already figured out that the medusa’s blood made her aggressive. It did not help, Itanya knew, that she had arrived in the tavern feeling on edge. When she turned to that drink… well she knew better. Knowing did not always stop her, however. It had not stopped her recently that was for certain.
What had she been thinking? Mouthing off to Canthag and then picking a fight with that obnoxious blowhard whose name she had not even gotten. She put her face in her hands and just groaned. This was not what she had meant by keeping a low profile.
Still muttering to herself as the rain continued to fall, the swordswoman reviewed the night’s disaster over and over again. Even now, she could not say why she had chosen to use fire on the chair thrown her way. It had been an instinctive reaction to an external threat. Those instincts were going to make life in Myrkentown difficult for her if she was not careful.
It was only luck that no one inside the Broken Dagger had recognized that sudden flash of flame for what it was. The downside, of course, was now that some people would think she was a mage. That might have its advantages, except that she had not intended to show anyone in Myrkentown that particular gift. Pritchard knew about it, damn his eyes. She would be lucky if he did not try and charge her half the price of the Inn just for torching one chair.
Having walked off enough nervous energy for one night, she settled on the stairs. A number of things had begun to bother her. The drow, Jirai, had already figured out that the medusa’s blood made her aggressive. It did not help, Itanya knew, that she had arrived in the tavern feeling on edge. When she turned to that drink… well she knew better. Knowing did not always stop her, however. It had not stopped her recently that was for certain.
What had she been thinking? Mouthing off to Canthag and then picking a fight with that obnoxious blowhard whose name she had not even gotten. She put her face in her hands and just groaned. This was not what she had meant by keeping a low profile.