Elendhor stretched miles. It towered above many kingdoms, laying its claim upon where seaside met mountain, where the clouds poured over it and pushed the morning frost into midnight fog.
Where even in the hottest of the seasons, it ran itself ragged with a chill that seemed to say "Hey! Look at me! I'm the coldest place in Giarul!"
However despite its weather, Elendhor was in fact most well known for its markets. No weather brought quakes to the foundations of the marketplace, no gusts of wind rattled the fibres of its inhabitants.
No matter the time of year, there was almost always a deal to be struck.
The Inns of Elendhor were choked full with blithering idiots, wise old travelling salesmen and bounty hunters alike. Many of the establishments became neutral zones for business meetings, others became well known for their assortment of beers and lagers.
The one Everett had managed to stumble into the previous night was called 'Carna Inn', and was a small, somewhat bleak little place just off the main road that led into the city gates.
It bordered the most popular spots yet received little revenue.
Everett preferred the quiet of it when she sat up, though. Because she had a headache that was tearing through her skull as a beetle does through dung.
Rubbing her eyes, the woman glared through her fingers at the open curtains, and the breeze that flowed through them and into the room.
Her leg had been manhandled into a splint by the doctor the night before- though she could only vaguely remember screaming in pain and thrashing around like a wild dog as the bone was set into place.
A Forager was never to stay in one place very long, but with her probable conditions (I.E. shortness of breath, broken leg and bruised/sprained wrist) she would need some form of transport for a while.
It came to her mind to perhaps hire a horse and carriage- but she was unaware as to whether or not she would be able to return to Elendhor in time to give it back.
It also occurred to her that she could steal one.
Having said that, being sneaky required a level of effort that Everett frankly did not possess in the moment.
Before her eyes could adjust to the light and take in the unfamiliar room, there was a curt knock on the door.
A gruff voice filtered in through the gaps between wall and door frame. One would only have to listen for a moment to gather that whomever was speaking was either a) consistently on the verge of coughing a lung up, or b) choking on something they had previously swallowed.
"Bought some 'erbal tea for the missus! Are ya alive in 'ere?"
Everett pressed the balls of her palms into her eye sockets in an unflattering attempt to alleviate some of the stinging pressure building up back there. Instead it seemed to only make it worse.
"I'm awake, but I wouldn't say alive quite yet," Everett said. Her voice sounded almost as hoarse as his, and Everett momentarily thought that perhaps she'd forgotten about some strange smoking habit or something, before she blinked the thought away with a cut-off sigh.
The door opened after a momentary key-rattling sound, and heavy footsteps approached the bed.
Beside her, overworked hands placed down a slate grey tray on the nightstand. The food on it looked somewhat sloppily put together, but much more edible than the preserved meats and fruits that Everett had been living off in her satchel for the last few months.
The man spoke again, lowering his tone when Everett physically recoiled at the noise level.
"Y'aint lookin' much bet'er there, my love," said the older man, a fork getting tossed onto the tray as Everett turned to get it, "-'At tea should liven ya'up a little."
Everetts scabbed fingers found the tray, as her eyes closed automatically in the light despite her best efforts.
The throbbing behind her eyes made her almost ignore him in favour of bemoaning a godawful weep in pain, yet the woman knew better than to allow herself such a show in front of a stranger.
"Thank you, sir. What do I owe you for this?" She inquired. The man's voice dropped to a low laugh- the kind that fathers rumbled out when gurgling at something funny their child did.
"Ah it's alri't, my love, ya'owe me nothin'. Us innkeepers almost never get your type 'round 'ere. 'Ts a rarity they ever come 'round these parts at all," he tattered.
If Everett was able to open her eyes enough to see more than the blinding light of the morning sun, she would have seen the kindly bearded man wrinkle his nose in half-hearted sympathy.
Without much more prompting, the bulging mass of man rounded the bed to the window and drew the curtains closed- much to Everett's immediate relief.
Once she was able, she peaked an eye open to actually see what it was she was supposed to start eating.
What she had brought into her lap, on the tray, was a small and stout bowl of porridge. Or something close to porridge. She was unsure, because it was tinged much too grey for her liking, and she wasn't sure if it was the headache or concussion but she was sure she saw one of the grains wriggling on its own.
The Innkeeper wretched out a haggard breath and walked to the door to leave her to eat, but not before turning around and asking her-
"Ya know I do wonder, missus, what'twas exactly 'at brought you to my Inn."
Everett sighed, "Pure coincidence, Sir. Pure coincidence."
________
Once she'd eaten all she could stomach, and the now-cold tea had calmed her migraine into a dull throb at the base of her skull, Everett placed the tray back on the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed. Her hair fell in unwashed, loose red curls into her eyeline.
It was still caked in plenty of dirt- as she was sure the rest of her was. The ringlets barely held together under the weight of muck and grease.
The strands smoothed over her fingers as she fiddled with the ends.
Attempting to stand, subsequently seeing the universe and needing to sit down a moment, Everett finally dragged herself to the wooden basin pushed flush against the wall in the far corner of the room.
It was behind a poor attempt at slatted walls- which hung downwards and looked sturdy enough until one breathed too heavily. Then they would simply crumble to dust around you.
She washed her face and hair in the small basin, glad that the Inn had a running water system, and looked at herself in the mirror.
It was a face she hardly recognised anymore. One she'd only really seen in bodies of water, which distorted her features enough to almost convince her that her skin truly rippled in such a way that it matched the water's current every time.
Dark circles lined her eyes. Although they did so lesser than the day before. She traced a finger over the curve of the skin there, then followed the fat of her cheek to the crooked hook of her nose. She wasn't much of a fan of this face. She couldn't remember a time that she had been.
Its eyes were a strange concoction of her mothers blue and her fathers deep brown- making it look as if she were staring into wet horse-shit someone had thrown glitter onto.
While it wasn't an unpleasant a face to have, it felt rather stagnant. Fell wrong in all the right places. Made her ears seem larger and rounder, and made her jaw look a little too square.
She traced the tattoos snaking from her temple to the corners of her lips- dark inky strings that made an unkempt attempt of following bone structure she certainly didn't have.
Everett dragged herself away from the mirror to dry her hair off and find her boots. She didn't need to stay here pitying herself any longer.
She hobbled around the room, trying not to pull her leg over the unknown threshold that was keeping her upright, and found her boots where they had been tucked neatly under her bed the previous night.
Sliding them on was a needlessly ungraceful task. At one point, Everett almost brained herself on the bedpost, before deciding that sitting down to do this would make her life much easier.
She then scolded herself on the fact she hadn't thought about doing that when she first started trying to find her shoes.
Her splint also made things difficult. It was thick, tugged into wrapping around her knee and with thin metal wiring down both sides until it re-attached to another metal halo and wrapped just above her ankle.
It was rudimentary, at best, but it worked well enough for her to heal and walk, so she couldn't exactly fault it.
Finding a shirt in her satchel was easy- she only owned two, and had taken the first one off to wash off in the sink. The second fell a little short on her arms, and had a small tear on the collar, but it fit her well enough for now. Until she could get a new one, that is.
Luckily, the markets were bound to be open that afternoon- so perhaps she could hobble her way downtown to find herself something clean to wear.
Yeah. That was a good plan.