After a short while your transport to the celestial way arrives. It’s something like a long, decorated rowboat of outlandish design, with carved wooden fins sprouting from the sides and bottom. Orerreth pays the trip and you board the small ship along the other passengers.
The ship leaves the platform and swims among the top of the spires lime many other public and private flying artefacts of all forms and sizes, ferrying passengers up and down, to finally arrive at another platform very similar to the one you left short ago.
”There it is, the Orien post office. The chapel of rest is over there” he points at a place perhaps one hundred yards away, maybe a little more since you have to arrive there through a series of stairs and footbridges. ”It’ll be but a moment.”
The post office is small but several partitions line the walls, so anyone wanting privacy can stand there and privately read a message. Real lamps (not magical ones) provide light, maybe, you reason, in case anyone would want to burn a paper or piece of parchment. Beyond a desk, a gnome attends the clients.
Orerreth doesn’t have the opportunity to speak with him, however. A man wearing the last fashion in Sharn, a bright contrast of read and dull yellow and visibly shows house Cannith crest comes out of one of the partitions and smiles. Orerreth stops dead in his tracks, narrows his eyes and whispers: ”Ceshil”
”Nice to see you again, you treacherous scum.”