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Message: <blockquote data-quote="GlassEye" data-source="post: 6296975" data-attributes="member: 40413">[sblock=Mirra Weathersmith; In the Dunn Wright Inn some weeks past]The door to the Dunn Wright Inn swings open and bangs against the wall.  Grog looks up and scowls."Gotta fix da demned door.  Agin."One of Venza's notorious Planks bravos enters the bar and looks around with a bold stare and a caress of the hilt of his rapier for anyone who dares look his way.  He steps aside but in front of the door to keep it from swinging closed again.  Walking into the bar after the bravo is an old woman, shoulders slightly hunched, dressed in a dark gray dress ragged along the hem.  A linen scarf of the same dark gray covers her hair and frames her face.  Her tanned, lined face and gray clothing all serve to draw attention to her clear, sky-blue eyes.Though the old woman seems spry enough to not need it, she carries a walking stick that she raps on the floor of the inn before speaking in a thick, foreign accent.  "I seek the Daughter of Fumon, a cunning woman..."  She lets her gaze wander round the common room until it lights upon Mirra sitting and studying a book at the bar.  She approaches the bar and stands looking at Mirra.  "What do you read?"[sblock=Knowledge checks][sblock=K (Geography) DC 10]The old woman has an Inner Sea accent and looks to be of Goti ethnicity.[/sblock][sblock=K (Religion) DC 15]Fumon is the Pell god of storms, also called the Changewind and the Breath of the Seithr.[/sblock][sblock=Perception DC 5]The old woman has a noticeable scent...[sblock=K (Nature) DC 10]She smells of Hamamelis, a plant colloquially known as witch hazel or winterbloom.[/sblock][/sblock][/sblock]<img src="http://i1257.photobucket.com/albums/ii513/pnthffr/Mirra_150.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />Mirra hardly notices the door open.  She pricks her ears up at the mention of 'Fumon,' puzzles for a moment, and then nods to herself and goes back to reading.  She seems somewhat surprised when the woman begins speaking to her.  "Me? Oh well, this is Mare Speciem Interioris Ranis by Friedrichen Hencke ... err, you probably don't speak Old Landellian, do you? In Inner Sea, the title translates to Τα είδη αμφιβίων της εσωτερικής θάλασσας." Without thinking about it, the alchemist continues speaking in the language of the Inner Sea. "I don't think Herr Hencke really knows what he's talking about, though. Would you be happen to be familiar with poisonous frogs of Heth or ... oh, wait.  Hamamelis isn't common to wetlands, and the Changewind is generally worshiped on the plains and the foothills around Seithr.  Sorry I asked.  I didn't mean to presume." The old woman smiles with just the corners of her mouth turning upward but even that expression appears unpracticed as it bends her wrinkles into new directions.  She continues the conversation in the language spoken in the Inner Sea region, nodding and pleased with Mirra's demostration of knowledge.  "Ah, you speak the tongue of the Goti.  I am Telka, though the young ones of the Plank call me Mother Telka since I stitch their wounds after the brawls when they can't afford temple healing."  She waves off Mirra's apology with bent and gnarled fingers obviously used to hard work.  "You are her.  No, my path has never crossed into Heth nor have the frogs of that land crossed mine.  I have work suitable for a woman of knowledge and skill and I won't discuss it in common rooms.  Come, come."She walks to one of the private rooms.<img src="http://imageshack.com/a/img845/3113/hhr5.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />. . . . Mother Telka . . . .[sblock=OOC]Re: Languages:  You have the main ones.  As far as I'm concerned, for the duration of the adventure if you want to leave them blank and fill in when something comes up (if something comes up) you can.[/sblock][/sblock]</blockquote>

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