This is Lillerspond, the largest town for at least twenty miles and a prominent landmark on maps of Alerar, or at least the maps that are made by cartographers being paid by the feature. It visible from a day's ride away as a mass of towering white pillars bending in the wind, emanating from dozens of boilers driving hundreds of hammers forging thousands of tons of metal. The old water-mill-fineries still churned, but their days were over when the Lillerspond dam was built.
Magical fires were expensive, sure, but years of paying for wagonloads of wood and coal is even more expensive. The muzzy, humid air here had the sharp tang of far too much fire magic running around, and Ihime Lars loved it. It was a spice that complemented her exciting tours of fine elven industry, occasionally with the permission of the smithery master, ever since arriving here via bucket two weeks ago. She still had that bucket, which was now being put to dual use marinating several fat burbots and holding up one end of a drying line.
Ihime finished her inspection of mushrooms hanging from drying line and nodded her approval. The two hobs grinned hugely and scampered off with their reward: a complete pair of thick, woolly socks imported from Corone at great expense to Mr. Dillagithee. Of course, Mr. Dillagithee would probably not have approved of his involuntary donation, but Ihime had reasoned that he never wears them and they were a horrible maroon color.
After her last two attendants scarpered, all that was left to do for a while was to admire the view. Up here on the third storey, the sounds of the street hawkers and the rumbling carts in the plaza that the window overlooks were not nearly so overwhelming. The summer morning sun slanted in through the open windows onto the bank of lavenders on the window-sill, which was freshly cleaned and polished in expectation of guests.
Guests, that was the key. Ihime was expecting lunch guests today. They would heed that brief, polite letter sent to her sister's new keepers. Hopefully, the innkeeper, Mr. Dillagithee, wouldn't give them too much fuss about the freeloading lady on the top floor; that elf has been spouting worshipful nonsense about Ihime ever since she moved in. Such were the tribulations of fairy royalty.
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