A half-breed in a strange land [open to all]

[Drumheller]

Unknown Locale
In an alley
Akkrîdjô,
First Stryde in Fêbtûs, 1816 C.P.
(first month of the Spirit Journey)
This was a dream. It had to be a dream. He hoped it was a dream. Somehow, he suspected that it wasn’t. Translocation was not something he had ever wanted to encounter, but somehow, Gods only knew how, he had. He was not even sure if that fact he was in a town was for the best or not. He was armored and vailed, so nobody would be screaming orc and running… yet. The constant tickle of salt on his nostrils told him that he was near the sea, or a very large salt river, and the overwhelming stench of refuse told him he was near a the dumping spot for refuse and chamber pots. It was an alley, behind tall two story buildings, which were all a mix of willow wood and various types of stones. Perhaps the bricks were made of ballast stones. That would explain how only two in twenty matched. It would also explain their relative tightness, the type of binding material and all. It all confirmed a few things, his feet, both natural and crooked began to move along the cobblestones, which were as unequal in size and coloration as that of the buildings he was leaving behind. He was near the sea, but where? And in what locale? How far would he have to travel before he made it back to the holding?

The first smell too greet his nose, besides the smell of salt water, was the steadfast low notes of horse hair. Like somebody rubbed the barest hint of lemon peals into boiled down hay and nutmeg without removing the leaves from the herb. He rather liked the smell of horse, it was a good scent. Of course, the varied odors of human and elf and old stained wood planks tried to crowd in his senses for a moment, before a snort forced the sensation back to reasonable levels. The streets weren’t crowded by any means, but scents tend to wander where they will, and where the wind took them, unreceptive the presence of others. That’s when he saw the sign that said “tavern” and headed for it, determined to get some answers. A man coming out stared for just a moment, his bad foot often got that kind of look, and only his entering the establishment broke the man’s unabashed ogling.