“Shoot, I’m gonna need cash.”
Lady Parhelion rummaged through the little pouch by her waist, hoping she’d stored some extra gold in there as she stood outside the inn. The place was modest, to put it kindly, but Lady Parhelion desperately wanted in. She had no equipment for sleeping outdoors, and had no idea what region’s flora and fauna were. Hell, she didn’t even know if there were rules against such a thing. There would be many, many, things to ask about, but not tonight. Tonight, her wounds were still untreated, and she’d lugged a harp through the swamp for the better half of the afternoon. Any inn would suffice for tonight, so long as she could rest at ease for just a little while.
The coins within Lady Parhelion’s purse had mostly crumbled into dust, but half a gold piece still retained enough of its shape. She held it up to her face to inspect it, then gave a brief nod and walked in.
The inn’s interior was not much more promising, just slabs of crude wood slapped together. A small tavern was spread out on the bottom floor, and the bedraggled Lady just pushed past it, heading for the man in charge.
“Any rooms available?”
The man behind the counter puffed his cigar without looking up from his newspaper. “Sure thing, girlie. How many nights?”
“How much is the cost?” Lady Parhelion countered.
The man raised an eyebrow, looking at her. “Mm… five silver for a night.”
Lady Parhelion pushed over the damaged gold coin. “So this’ll get me-?”
“One night.”
“Great,” Lady Parhelion said, feeling secretly relieved.
“You strapped for cash, miss? If you need to spend a few more nights in town, we’ve got work for folks like you.”
Lady Parhelion stifled a limp as she slid around the corner of the counter, picking through a group of keys next to the register. “I’ll consider it, but I’m injured. I’ll hunt something that’s hurting people, but if it’s not an immediate threat then-“
“Hunt? Eh, so you’re once of those bard mages then?”
Lady Parhelion’s eyes narrowed as she grabbed a set of keys and looked back over at the man. The innkeeper lowered his glasses as he sized her up, then looked over at the massive harp she’d dragged in behind her.
“Bard Mages?”
“Yeah, I dunno, I just thought maybe you were a regular ol’ harp player. Guess musicians don’t tend to travel alone much anymore though, should’ve known. But nah, anyways there’s a noble family up the road that hires people for their parties. If you need the gold for the room, head over there in the morn, I’m sure they’ll take ya.”
Lady Parhelion opened her mouth to correct him, but then shut it quickly, storming up the stairs with a curt ‘thank you’. She fumed as she pushed aside the harp in the room, locking the door behind her and staring at it across from the musty, bug-infested bed.
The harp was, admittedly, quite grand. Why would a fighter be carrying such a lavish instrument around? Of course he didn’t see her as a warrior, but… then what about her appearance? How could he have mistaken her for someone willing to play at parties?
There was a cracked mirror on the dresser behind the harp. Lady Parhelion leaned to the side to see her reflection, and barely recognized herself. She felt awful, and thought that she’d bloodied the dress beyond all repair, but in reality her wounds were barely visible. The shards of metal that had broken across her body had wormed their way into her cheeks and neck, as well as a few parts on her arms, but the grevious wounds were on the chest, where the blood only reached the inner layers of her outfit. Of course, her armor and weaponry had been destroyed in the fight, as well as her hair accessories (save for the elven craft). It made her look… rather plain.
This was the last thought she had before passing out altogether on the filthy mattress at the inn. She looked weak, but not in the way she felt. The metal within her chest burned, reminded her of the shame of her defeat. Maybe she deserved this. Maybe she deserved to be weak.