Shades 002: A Shady Maybe-Elf of an Ambiguous Nature

Well, still in Zelkor's Ferry, unfortunately, waitin' for word of the work I'm offerin' to spread to nearby gold-hungry ears. There ain't a word in any of the tongues I speak to fully describe how lonesome this boil on the river's back is, and believe me I know some turns o' phrase that'll make an orc's mother blush. I've spent the bulk o' my daylight hours perched on some hill nearby, trancin' and drinkin' in the silence. I ain't heard a quiet so deep since the monastery after curfew, so it seemed only proper to do so. There's a mean tang in the air here. It sticks to a bird's feathers if you stay out too long. Maybe it's just the fumes waftin' off the cutsnake necromancer, or maybe it's the all death and bones on the very breath of ol' Rappun Athuk itself.

Most folks makin' their living here in Zelkor's Ferry live somewhere in the fields outside of town, leavin' about twelve folks left whilin' their nights away in Bristleback Inn. For the most part the locals keep their distance. I don't blame 'em. I've been told tengu all look alike to the untrained eye, so they see a bird who looks like the perp who robbed them, and often get all colours o' rage. Little do they know that the poor thievin' bastard likely got their snitchers lopped off for their petty crime. Speakin' o' petty crime, Bristleback certainly got himself a right rort here. In all my meanderin's I ain't seen a price like five gold a night for such an ordinary room, but where else in Zelkor's is a bird gonna roost? Nestled with the gnolls and kobolds?

Turns out the Great Downward Engineering Company's name still whispers a sweet somethin' for those listenin' for it. I was approached by the Inn's entertainer, Freydann, last night, when the buzz of the ale died and the stupors began. Slippery lass, that one. Or at least I think she's a lass. I thought I had a good eye for humanoids, but honest to whatever gods hold sway out here I can't tell if she's a human, high elf or wood elf or whatever the blazes kind of elf. Or some kind o' mongrel. Lass caught eye of my deed to Castle Calaelen and knew what it meant, Lords and all. She was quite bold in offerin' her services as a local to the Great Downward, notin' that business would likely gather more steam if its face didn't have a beak on it. I gotta admit Freydann has a point.