Post by Riga Poniard on Dec 21, 2009 20:05:50 GMT
Riga slumped back comfortable in the hard tavern seat, her arms crossed over her chest. Her chin was down as she lazily watched the patrons of the Black Bear. Legs crossed as well and propped up on an adjoining chair, she was the picture of relaxation but her eyes missed nothing.
The drink before her was half gone, the strongest she could afford. She had no intention of getting drunk but wanted the strong alcohol to wash an unpleasant taste from her mouth. Three days in the training rooms of the Brotherhood learning all she could about poisons left the aroma of the place in her nostrils. Acrid, often putrid, the scent of death in a boiling pot. Riga decided there were a hundred ways she'd rather die than by poison.
But now she had a craftsman's knowledge of the art and glad she was for the learning. Every skill acquired meant one more tool in her arsenal of survival. Rolling her tongue over teeth, Riga wrinkled her nose and reached for the cup again, wishing the chemical taste would leave.
The drink before her was half gone, the strongest she could afford. She had no intention of getting drunk but wanted the strong alcohol to wash an unpleasant taste from her mouth. Three days in the training rooms of the Brotherhood learning all she could about poisons left the aroma of the place in her nostrils. Acrid, often putrid, the scent of death in a boiling pot. Riga decided there were a hundred ways she'd rather die than by poison.
But now she had a craftsman's knowledge of the art and glad she was for the learning. Every skill acquired meant one more tool in her arsenal of survival. Rolling her tongue over teeth, Riga wrinkled her nose and reached for the cup again, wishing the chemical taste would leave.
