The Wilting Ballad

13

Welcoming dawn with a freshly plucked orange to satisfy your sore throat feels like a good way to start the seventh day for Neania Sailos in this unfamiliar, albeit, exciting new world. For she have aims for what is to transpire this evening.

A good night's sleep was hard to come by these days. After all, she wasn't in her gigantic bed that contains a soft wool mattress covered in pleasant silk cotton, with soft pigeon feather pillows and warm comforting bearskin blankets. Now she sleeps on the side of the road, with brown plains as her mattress and travel cloak as a blanket. For pillow, she uses her bag of essentials.

It was the beginning of the sixth day since Neania left what the people of this outside world call The Hidden City. Her home. And her first impression of the world was... they're barbaric.

She has met a few people since she crosses the Neat Gate. First was an innkeeper. After two days of walking and a sleepless night, she found herself outside a giant inn at the first village she passed by called Gilhozor in the evening. The inn was called Vanilla Maypole. Which she thought was an odd name for an inn but the construction of it was just a magnificent sight for her sore eyes, it towers over the other houses and churches like an elephant over a donkey.

Suffice to say it was the heart and pride of Gilhozor. Every single brick and boulder of the first floor and the planks of the wood walls of the second floor were colored differently as if a little bit of rainbow was smeared onto it. The thought of walking past it was present in her mind but the thought of sleeping on a normal bed was gripping her so strongly, it was useless to resist, and thinking that she doesn't know the least bit of fact about them she merrily pushed open the door of Vanilla Maypole.

The chits and clamour and singing inside the inn ends with her stepping in. The inside was not what one would assume from the outside, it was, without a doubt, huge. It had about fifty tables with four chairs on each one, drinks of all kind was present at the shelves hinder the bar and all kinds of ockchabu and weeds were hung high above, a few of them concealing the bottle of drinks standing on the shelf. All eyes were gaping at her, as if they have never before seen someone with hair that is passionately burning ginger as her, much to her chagrin. She have hoped secretly that she wouldn't stand out because of her hair like she did back home.

But it appears her hair was one the rarest things in all of Iruil. She saw a great many things that would have been illicitly illegal back home. Naked women with painted faces dancing for coins, small boys in the arms of a senior lady and senior perverted men, small girls with fearful eyes in the clutches of savage-looking men, bands of misfits badgering the poor man delivering them drinks and foods.

She bite down the need to comment on the matter, loosening her balled fist, she pace on and sat down on a chair, resting her elbows on the unpolished mahogany bar. You're an outsider now. Don't go causing trouble. She told herself. But trouble often finds those not searching for it.

"There!" Said a huge hunk of a man with bushy braided beards, banging a mug down with a clank before her. "New whore's gotta down that in one go!" He growled, a few of the men howls while a few whistles and few cackles. The children were stirring uneasily, the painted women refuses to watch and feign like there was nothing erroneous about the scenario.

Neania slowly held the mug, it was warm in her hand, she sniffs it like a dog did its meal before consuming. But unlike a dog, she didn't devour the drink brought to her, "I'm sorry but I won't be drinking your piss, thank you very much." She said, smiling innocently.

The man look offended like he's just being told his bread was too out of fashion. "No no no no... that wasn't no request, bitch! I'm the master of this lovely inn, so you better start gulping that in and piss it outta your cunt." He said, grabbing the ends of his thigh exaggeratedly.