#infernali

          Vezely would push no farther into Dorwinion that evening. Buhr Amernrik was as good as any town to tarry a day or two before conducting Mordor's business with the Wine-Lords; enough time to adjust her ears to Folyavultig, the Dorwinrim's language, and to acclimate to their distinct culture, which to her was more Northron than Easterling despite mixed ancestry. No complaint could be made, however, since there were less affable realms to be deployed.

          The Dorwinrim favored broad diplomacy over burning bridges that could affect the selling of their wares and in particular, their famed wine. A reminder of this cosmopolitan outlook comes when the innkeeper hails her with a polite Common Rhûnic greeting before switching back to Westron. The black-kohl lining her eyes, the particular bend to the scimitar she wears upon her belt, the black scarf hanging around her neck that covers her face when riding, paints her more as a merchant from the East rather than of the South. Preferable considering Mordor's reputation but in Dorwinion, nondisclosure of her origins is precautionary rather necessary.

          The inn itself is modest. A brief glance at the crowd suggests it is popular with the local garrison, who are rowdy in their merrymaking but not enough to deter her from seeking a drink and a smoke before sequestering herself in her room. Unapologetically she creates space for her lithe form at the bar, tapping a readied gold coin on the countertop to call attention to the bartender. A cursory glance is allotted to the patron whose space she rudely intruded; a tall, broad shouldered man. She interjects before an potential objection could be made.