Babushkat's Morning Routine
Wanted to add some of my writing for my DnD character, and one of my favorites to write for: Female Tabaxi barbarian, Solstice of Summer
Let me know what you think and feedback is always welcome.
Art by: lonebirdart
The floor grew closer once again. The subtle burning sensation radiating through her triceps. The only noise in the sparse room being calm collected breathing. The individual abruptly pushed with all her weight against the floor and with a flip righted herself with both feet on the ground. She winced a moment on the landing rolling her right shoulder until a hollow pop emitted from its socket. Padding over to her dresser, her amber eyes caught the faded flier on the wall. A much younger her grinned back precariously balanced on a tightrope on only her hands. The text on the advertisement was barely legible but she knew what it said by heart: ‘Daring feats of grace. Come see the fierce feline funambulist: Solstice of Summer’. She laid a hand upon it stroking the page as if it were a kitten. After all this time, she could still remember the gasps as she would tilt from one side to another. ‘Gotta give the guests a little excitement,’ Her manager would tell her. Her mind wandered back to those days of good friends, terrible drink, and eating her weight in leftover popcorn. She chased those thoughts away with a shake of her head before retreating to the washroom to prepare for the day.
The sun had barely peaked by the time Solstice of Summer bathed, dressed, and plucked up her walking stick from the doorway. She kept her choice of dress less flashy than her days in the big top but preferred her clothes breathable and a bit closer to her form than most women her age. Her walking stick, a gnarled length of wood, still had the proper balance she required. If she could not carry her old glaive through town without being questioned then let her keep her walking stick.
She passed a few Elves and other early risers on her way to the market. She gave a nod in greeting and it was occasionally returned. Her journey wound her through the market district to a stand run by a barrel-chested gentleman.
“Good Morning, miss Sol. The usual for you?”
“Ah, good morning, Bjorn. And yes, please.”
The gentleman already waved dismissively as soon as her hand went to her coin purse, “None of that, Dusk-master Gallows already took care of it.”
Sol clucked her tongue but accepted the assembled basket of breads and fruit, “The Dusk-master needs to let me do something. I’m old, not an invalid.”
She made her leave with a wave and tredded the familiar path to one of the less savory side streets. Counting her steps, she turned and approached the fifth building and circled to the side rapping on the door. A moment of silence before a section slid open only revealing a pair of eyes. “Password.”
Sol sighed, “Dredge, it is me. I brought breakfast and I know he hasn’t eaten yet.”
“You still need the password.”
“This door can easily be broken.”
The section slid shut and the door opened.
