It was mid-afternoon when Egil saw fit to flutter onto Winfreda's midst. The raven-spirit alighted to her chest, digging its talons in and giving an obnoxious caw. "Glass!" It's voice rumbled as it drew out the 's' sound. Then purring again in its throat as another issue came forth, "Glass! Sharp glass!"
Winfreda lifted her bleary head from the pillow, and furrowed her brow at the creature. "What are you on about, Egil?" This said, she threw a playful swipe of her arm, which the bird cleared with ease as it flew up into the top of a wardrobe. "Glass Winny!"
At least the spirit was intelligent enough to keep track of her current identity. The same couldn't always be said of the soul occupying this totemic form. It was odd to think of it as such, when she'd grown so accustomed to the body, having spent more than thirty trials occupying it. In good health and in exhaustion, through wounds and ordeals. In the worst, harshest environments she'd trekked with this body. In a way, the becomer almost felt akin to the body she inhabited. It was a part of who she was. A part of the pantheon of identities she'd accrued over the arcs.
As such, she took care as she crept, body still sore from travel, out of the bed and moving to the wash basin. She cleansed briefly, before throwing on some clothing, and finally the duplicity suit. It was a simple five-piece of leathers and furs. A shoulder cloak of sable, a black doublet, and black trousers, with boots. She pulled on a pair of matching gloves, and finally cinched the fur cloak with a pin that was a gift from the Le Fleur matriarch. This article ensured that all her accoutrements would match.
All prepared now, Winfreda held out an arm, with a tight smile to Egil. The raven flew to her shoulder, and clutched the furs there while she walked out the door of her rented space.
Soon enough, she was past the door to her temporary accomodations, and into the streets, after saying a hello and farewell to her boarders.
"Now, Egil." Winfreda began, a drawn out voice, lilting in a declining cadence as if to suggest skepticism. "You were saying?"
"GLASS!" The raven crowed, and then began flying off toward the next perch. Winfreda blinked once, and then sighed, and followed after the bird. It flew from perch to perch on the way, until it led her into a marketplace of sorts. Here, all manner of sundry items and household goods were being hawked by desperate sellers.
The scene was a familiar one, and understood well by the former champion of Chamadarst. Winfreda frowned, wondering why Egil had led her here. "Murder, dirty murder!" The bird crowed behind her, as she ventured into the market. Dirty Murder, being the brew that she was concocting and developing in Scalvoris, specifically Egilrun.
She put the clues together. The mention of glass, the mention of her vintage. Egil was helping her to find a bottler for her brew? Passing strange that a spirit would care about that, but alright. The woman thought to herself, as she browsed the potters and glassmaker stalls.
