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[ Riftwatch's eluvian hides in the basement of a tavern called The Bear, the sort of middling market street establishment with a busy taproom that is almost no one's first choice but could easily be just about anyone's second, the sort of place with a constant stream of custom but few regulars. The street behind The Bear trends a bit more residential, a degree more respectable if not quite fashionable, and Widow Tavisa's Boarding House fits right in, a fading but clean and quiet establishment catering to short-term visitors of the middle classes, so long as they have proper references. Few would suspect Barnus the tavernkeeper and Widow Tavisa have anything in common, let alone a tunnel and ancient servant's stair that connects their two establishments, a passage leading from the eluvian's hiding place to the upper floor of the boarding house, where Riftwatch now keeps rooms for visiting agents.
The largest one at the end is often Yseult's, as it is today, though when she answers Ellie's knock it might take a second glance to realize it. She is dressed as a Tevinter lady of means, from dark violet satin gown to black wig of elaborate curls, face heavily made-up around the eyes in last year's fashion and more subtly elsewhere, rendered softer and more rounded, the angles of cheek and jaw less prominent. She takes a pin from between her teeth, a flicker of a frown as she notes the fine spray of blood, and steps back to urge her inside. ]
Wash your face, [ she instructs, gesturing to the basin on the sideboard, while she turns back to a mirror to remove the rest of the pins holding the wig in place ] and then put the kettle on.
The largest one at the end is often Yseult's, as it is today, though when she answers Ellie's knock it might take a second glance to realize it. She is dressed as a Tevinter lady of means, from dark violet satin gown to black wig of elaborate curls, face heavily made-up around the eyes in last year's fashion and more subtly elsewhere, rendered softer and more rounded, the angles of cheek and jaw less prominent. She takes a pin from between her teeth, a flicker of a frown as she notes the fine spray of blood, and steps back to urge her inside. ]
Wash your face, [ she instructs, gesturing to the basin on the sideboard, while she turns back to a mirror to remove the rest of the pins holding the wig in place ] and then put the kettle on.
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