Only Dreamless Sleep

The first, weak light of day wakes you from dreamless slumber. {if Acquaintance: The Feyborn Whore > 0} The Feyborn Whore, sprawled across the filthy mattress, smiles up at you as you cure your hangover with the hair of the beast that bit you. {endif} You wash and dress yourself as you wait for breakfast to arrive.

The Proprietor’s Daughter delivers the tray herself. {if Acquaintance: The Feyborn Whore > 0} She, blushing, exchanges a few innuendo-laden pleasantries with the naked woman lounging between your sheets before setting the table for two. Soon the oaky smell of fresh coffee fills the small room, and the Proprietor’s Daughter waits for the both of you to sit before she curtsies and leaves you to your food. You break your fast on toast and Pagan Berry jam.{else} She pours the coffee and then leaves you to your lonely meal. The taste of Pagan Berry jam on your toast is enjoyable, even if the drink is weak. {endif} There is nothing of interest in the local paper, save the weather.

You study the wind patterns (calming) and fog forecasts (little to none) with some satisfaction, and only then discover the envelope hidden underneath the broadsheet. The fantastical sigil is unknown to you and the words are utterly impersonal. An invitation, unaddressed, to an art exhibit.

{if Acquaintance: The Feyborn Whore > 0} You show the letter to the Feyborn Whore and ponder with her who might have sent it. The proprietor? A gift from Captain or crew? Some sort of joke? ”The artist himself?” she suggests. You shrug. His name is unknown to you, but stranger things have happened. {else} You idly ponder who might have sent it on to you. The proprietor? A gift from Captain or crew? Some sort of joke? {endif}