They get dressed and head out.

"By Ishtar, even whores shouldn't sleep this late." The Akkadian hears Naerwyn's voice from the comfort of her bed as he is hit with some clothing.

It has been a long night for the assassin, filled with things terrifying and exhilarating; which was dream and which was reality he isn't quite sure. Looking about, and at himself, he knows that he is still a woman, but he has also been bathed.

Stretching he looks up at Naerwyn, she is in a simple commoner's dress that is faded grey and white. With the exception of the crimson cords on her forearms, her attire is quite mundane. "Get dressed. We need to talk to the sage about that dagger of yours before the noon hour."

Noticing that Naerwyn's right hand is wrapped he asks about it. Looking down at it she seems a bit concerned. "It was burned when the dagger exploded and it seems to be getting a bit worse. I am going to ask the sage about this too." Looking up at him she changes the subject. "You really need to get dressed." She forces a smiles.

Naked, he stands from the bed and catches Naerwyn looking him over. He was accustomed to woman being pleased by the sight of his old body; he wonders how Naerwyn would react when he is changed back. Looking at the clothing his rogue friend threw him, the assassin isn't pleased. Like the thief's they are woman's peasant clothing, but for his case the colors are brown and green.

"Don't like the colors Minaja?" Naerwyn inquires. "I thought the green trim highlighted your beautiful eyes."

"Why are you not in your armor? And I would at least like to be in something that I won't trip over." The Akkadian complains.

"Silly, we are going to the northern market. A woman dressed for battle would hardly go unnoticed. Besides it is market day, it should be fun."

"Northern market?" The Akkadian wonders, as he begins to dress. The northern section of Al Areth is the part of the city he is most unfamiliar with. Like the Mariner's Flagon it is poor, but not seedy, a place for commoners, not warriors and assassins who tread the halls of nobles and the darkest dens. The Akkadian ponders if Naerwyn's knowledge of the Al Areth underworld is greater than his, or does she actually enjoy consorting with the peasant cattle? He notices that the infuriating grin is back on her face, almost to the point of laughter. "What now?"

"It's backward." She smiles.

Looking around the Akkadian doesn't understand.

"Your bodice, you are putting it on backward." Naerwyn points at her.

"Damn infernal contraptions." He mutters and tries to figure how to put on this strange **** device.

Naerwyn walks over and rights the alien piece of clothing and ties it quickly in place. "I know you whores enjoy being naked, but has it really been that long since you wore clothing?" She teases.

Placing the tiny dagger Naerwyn had given him yesterday inside his bodice the assassin is ready to leave. He is not sure which is worse, wearing the loin cloth of a whore or a peasant's dress. Naerwyn gets him a piece of bread for a quick breakfast from the still icy tavern-keep Kerra.

It is a pleasant sunny day, with a cool breeze. The Akkadian looks over at the perky thief, who is enjoying the outing. "An'na Undei be praised." She exclaims as she heads down the road basking in the warmth of the sun. The Akkadian is the reserve, quiet and deep in thought, realizing that after they chat with this sage he faces a difficult decision. Finally he speaks. "So, who is this sage we are going to see?"

"Rechmon, the bookseller." Naerwyn answers.

"That old prick, you must be kidding?" The Akkadian continues to be shocked by his friend's choice of connections. He knows Rechmon, a zealous follower of a fundamentalist sect of the god Mitra, who believes their god is the only god that exists. The assassins' guild tried to use Rechmon as a source of information a few times but deemed his intellect and cooperation too limited by his dogma. He was briefly considered to be targeted for elimination, but he was viewed, in the end, as not worth the effort.

Naerwyn gives the assassin a disapproving glare. "Minaja, Rechmon is a friend of mine. He has aided me many times in the past."

"Hmpt." The assassin grumbles.