The alleyway was damp and narrow. Slivers of sunlight filtered through drab stone buildings, creating shadowy alcoves, concealing the clandestine dealings of thieves and cutthroats. She dabbed her nose with a scented handkerchief in a futile effort to block the rank odour of piss and sweat and stale grog. Uneven cobblestones, slippery with some unidentifiable slime threatened to trip the unwary, even as scantily clad street urchins stripped them of everything they carried. It was not the sort of place one usually encountered a highborn Lady, but she required the services of a sell-sword and such were not found in palaces, distasteful as this experience may be.
Categories: Fiction Friday