A Social Call (L'inarra)
Mar 10, 2013 17:43:17 GMT
Post by abrizhel on Mar 10, 2013 17:43:17 GMT
Qarth was magnificent. Abrizhel had warned herself not to let the splendor of the city blind her to objective judgement of its merits, but there it was. The port was thriving, the markets were among the largest she had ever seen, and the potential seemed near-limitless. There was much that could be done here. Abrizhel and her associates had arrived at a seemingly opportune time. From what she could tell, the power structure had near-collapsed at the highest levels. That meant uncertainty for the city, and it meant shrewd buyers would be looking outside the city for suppliers they could depend on.
The details were still hazy, and talking to people in the streets brought nothing but conflicting and outlandish tales. It was a Dothraki warlord that was responsible, or one of the city's most respected merchants. Or it was a Westerosi exile who commanded fire like a priest. Or the sky above the Hall of a Thousand Thrones had been filled with dragons. Each of the stories was more ridiculous than the last, and frankly Abrizhel had decided that she did not care. She was here, and prospects looked good, and that was what mattered.
She rode through the streets in her carriage, looking out at the marvels of Qartheen architecture. Their towers stretched higher than any she had ever seen in Pentos, and she wondered what miracles their designers had wrought, to create buildings that stretched towards the sky and yet remained stable. If she ever had the wealth to spare, she decided, she might well commission one back home, leave her legacy on the skyline.
The trouble was that Abrizhel of Pentos never had wealth to spare, no matter how rich she became. So long as there was room for her business to grow, she couldn't afford to waste resources on vanity projects. It was an attitude that had served her well thus far.
Today, she had something of an unusual visit to make. She had received word that there was a woman named L'inarra Whitecrest, the wife of the commander of the Goldbull Legion, who wanted to meet her. Abrizhel didn't make a habit of social calls, but this was different. The Legion was a mercenary company with a good reputation, and L'inarra and her husband were Westerosi. In Qarth. It intrigued her, enough that not only had she accepted the invitation, she had decided to attend in person instead of sending an agent authorized to discuss business for her.
She doubted L'inarra Whitecrest was interested in trade contract, anyway, although she'd brought along some samples of some of the best silks her people produced. Perhaps she would be tempted by the thought of a few fine additions to her wardrobe. No doubt Abrizhel's reputation had preceded her, although whether she ought to be flattered or disconcerted by that fact remained to be seen.
She arrived at the Whitecrest estate early in the afternoon, with her small group of attendants, including a translator. She didn't know if L'inarra spoke Valyrian, and it would be uncomfortably embarrassing if she didn't and Abrizhel hadn't considered the fact. She herself was dressed in layers of yellow silk, with twists of bright ribbon braided into her hair. It wasn't in keeping with Qartheen fashion, which was too immodest for Abrizhel to contemplate, but she thought it would do well enough.
The details were still hazy, and talking to people in the streets brought nothing but conflicting and outlandish tales. It was a Dothraki warlord that was responsible, or one of the city's most respected merchants. Or it was a Westerosi exile who commanded fire like a priest. Or the sky above the Hall of a Thousand Thrones had been filled with dragons. Each of the stories was more ridiculous than the last, and frankly Abrizhel had decided that she did not care. She was here, and prospects looked good, and that was what mattered.
She rode through the streets in her carriage, looking out at the marvels of Qartheen architecture. Their towers stretched higher than any she had ever seen in Pentos, and she wondered what miracles their designers had wrought, to create buildings that stretched towards the sky and yet remained stable. If she ever had the wealth to spare, she decided, she might well commission one back home, leave her legacy on the skyline.
The trouble was that Abrizhel of Pentos never had wealth to spare, no matter how rich she became. So long as there was room for her business to grow, she couldn't afford to waste resources on vanity projects. It was an attitude that had served her well thus far.
Today, she had something of an unusual visit to make. She had received word that there was a woman named L'inarra Whitecrest, the wife of the commander of the Goldbull Legion, who wanted to meet her. Abrizhel didn't make a habit of social calls, but this was different. The Legion was a mercenary company with a good reputation, and L'inarra and her husband were Westerosi. In Qarth. It intrigued her, enough that not only had she accepted the invitation, she had decided to attend in person instead of sending an agent authorized to discuss business for her.
She doubted L'inarra Whitecrest was interested in trade contract, anyway, although she'd brought along some samples of some of the best silks her people produced. Perhaps she would be tempted by the thought of a few fine additions to her wardrobe. No doubt Abrizhel's reputation had preceded her, although whether she ought to be flattered or disconcerted by that fact remained to be seen.
She arrived at the Whitecrest estate early in the afternoon, with her small group of attendants, including a translator. She didn't know if L'inarra spoke Valyrian, and it would be uncomfortably embarrassing if she didn't and Abrizhel hadn't considered the fact. She herself was dressed in layers of yellow silk, with twists of bright ribbon braided into her hair. It wasn't in keeping with Qartheen fashion, which was too immodest for Abrizhel to contemplate, but she thought it would do well enough.
