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The women stop speaking as you approach them. They look up at you expectantly. Their eyes are a strange shade of blue that you have not seen before, and their expressions imply an unspoken wisdom.
One of them speaks in a thick accent you don't recognize. "You're a new face," she says.
"We are in the middle of a conversation," the woman in the middle says. "You are free to speak to Arik." She gestures to the barkeep, who is still polishing the same glass, with the same cloth, in the same position as when you walked in. "Or Ismark," she says, gesturing to the golden-haired man drinking wine in the corner.
"Actually," you say, "there is something I hoped I could ask you abouty."
"We have a moment," says the one on the left.
"My name is Mirabel," says the woman in the middle.
"I'm Sorvia," says the woman on the left. "And that over there is Alenka."
"I'm Aranuel Caniella. I will be concise. And please, don't take what I am about to say as an act of hostility. I want peace." You out Joannus's journal, turn it to one of her sketches of the wagons, and gently lay it on the table facing the women. "Ten years ago," you say, "my sister Joannus Caniella disappeared. I tracked her here, to Barovia, partially with the aid of the things she drew in this journal."
"Ah..." Alenka says as she peers down, her head propped up by her elbow. "The spirit of travel claims many lives."
"I am a cleric of Kossuth," you say, "and a proponent of truth. I mean you no harm. However... if my memories of that day serve me right - and if my Lord of Flames has not lead me astray - I think you may know something about my sister's disappearance."
Sorvia says something sharply to Mirabel in a harsh language that you don't understand. Mirabel nods, and replies in the same language. This goes on for a couple exchanges. <span class="mu-i">If they speak another language, why were they speaking in the common tongue when I was eavesdropping?</span> you think.
Mirabel then looks at. "Travel up the Svalich road," she says in Common. "When you reach a trail that splits off northeast toward the lake, follow that trail to the Tser Pool. You will meet somebody there who I think will help you."
Your heart races at the possibilities. Could this have been the lead you needed? Before you even catch yourself, you are asking more questions. "The wagons she drew," you say. "You recognize those?"
"Caravan wagons," Alenka says.
"The locals here call us Vistani," Sorvia says. "We are travellers. We use those wagons to carry goods and living supplies."
"This is not our home," Alenka adds, "just one of the few places we are welcome."
(cont.)
