Myrist woke with that sun. That was an awful habit he couldn't seem to break. The beds here—well, at least his bed here—were much  more comfortable than his carriage. On the other hand, maybe getting out of this wonderful bed was worth it for the egg-stew and hot spiced cider with whiskey he knew would be downstairs waiting. He breathed in. The stew was in the air, and the cider spices.<br/><br/>“Alright,” he exhaled in a deep sigh, “that definitely smells worth it.” then rolled off the bed to flop onto the floor. Standing took another few moments. Waking up was ten times the struggle with a good mattress, but he felt healthier for days after.<br/><br/>There was warm wash water at the door, as usual. The management liked him here, as well he should. Myrist could put the imp in jail ten times over if he opened his mouth to the the right ear. Not that he ever would. A smuggler had to keep a certain reputation and that was a quick way to lose it. It was a quick way to lose a reputation, a tongue, and maybe a head. “A tongue is a dangerous thing.” he mused aloud, not for the first time.<br/><br/>Still, luxuries aside, the half-man never made him too comfortable. Myrist still didn't know what he was transporting, for a start, and he didn't know his guards for the trip, either. All he knew was that both were in the hands of some “maiden fair”; one that the halfling thought tougher than dwarven bread. He was usually right about those things, too, though with an odd attraction to queerer sorts. “Like a warrior maiden for example?” he laughed as he pull a shirt over his head.<br/><br/>On his way downstairs, the caravan leader banged on the door to the room his drivers were in. What sounded like a boot hitting the door answered. They'd probably stayed up half the night drinking and boasting. They'd break their fast and load up soon enough, though, so Myrist continued to the front room. He got a bowl of stew and a tankard of cider from the never sleeping barman and headed out the back to eat at his carriage. The smell of horses wasn't any worse than the smell of a bar in the morning and Myrist wasn't sure who he'd be meeting, so he wanted to make himself unmistakably the man to talk to about this trip.  This warrior maiden would show up here sooner or later, and while he waited, he'd eat a hardy egg-stew and mask the smell of horse with strong cider. All in all, a much better morning than most.<br/><br/><br/><br/>(If you want to RP with me for this thread message me and I'll give you my Skype or Google. Most of my time off is on the weekends.)