<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Monotype Corsiva;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 24pt;">Late Shift at the Scarlet Siren</span></span><br/>(https://i.imgur.com/VQt8d29.jpg)</div><br/>The city of Lethadar was like many other domains of its ilk along the Inner Sea; far enough away from Solajrin Theopolis to have a bit of live-and-let-live attitude towards faith, a safe enough distance from the Greymarsh to not be concerned about the fecund horrors within, and close enough to the Blacksteel Peaks to serve as a ever-present reminder of the monstrous hordes just beyond civilization’s reach. Said hordes are kept out of the lowlands thanks to the ever-present vigil of the Light, and of course the Adventurer’s Guild who is more than happy to unload the glory onto the dominant religious institution of the western kingdoms in exchange for a sizable cut of the gold.<br/><br/>And like any city of the Inner Sea it had taverns as a prime social meeting point for the laborers’ resting hours. And like any city with a Guild presence it had taverns that attracted the rougher sorts, those who didn’t turn people away just because they had one scabbard too many and no guardsmen’s tabard to give a legitimate bearing to their arms. The Scarlet Siren was no stranger to adventurers and the local underworld, fans as they are of their shadowy rented rooms, unfurled maps, and talk of violence and profit within the city and within the ruins outside said city.<br/><br/>The men took a reprieve from their plots to admire the ladies onstage, who were recognizable enough that a few of them had admirers calling them out by name. The first to come out was a blonde tabaxi, a lady whose tribe was said to be touched by the goddess Bast and whose feline ears and lithe movements certainly lent credence to the theory. She was joined by several white motes of light spinning down from the ceiling, briefly flashing before a dark-skinned ivory-haired elf materialized to cheers and whistles. She could not actually ‘transform’ into light, her peers aware that it was a mixture of timed illusions to appear as such. Spells which would attract the attention of the Westport Thaumaturgists guild of mages, were she of a more ‘respectable’ background.<br/><br/>The two women twirled and weaved opposite each other like clockwork, taking off just enough to tantalize male lusts but keeping just enough on to maintain their attention long-term. A pair of human women, likely sisters by their similar appearance and cultural dress, watched from a concealed place backstage.<br/><br/>“Syrrak seems a bit off today,” one of them remarked. “Don’t you think so?”<br/><br/>The other woman shook her head. “No, I think that Fresh Quill’s throwing her off. She’s going a bit too fast; normally they’d finish the half-circle in 4 seconds.”<br/><br/>“You could be right. Think you can keep up, Kayna? You’re going on in 30 seconds.”<br/>