He handed her one, assuring her that, “I’ll make sure your lady friend gets the other key to number four. The rooms are just up the stairs and down the hall, can’t miss it. The bath has its own heating crystal and water transmuter, so all you’ve got to do is adjust the temperature dial. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got an inn to run.”

Zelsys smiled back at him and walked off, having just now realized something. There were no workers in the kitchen. In fact, as she walked out, she caught the rest of the kitchen out of the corner of her eye - it resembled a cross between a kitchen and an alchemy lab, she even saw a marble slate with a glyph in its center, raw fish arranged across it much like sacrifices.

The barkeep flitted past her as she left, and just when he thought she was out of earshot, she heard him pick up a knife and near-silently utter, “Culinary Arts: Fivefold Flash--fillet!”

The sound of steel cutting flesh rang out many times over, and by then, she was truly out of earshot. High-quality food, rooms with bathtubs, and an owner as skilled in the culinary arts as any warrior was in martial arts. This didn’t seem like an inn that belonged in a war-struck town on the edge of the Exclusion Zone.

In fact, Willowdale as a whole just didn’t fit that template. Even with the wounds of war marring the town and its population in equal measure, it just… Didn’t feel bleak, at all. Zelsys only hoped that there wasn’t some sordid underground hiding beneath the surface, that Willowdale truly was just a pleasant town recovering from the crossfire of the war.

Zelsys made her way through the tavern and up the stairs, taking a brief stop at their table to down a mug of ale and speak with the two deserters who were present. “I’ve handled accomodations for the night, barkeep should get you your room keys soon,” she said to them after she downed the remains of her ale in one go. They each gave a nod, Sigmund returning to his quiet rumination whilst Zefaris looked off into the middle-distance, rather unsubtly waiting for Zelsys to walk away. She took her time, filling the mug again and downing its contents in a long gulp. The hoppy sweetness of the ale hadn’t gotten old yet, and she wagered she wouldn’t get tired of it any time soon.

However, drink wasn’t the center of her attention. She wanted to bathe, and so made her way up the staircase, grinning as she tried not to exaggerate the swing in her hips to a degree that Zefaris would notice as intentional. The wood creaked beneath her weight, the staircase being relatively short. At its top was a long hallway, windows on its left side overlooking the roofs of the many single-floor buildings whilst its right was lined by robust wooden doors with equally robust solid brass locks.

She found number four and slid the key into the door, turning it to the satisfying click of a heavy locking mechanism. The door handle loosened after the second counter-clockwise revolution, swinging into a spacious room with two immaculately made beds with nightstands, two windows, even a writing desk and a closet. There were old brass candle holders on the nightstands, now holding milky-white, candlestick-sized quartz crystals. The words “Flick to set alight, flick to snuff out.” were etched into the metal. 

As the barkeep had promised, the room did have a separate bathroom, past a door at the right side of the room opposite the first bed. It was rather small, but held all the necessities - a sink, a toilet, and a solid copper bathtub, copper piping winding from the appliances into the walls. It was lit by a single glowing crystal in a brass cage on the ceiling. There were three exposed pipes above the tub, a white towel hanging off the middle one. The bath had a simple valve to control the flow of water, above which was a brass dial with increments from zero to eighty degrees. Next to the bathtub at the same height as its rim there was a small ledge that extended out of the wall, upon which sat several large phials of salt, an oblong sea sponge with a thick cord threaded through its center, and… A wickless candlestick?

Upon closer inspection, and from its fragrant smell, it became clear it was, in fact, just a strangely shaped bar of soap. Even its shape soon made sense from the item that had sat just behind it - this being a solid brass implement, not unlike an oversized pencil sharpener. She saw no reason to wait any longer, and so simply closed the door, turning the dial to forty and opening the water valve. At first only cold water came out, but it quickly warmed to what she thought to be a reasonable temperature for bathing, and so she took to shedding her clothing.

First went the arm-harness and cleaver in its holster, which on second thought she placed just outside the door in case the steam caused any of the metal parts to take on rust. Next she peeled herself out of her trousers, small wisps of Fog escaping the fabric as it shrunk to its natural shape, after which she unwrapped the many meters of bandages that bound her chest. The makeshift underwear she had fashioned didn’t come off as much as it fell apart at the knots when she gave a light tug, fluttering to the floor as little more than scraps of fabric rendered threadbare by constant movement. “Should probably buy something proper,” a thought crossed her mind. Last of all, she undid the wrappings holding her braids together, shaking her head to loosen the hair somewhat.

Finally she stepped into the bath, her feet riding up onto the rim as she sank into the rising water as her hair swirled throughout it, braids unwinding.