Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [23]
This is not to say that citizens of Calimport were ignorant, naive, or without pride. The kingdom of Calimshan long predated Waterdeep, and locals tolerated the sailors' pining with rolled eyes and secret winks. As the children's rhyme went, "Calimshan was Calimshan when 'deepie was a pup, and Calimshan will be Calimshan when 'deepie's time is up." Though fully gregarious with each other, when it came to strangers, the natives preferred listening to talking. The seafaring transients, along with a constant influx of route merchants who pitched their commercial tents in a very popular common area outside the city, brought frequent news from Waterdeep, Shadowdale, and the rest of the Western Realms. And though Calimporters might not boast the cosmopolitan sophistication of the "so-called City of Splendors," and though they were overwhelmingly human, the sight of elves, gnomes, halflings, even the occasional half-ore swab, was so common in town as to go unnoticed.
In truth, Calimport itself was far more exotic than its visitors. Fashion and architecture were a mishmash of traditional Heartlands work and the splendor of the southern lands of djinn and efreet. Topknots and pointed cupolas were as unremarkable here as jerkins and brick chimneys.
As he neared his old neighborhood, Wiglaf smelled fresh leather and roasting curried meat, heard steel clanking on a busy forge and a saw nosing its way through new lumber. Shouted sea chanteys already blared from the Sheets to the Wind tavern and inn as evening beckoned, and horses whinnied and snorted in the stables.
This, not the pasha's palace, had been Wiglaf's world. When he had lived here, such mundane sensations had itched and gnawed at him like mites he could never reach. But now he almost felt like weeping. It was wonderful to be home.
The local businesses were beginning to close, in one last flurry of heated negotiation as clever customers preyed on the proprietors' weary desire to be done with the day. The streets were gradually emptying, just a few people leaving with their prizes: a saddle, a lamp, an axe, a chair, a spray of blossoms, a large jug of water. The short, middle-aged woman holding the jug took one look at Wiglaf and instantly dropped it to the ground, her face contorted in shock.
"WIGLAF!"
She ran across the street, headed for Wiglaf at full speed. Sasha instantly drew her broadsword and crouched in attack position, inhaling and exhaling sharply through clenched teeth.
"It's okay, Sasha!" Wiglaf barked. "It's my mother!"
Never losing stride, the woman launched into Wiglaf s arms, nearly knocking him down. She smothered him with kisses as a chastened Sasha stepped back and replaced her sword, looking around to see if anyone else had noticed.
"Wiglaf Wiglaf Wiglaf Wiglaf Wiglaf," the woman cried between kisses.
"Hi, Mother," he replied in embarrassment after he finally extricated himself from her embrace and noticed Sasha stifling a giggle.
"It's really you! Oh, my goodness! Why didn't you tell us you were coming home, dear?"
"Because I just decided to come. We'd have been here before you got word."
"Oh, of course you would. Oh, my goodness!" A cloud passed over her face for an instant. "This is a visit, isn't it, son? You didn't… fail in your studies?"
"No indeed, ma'am," interjected Sasha. "He's one of the finest students Master Fenzig has ever instructed."
They both turned toward Sasha-Wiglaf flabbergasted, his mother beaming with pride.
"Oh, and this must be your lady friend we've heard so much about."
"Sasha, may I present Ariel Evertongue, my mother," said Wiglaf, still quite confused. Finest students? Lady friend? Heard about?
"I'm delighted," Sasha