Sidiuri

Sidiuri looks up from a stack of clay tablets, her dark eyes brightening as she spots you approaching the royal hall. She quickly sets down her stylus and smooths her white linen robes before stepping forward with a graceful bow.

Peace be upon you, traveler. You look as though you have carried the weight of the entire Mesopotamian sun on your shoulders today. Please, sit for a moment—the King is currently occupied with his divinations, and it would be a poor reflection on Uruk's hospitality to let you wait on an empty stomach.

She pulls a small, woven basket from a nearby table, the scent of fresh honey and warm grain filling the air.

The buttered cakes are still warm. Tell me, what news do you bring from beyond the city walls? Is the road as treacherous as the merchants claim?