Departure



  • A cold wind blows across docks, causing those at the gathering caravan to huddle in their cloaks or momentarily behind wagons for shelter. One solitary figure does not. She stares blankly out at the sea, her expression as dark and bitter as the wind.

    Those that pass by notice a woman in fine blue robes, woven with arcane runes. She holds an alabaster staff, it’s top clutching a sapphire which glows an icy blue. She is attractive but not radiant, but those that pass by have their attentions inexplicably drawn to her.

    As the caravan departs, Yolande’s thoughts turn briefly to the one person who never betrayed her…Mog. A wistful smile briefly caresses her face as she recalls the day she arrived in Norwick, a frightened young woman with little to her name. Mog, ever loyal Mog helped her then. Helped her achieve the power to thrive in this land. Now however, her future lay elsewhere. As the caravan rolled out onto the grassy plains she spoke quietly to herself and wished him well.

    It was doubtful she would return. Nothing held her here but bitter memories and empty promises. If she did however….the others…the others that betrayed her…

    …they would suffer…

    …horribly



  • Something unseen watches Yolande's caravan depart. – As it exits over the horizon, a small cackle of electricity is heard. He apears from thin air. The sounds of greaves against stone, a golden-black armored man is seen walking back towards town, orange hair hanging through and below his helmit. He turned, and made his way towards the college.



  • _The guard looked up at the sound of the closing window eyes widening as he spys the pale woman crouched sphinx-like on the roof over the newly closed pane. He opens his mouth to shout a challange but it caught in his throat as his gaze lockes with hers…

    a rush of air..

    and all is quiet again, until the morning mist begins to rise and the more enterprising urchins run past on their way to the market hopeing to earn a coin or a meal helping to set up the stalls or making off with the produce. One notices the sword abandoned in the gutter and, glancing round quickly to be sure of his solitude he gathers it up thoughts in the gold it could bring in the docks...._


  • Peltarch Far Scouts

    _Thief.

    Sierra awoke in the middle of the night to a window banging open in her room, the frigid chill of the wind stealing her breath away. Shaking her head, she rose from her bed to pad her way across the room to close and latch the window lock. She was certain that she had locked the window earlier…hadn’t she?

    Just before closing the window pane, a feeling of sudden fear rippled through her. Of a promise of things to come back to full circle one day and haunt her that was left unspoken, but carried to her on the chill of the wind.

    Turning back to the bed, she slipped under the covers, wrapping her arms around her lover. He was hers now. Choices had been made, for better or for worse. Smiling faintly, she smoothed down one of his sideburns and kissed his cheek before she tried her best to go back to sleep.

    Sleep did not come easy that night.

    Was it guilt?

    Was it the feeling of something left unfinished?

    Sierra had always claimed to never be a thief. But maybe she had taken what belonged to someone else, when she had convinced herself that she had been justified. That the keeper had been keeping the treasure against its will.

    The thought soothed her conscience and gave balm to her soul as she finally fell asleep.

    Yet her mind refused to stop circling around to thoughts that retribution would come one day, returning on the chill of the winds.

    She had become a thief of the worst kind.

    But love was worth it.

    Wasn’t it?_



  • With tears in his eyeas Mog hears of Yolande's leaving.

    Mog hope somewhere Yolande find what Yolande looking for. <d>Moradin watch over Yolande.</d>

    Wiping his eyes Mog returns to the forge and works his anger out over the steady falls of his hammer.



  • *Foilir stops as he sees the caravan leave. He furrows his brow, squinting at the lass.

    Is this the one he overheard outside Peltarch?

    He tugs on his beard remembering the details of the heated conversation between the two women.*