Talaitha Gray
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Login: LowerDenizen
Character: Talaitha Gray"You still mean to go through with this then, Talaitha?"
The young woman nods to Joseph, slipping her spear in to its case on the horse's saddle, and proceeding to check the horses hooves for rocks and wear on the shoes. "I do. I can't bring myself to flee when we are needed here. Danielle is missing, and that alone dictates that it is proper to stay here and seek justice, Joseph. I will not flee just because safety is being offered."
The young man nods, as if he has heard this a hundred times, and in truth he has already. He watches quietly as the young woman finishes checking the hooves of the horse and moves to checking the girth of the saddle before swinging up to mount it. "I will not stop you, Tal. There are others who will see to the safety of those of us remaining." With a sudden nod, as if he's decided something, he flips his own spear up in a salute to her, "May you find what you seek, this side of death."
She smiles, her dark hair pulled back by a tie away from her face, and her gray eyes lighting from the motion of her lips at the formal salute. Raising her hand to tap her chest, the proper response coming from her, "This side of death, or the hereafter. Justice will be done_", before tapping her heels to the sides of the horse and setting off in a canter south from the Shrine, not daring to look back.
She was careful to swing wide south, unwilling to come across any of the remaining Hoarrans still guarding the pass with bloodlust intensity, though she pauses at the large hole that is all that remains of what was once a hill. Old stories told by her father to her in late evenings around the fires come to mind, of the man who guarded this hill in a personal quest of safety. A giant of a man named Sam, large and muscular, who refused to yield the long ridge. Now, just a hole in the ground, the stories forgotten and the land but an annoyance and curse to people who had to swing around it.
Was this then what her people had to look forward to? She sets off at a slow trot south, picking up the road, following it with a sharp eye for trouble. Her armor, she'd covered with a tabard to avoid notice of its make, her cloak, a gift from her now missing mentor should attract little attention, but still she would need to be careful to keep from drawing undue attention.
A hole in the ground, with no history to it for so many. Soon enough, and with time, that is what the camp would be, especially if it continues on the same path. She lifts her eyes from the road as the tall spire of Spellweaver comes in to view, it's height over Norwick still inspiring in some ways, though perhaps not as much as Peltarch's heights and walls. She draws up again at the first run of gates, feeling the eyes of the dwarves on the cliffs above eyeing her. Slipping down from the horse, she raises her hand to the gates.
All those years with her father, with her mentor, with her mother, everything she was raised to believe were that these walls held those who wanted her dead. That they sought to finish something that was started before her birth. She'd never known anything but the fires. Her training was near them, her faith was found in the quiet times of contemplation. Us versus them, she'd heard the speeches.
But they were wrong. Did not people come to lead us away to safety? Did not people show kindness to those who deserved such in the pass? Did not people come to the mad meetings that were demanded by Jonathan? Did not people rise ready to face the evil that was Vaxin? Could she do any less then stand by those who were truer in principle? Her eyes flick to the dwarves again. Judge someone by their worth, her mother had said, let us hope that is the truth here as well.
With a harder then necessary push, she swings the gates open, and leads her horse in by the reins._
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Reviewed, XP Pending!
