One Does Not Simply Walk Into Concordia

[Moonbird]

"Ow."

There was a crackle of leaves underfoot; and the smell of frost on a wintry evening.

"Fuck."

There was a snapping of twigs; and the sharp, refreshing scent of fir.

"Ow."

There was a rustle of wind through branches, and the biting touch of the first rain.

"Sugar!"

And an explosive cry from Rhia, whose trek through the forest had been painful in the most part, and really, really unpleasant in the lesser.

She had been thrown out of the tavern in Scara Brae where she had been staying for several months - or at least, she would've been, had she not fled before she could be wrongly accused of murder. Rhia had a couple of deaths to her name, it was true, but so did apparently everyone in the accursed town, and surely nobody would be interested in just one more. It wasn't even her fault. Suicide! Whether or not she had caused the suicide was irrelevant.

So now she was searching the damned forest for a suitable camping ground. She'd followed the river for a while - the Firewine, was it called? And she'd nearly stumbled right into a village that she really didn't want to run into. Rhia had been there before. It had not been...pleasant.

The bag over her shoulder was wearing a groove into her flesh, as well. Essentials only. Gowns, jewellery, piano music, light snacks, spare cloth and thread and suchlike - essentials. Once she found a large enough clearing, she would be able to settle down.

And judging from the fading light, she had minutes to find the suitable place. Rhia had been wandering in the forests past dusk before. It hadn't been a nice experience. But she was lucky, most of the time, and she had surely searched most of the hellish place already, so if she just turned now -

And there, tucked ever-so-cosily between two enormous oaks and a flowing river, was the perfect spot. Grassy, with tall blades edged with frost, dotted with rather nice snowdrops and crocuses and the like - at least she thought they were. Rhia did not consider the knowledge of flowers necessary for a young lady. Around the sides were trees, with tall branches that seemed to touch the clouds. Mist wreathed the stout trunks and the shadows, though ominous, were few enough to be picturesque. And the moon was just rising, in that not-quite-half-not-quite-crescent stage that always looked so beautiful.

Mist is beautiful but wet, grass is dewy and damp, so perhaps not perfect, but satisfactory. And she had time to put up all her tents, of which there were many. A lady needed a dressing-room, did she not? And a parlour-cum-dining-room, and a small kitchen, and a larder for the food and firewood, and a wardrobe. Necessary and useful things. You never know when you could meet a nice, wealthy gentleman in the middle of nowhere who would need nourishment (tea and scones) and a bed for the night (mattresses were too cumbersome, but she had lovely embroidered blankets and lacy cushion-covers).

She gradually came to a halt, looking around for a few moments before dropping her bag to the floor. She stretched her arms - they felt so light after the cumbersome baggage that they could float from her shoulders - and suddenly, Rhia felt free. She turned her gaze back to the clearing with a new look in her eyes. The fresh beauty of the frosted grass - sparkling so gorgeously - and the trees, all majestic and beautiful, suddenly struck a chord. She laughed. She thought about poetic words to describe the feelings that ran through her small mind.

And then she snapped back into her usual self. Her bag was soaking into the frost, and wet tents were no good at all. Rhia dragged it laboriously to a tree, hanging it by the strap from a convenient branch. Ah, perfect. Now to set up the tents.

The bag was the colour of rust - none too fashionable, but it matched Rhia's hair beautifully, and with a few beads and ornaments it could almost pass for charming. With a wooden handle and strap, it was also practical enough for Rhia (that is, not very) and the soft material was delightfully smooth and never seemed to get grubby. It was as waterproof as paper, true, and she'd had to stitch it up dozens of times, but aesthetic quality is very important in bags.

She clicked open the wooden clasps, dug her arms inside and scooped out an armful of slightly-damp cloth and rope. Excellent.

---

A few...well, non-exciting hours passed. The tents were up, the clothes hung neatly, jewellery arranged in order of colour and price. The blankets were folded, and the cushion-covers were piled in an orderly stack, embroidered side up. Rhia hadn't had time to start the fire, or get out some food, or set some traps, but she had set up the folding chair and covered it with rich, beautiful cloth.

Now she perched there cheerfully enough, clothed in a grey dress. Silver and sapphire sparkled at her ears, throat and wrists. Probably nobody would see them, but a good girl was always prepared. You never know what handsome, wealthy young gentleman might come along in need of succour and assistance.

Closed.

[Behemoth]

Jadet. The lumberjacks in the camp where he had been working told him he would find the mechanic there. The port city in eastern Corone; clear across the forest from where he was. “Figures,” the dark-skinned titan muttered to himself in the language of Fallien. It had been nearly a year since the desert warrior had run from his ancestral home, fleeing the land of the gigases for fear of his life. Months ago he had mistakenly killed an emissary sent by the Jya to seek out Dosidica, home of the gigas clans. His punishment was to be death; rather than face this sentence, he fled to Scara Brae. The following days had seen him meeting up with a small band of adventurers and traveling the land together.

Travis, Drizaghar, Nicodemus, and Brammas; these were the companions he had shared his last few weeks with. They had journeyed to The Undewood and there had split apart to find some jobs and make earn some gold. Now, weighed down with his earnings from felling trees, the half-gigas was returning to the Underwood to meet with his friends once again. However, there was this issue of Jadet to consider now…

Bhakti’mat Zu’ura, the Fallien fugitive, was torn. Decisions rarely presented themselves to the simple man; he was a stereotypical follower. Choosing something for himself was as foreign a concept as trees had first been. Used to the desert sand and the slashing winds, the calm of Corone had unsettled him during his first few days in the region. Now he found the silence soothing; preferring to lose himself amidst the trees for hours on end. And facing such a decision, that is just what he did.

Turning from his southerly course through the woods, Bhakti’mat veered deeper into the forest, following the sounds of a nearby stream. The babbling waters stirred thoughts within the titan and he traveled forward automatically, completely enraptured in his own, simple thoughts. It wasn’t until he stumbled across a tent that he realized someone else was in the area.

His muscles immediately tensed as his sense went on high alert, warning him of danger in every shadowy crevice. His piercingly blue eyes gazed deep into those shadows, trying to coax their denizens out into the evening air. His massive frame crouched low to the ground, attempting to protect him from whoever was bound to attack from the campground before him. Fists cocked at his sides, the desert warrior prepared for the worst. His training expected no less of him.

[Moonbird]

Footsteps crunched on the grass, and Rhia's head turned slowly to meet them. The visitor, whoever they were, was hidden from sight by the canvas tent. She rose instinctively, and her fingers slid towards her dagger, tucked in her purse. It could be a gentleman - that would be wonderful - but Rhia was not completely stupid, and realised that bad things happened to girls in dark, dense forests. Specifically, it seemed, to her.

She took a cautious step towards the side of the tent, eyes straining for the hint of a figure in the shadows. The intruder was as quiet as her. Were they still standing there, or had they moved? She couldn't tell. Rhia glanced behind her, but there was nothing.

Stop it, Rhia, you're scaring yourself, she scolded, and took a firmer step forward. She had nothing to hide. But when she saw a shadow, cast by what seemed to be a person, she still let out a tiny, horrified squeak. She bit her lip, hard. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

As her breathing returned to normal, she nearly laughed as she realised how fast her heart was racing. How pathetic. But pathetic as it was, she ducked again behind the canvas flap of the tent, gathering her thoughts and calming her instincts (Run!) before returning to her seat. Perhaps the stranger was just...passing through. He didn't seem to be approaching. So why should she?

One of Rhia's favourite philosophies was that 'if you don't bother something, it won't bother you,' and that was precisely what she planned to do.

The small, conceited smile returned to her face as Rhia wriggled comfortably in her seat. Your move, mister. But secretly, she knew that the night was far from ending, and what traveller would still be travelling at this time of night?

[Behemoth]

Someone stirred within the canvas tent, making sounds and rustling about as if they had no idea that someone had entered their camp. The Fallien fugitive cocked his head at this notion; he hardly moved silently in the woods of Corone. Used to sand underfoot, the dark-skinned behemoth practically crashed through the underbrush in this part of the world. Shaking his head in confusion, the warrior continued forward, trying to perceive whether or not he was entering an enemy encampment.

“Hail!” his deep voice boomed across the clearing, warning anyone unaware that he was approaching. His Common was poor, but he would get the message across. “I look for sleep place for night. You friend?” Anxiously, with every muscle in his body tensed, the hulking brute waited for a response. With any luck, the camper would be willing to offer him a place to stay.