Andrasta
08-19-09, 01:26 AM
This thread is semi-closed. If you're interested in having a character provide a cameo on the journey between Radasanth and Jadet passing through Underwood, or join in altogether, poke me via IM or PM so that we can coordinate. Thank you!
The small cloth horse in her hands had been loved nearly to death. Its coat, once the softest fleecy fabric to be found in Radasanthia, was worn nearly bare in places; the rest was far thinner than it had been the day young arms had clutched it for the first time. Both glass eyes stared up at her still, though one of them hung a little loosely as though the slightest of tugs would tear it free. The black thread of its nose felt slick and smooth as she ran her thumb over it, along the crest of the head and through the yarn that made up its mane.
It was a childhood toy, nothing more... it hadn't even been her particular favorite. But Andrasta still found herself swallowing past a lump in her throat as she set it up on the shelf with the others – the lion, the hawk, the possum – a collection of bedraggled creatures looking on as their mistress prepared to leave them.
Andrasta hadn't expected it to be like this. Her room, her home, they were not unhappy places. She'd spent so many hours here, for good and ill... so many years. She wanted to go. She'd dreamed of it ever since she was old enough to form the idea in her head. Now that the moment was here, though, an odd sense of nostalgia tinged her vision, and more than once she'd found herself tearing up for no good reason.
She drew in a breath; her hand brushed lightly over the stuffed horse's side as she withdrew it. “Goodbye, Flicker. Keep... keep Jacen out of trouble, hm?”
As she rose from the bed and cast her slightly blurred gaze around the rest of the room, Andrasta could at least feel some satisfaction with her work. She'd been tempted to run off the afternoon before, cramming what she could find into her pack and leaving her room in a disorganized heap of journals, tunics and old stuffed animals. A few minutes of thought, though, had convinced her to wait – to see to it that everything was in order before she left. She might not ever come back here again.
Andrasta dabbed at her eyes with the underside of her left forearm – careful not to scrape the straps fastening her bracer – and when she drew in the next breath, the pang for the loss of the familiar had died back down. She stepped briskly over to the doorway; five steps now, twice as many or more when she'd first walked the distance. Only one item remained out of order in her room. Her travel pack had its top flap open, revealing the ritual book and extra pair of socks she'd stuffed in on top of everything else.
She knelt beside the back, checking its contents mentally without disturbing their arrangement. Clothing, food, spellcasting essentials... there hadn't been room for a book on top of her ritual tome and journal, but those were all better left here anyhow. Books tended to have a hard time of it on the road. Seven pairs of socks. Andrasta frowned, contemplating the side pouch where most of the socks had congregated, then rose and slipped over to the dresser drawer to pillage her last pair. It'd be a few extra ounces of weight for one more layer of assurance that she'd have clean socks – after that miserable trip to Gisele, it was a tradeoff she was eager to make.
After stuffing the last pair into a niche between a wrapped loaf and her journal, Andrasta nodded firmly and brought the pack's flap over the top. Left strap through the ring and tighten... right strap through the ring and tighten... and just that quickly, she was packed.
She pressed onwards, leaving pangs of nostalgia or clutches of nervousness nowhere to cling in her soul. The swordbelt, with Nomine Nihilum's familiar weight resting on her left hip, went around her tunic; she tightened it, then slipped the buckle closed. Feeling the sword at her side filled Andrasta with new excitement, a thrill that ran from the base of her neck down to her toes in a warm tingle. I'm actually doing this, she told herself as a grin spread across her lips. The cloak settled around her shoulders, and she clasped it shut. I'm actually about to leave home and seek my fortune... a sword at my side, my magic in my soul, and an entire world before me. And the last traces of uncertainty vanished as she slipped into the pack's straps. Two tugs, one to either side to keep the cloak from bunching up underneath them, and Andrasta was ready.
She paused, on the threshold of her room, and looked back – chuckled to herself as she clomped back over to the lamp, still lit. A puff of breath extinguished it before she slipped the glass cover back down over the wick and rotated it into place. Finally satisfied that she was leaving everything as it should be, Andrasta turned and stepped out of her room for good.
The first, third and seventh stairs creaked under her booted tread, as they always did – but instead of coming down to an empty and quiet living room, as she'd expected, she saw the flickering light of a fire in the main hearth. Galen sat next to it on a stool, back hunched, hands clasped together as a rest for his chin. His usual chair, cushy and trimmed in red velvet, sat empty.
She smiled a little, then cleared her throat. “Papa?”
“Andra.” He turned, slowly, until he was three-quarters facing her, outlined by the fire. There was a similar uncertain smile on his lips, and he hesitated, as though not sure what else to say. “It's... time, isn't it?”
“Yes. I want to make the Niema bridge before dark. Radasanthia's in good enough shape, but there's no point in dangling bait in front of brigands.”
Galen nodded, and Andrasta could see him grow a bit more distant – taking refuge in the details of the journey. “Right. Travelling at that pace, you should get to Jadet in a little under a week. Be careful moving through Concordia, though – the Rangers are thick through there, and some of them aren't on a very tight leash. And don't count on a warm welcome in Underwood.”
Not for the first time, it struck Andrasta how difficult it must be for him to let her go like this. Twenty years ago, he must have seen her mother here... in this very house... preparing to go out the same door and walk out of his life forever.
On impulse, she stepped over to the fireplace and hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder. He hesitated for a moment, taken aback, before squeezing her with all the strength that a lifelong clerk in his sixties could manage.
“I'll be safe,” Andrasta murmured into his shoulder, once again having to force the words out past the lump in her throat. Damn it, she'd promised herself she wouldn't get all weepy over this!
“Hah.” And she knew too well that Papa had made himself the same promise, and was having to fight just as hard to keep it. “You... won't be safe, Andra. You'll go get yourself into trouble of sorts I can't imagine even in my most panicked of dreams. And you'll get yourself back out of it, too. Tell me instead that you'll be... careful.”
She withdrew from the embrace enough to look into his eyes. “I will be careful, Papa. I promise. And I'll Send to you every week.”
Galen forced out a chuckle. “You'd make your father's day, Andra.”
There was nothing else to say after that, and their longer talk the night before. She lingered for a moment, close to him, then with a deep breath stood up, breaking the half-embrace. Two steps took her over towards the door, and she placed a hand on the knob.
Don't look back, Andrasta. You could handle it, but Papa might not...
Her hand turned. The door creaked open, and she stepped out into the early spring morning, closing the door behind her.
The blast of cool air tore any lingering melancholy away from her, scattering it and leaving her sense of adventure primed to rise up in its place. She squared her shoulders and looked out onto the empty streets. Once more, a grin stole across her face. One step, then another, and then she was padding down the vacant streets with an even stride that she fancied marked her as a veteran traveller.
---
“You want a what, citizen?”
Andrasta fought back the urge to sigh. “A pass for the Concordia garrison, to let me through into the woods. I've heard I should deal with it here instead of troubling the front-line sentries.”
The guard regarded her with narrowed eyes and a suspicious scowl. Any true menace in the expression, though, took a body blow from the helm that hung down just a little far over his eyes, and the uniform chain that was a size or so too large. The bottom of his left pantsleg had escaped from his boot, and was long enough that it drug in the dirt. Her annoyance subsided, and she instead felt unease growing inside her. She'd heard about war losses, all right, but were they really drafting children to play at guards on the gateposts?
Something in her expression must have given away her thoughts, for the guard's scowl deepened. “It's not a small thing to ask for a pass into rebel territory, citizen. For all I know, you could be planning to defect to them, eh? What 's so important in Jadet that it can't wait for you to cut around?”
She'd expected the question, and as the last word passed out of his mouth Andrasta produced her letter of passage with her left hand. “Andrasta Talethsenn, of Talethsenn Transport. I'm providing security and escort for a vessel that's bound to Scara Brae. It leaves in seven to ten days, depending on the winds, and the cargo it's bringing back will be vital for the war effort.”
“Talethsenn Transport? But that's your... uh...”
Andrasta tried her best not to smirk as the guard's condescension and suspicion dried up. He licked his lips, looking to the document... to her... back to the document. Not for the first time, she offered up a silent thanks for her father's unoriginal choice of names.
“...right. Uhm. Sorry, m'lady. I'll, ah, need to check with my watch officer. Shouldn't take a moment. I mean... uhm, right, not long.”
As she watched him scuttle up the steps to the gate tower, Andrasta wondered for a moment how things might have played out if she hadn't possessed a family name on her letter of passage. Somehow, she doubted that the guardsman would have been so eager to fulfil his duty. Was it right that her name continued to open doors for her, even as she tried to distance herself from her father's careful planning? Was it right that she got special treatment?
Yes, Andrasta tried to convince herself. It was really only a minor convenience, and not one undeserved. Anyone with legitimate cause could make the same request. Oh, sure, the guard might harrass them a little if he was a too-raw recruit with his head full of fluff about the Glorious Empire of Corone and the Duty of the One, but it was in the interest of the guards to see to it that people who could help the country got through. It was also a kindness to the guard that he'd learned this before some of the touchier residents of the North had come through with similar requests. Heh, if he'd been that snide with Lady Bower, he'd probably have been discharged before his star of rank could hit the ground.
“Your, ah, papers check out, m'lady.” She jumped a little; the guard's voice snapped her back into the present, and she took hold of her letter and the border pass with a nod. “Very sorry, terribly sorry for the... uh, the wait. But you know how it is. Rebel spies creeping everywhere – can't be too careful!” He offered up a strained chuckle.
“I understand,” Andrasta replied without hesitation; her lips curved into a smile. “Your devotion is commendable, Guardsman. What's your name and date of enlistment?”
Whatever the guard was expecting from her, that wasn't it. “I... uh, I...” He looked down at the ground, and his face flushed bright red. “Soldier second class Kyle Farrier. Recruited this past winter, m'lady.”
Gods above. A tradesman's son, she assumed, with less than a season of training... no wonder he seemed so green. Was the situation in the forest so bad that they were pushing out raw recruits to fill the gaps? How thin was the Empire spread out, with all those forces trying to push through Concordia? Had losses been worse than the official releases had implied?
Andrasta shook her head. Too many questions, and few of them had any relevance to the task before her. “Well, Soldier Farrier, keep up the good work. I should be on my way.” She snapped a fist to her chest in salute, a gesture that in the past year had become almost automatic.
He still didn't seem to know whether he should be encouraged or terrified, but Kyle managed a weak smile and returned her salute. “Safe journey, m'lady.”
The small cloth horse in her hands had been loved nearly to death. Its coat, once the softest fleecy fabric to be found in Radasanthia, was worn nearly bare in places; the rest was far thinner than it had been the day young arms had clutched it for the first time. Both glass eyes stared up at her still, though one of them hung a little loosely as though the slightest of tugs would tear it free. The black thread of its nose felt slick and smooth as she ran her thumb over it, along the crest of the head and through the yarn that made up its mane.
It was a childhood toy, nothing more... it hadn't even been her particular favorite. But Andrasta still found herself swallowing past a lump in her throat as she set it up on the shelf with the others – the lion, the hawk, the possum – a collection of bedraggled creatures looking on as their mistress prepared to leave them.
Andrasta hadn't expected it to be like this. Her room, her home, they were not unhappy places. She'd spent so many hours here, for good and ill... so many years. She wanted to go. She'd dreamed of it ever since she was old enough to form the idea in her head. Now that the moment was here, though, an odd sense of nostalgia tinged her vision, and more than once she'd found herself tearing up for no good reason.
She drew in a breath; her hand brushed lightly over the stuffed horse's side as she withdrew it. “Goodbye, Flicker. Keep... keep Jacen out of trouble, hm?”
As she rose from the bed and cast her slightly blurred gaze around the rest of the room, Andrasta could at least feel some satisfaction with her work. She'd been tempted to run off the afternoon before, cramming what she could find into her pack and leaving her room in a disorganized heap of journals, tunics and old stuffed animals. A few minutes of thought, though, had convinced her to wait – to see to it that everything was in order before she left. She might not ever come back here again.
Andrasta dabbed at her eyes with the underside of her left forearm – careful not to scrape the straps fastening her bracer – and when she drew in the next breath, the pang for the loss of the familiar had died back down. She stepped briskly over to the doorway; five steps now, twice as many or more when she'd first walked the distance. Only one item remained out of order in her room. Her travel pack had its top flap open, revealing the ritual book and extra pair of socks she'd stuffed in on top of everything else.
She knelt beside the back, checking its contents mentally without disturbing their arrangement. Clothing, food, spellcasting essentials... there hadn't been room for a book on top of her ritual tome and journal, but those were all better left here anyhow. Books tended to have a hard time of it on the road. Seven pairs of socks. Andrasta frowned, contemplating the side pouch where most of the socks had congregated, then rose and slipped over to the dresser drawer to pillage her last pair. It'd be a few extra ounces of weight for one more layer of assurance that she'd have clean socks – after that miserable trip to Gisele, it was a tradeoff she was eager to make.
After stuffing the last pair into a niche between a wrapped loaf and her journal, Andrasta nodded firmly and brought the pack's flap over the top. Left strap through the ring and tighten... right strap through the ring and tighten... and just that quickly, she was packed.
She pressed onwards, leaving pangs of nostalgia or clutches of nervousness nowhere to cling in her soul. The swordbelt, with Nomine Nihilum's familiar weight resting on her left hip, went around her tunic; she tightened it, then slipped the buckle closed. Feeling the sword at her side filled Andrasta with new excitement, a thrill that ran from the base of her neck down to her toes in a warm tingle. I'm actually doing this, she told herself as a grin spread across her lips. The cloak settled around her shoulders, and she clasped it shut. I'm actually about to leave home and seek my fortune... a sword at my side, my magic in my soul, and an entire world before me. And the last traces of uncertainty vanished as she slipped into the pack's straps. Two tugs, one to either side to keep the cloak from bunching up underneath them, and Andrasta was ready.
She paused, on the threshold of her room, and looked back – chuckled to herself as she clomped back over to the lamp, still lit. A puff of breath extinguished it before she slipped the glass cover back down over the wick and rotated it into place. Finally satisfied that she was leaving everything as it should be, Andrasta turned and stepped out of her room for good.
The first, third and seventh stairs creaked under her booted tread, as they always did – but instead of coming down to an empty and quiet living room, as she'd expected, she saw the flickering light of a fire in the main hearth. Galen sat next to it on a stool, back hunched, hands clasped together as a rest for his chin. His usual chair, cushy and trimmed in red velvet, sat empty.
She smiled a little, then cleared her throat. “Papa?”
“Andra.” He turned, slowly, until he was three-quarters facing her, outlined by the fire. There was a similar uncertain smile on his lips, and he hesitated, as though not sure what else to say. “It's... time, isn't it?”
“Yes. I want to make the Niema bridge before dark. Radasanthia's in good enough shape, but there's no point in dangling bait in front of brigands.”
Galen nodded, and Andrasta could see him grow a bit more distant – taking refuge in the details of the journey. “Right. Travelling at that pace, you should get to Jadet in a little under a week. Be careful moving through Concordia, though – the Rangers are thick through there, and some of them aren't on a very tight leash. And don't count on a warm welcome in Underwood.”
Not for the first time, it struck Andrasta how difficult it must be for him to let her go like this. Twenty years ago, he must have seen her mother here... in this very house... preparing to go out the same door and walk out of his life forever.
On impulse, she stepped over to the fireplace and hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder. He hesitated for a moment, taken aback, before squeezing her with all the strength that a lifelong clerk in his sixties could manage.
“I'll be safe,” Andrasta murmured into his shoulder, once again having to force the words out past the lump in her throat. Damn it, she'd promised herself she wouldn't get all weepy over this!
“Hah.” And she knew too well that Papa had made himself the same promise, and was having to fight just as hard to keep it. “You... won't be safe, Andra. You'll go get yourself into trouble of sorts I can't imagine even in my most panicked of dreams. And you'll get yourself back out of it, too. Tell me instead that you'll be... careful.”
She withdrew from the embrace enough to look into his eyes. “I will be careful, Papa. I promise. And I'll Send to you every week.”
Galen forced out a chuckle. “You'd make your father's day, Andra.”
There was nothing else to say after that, and their longer talk the night before. She lingered for a moment, close to him, then with a deep breath stood up, breaking the half-embrace. Two steps took her over towards the door, and she placed a hand on the knob.
Don't look back, Andrasta. You could handle it, but Papa might not...
Her hand turned. The door creaked open, and she stepped out into the early spring morning, closing the door behind her.
The blast of cool air tore any lingering melancholy away from her, scattering it and leaving her sense of adventure primed to rise up in its place. She squared her shoulders and looked out onto the empty streets. Once more, a grin stole across her face. One step, then another, and then she was padding down the vacant streets with an even stride that she fancied marked her as a veteran traveller.
---
“You want a what, citizen?”
Andrasta fought back the urge to sigh. “A pass for the Concordia garrison, to let me through into the woods. I've heard I should deal with it here instead of troubling the front-line sentries.”
The guard regarded her with narrowed eyes and a suspicious scowl. Any true menace in the expression, though, took a body blow from the helm that hung down just a little far over his eyes, and the uniform chain that was a size or so too large. The bottom of his left pantsleg had escaped from his boot, and was long enough that it drug in the dirt. Her annoyance subsided, and she instead felt unease growing inside her. She'd heard about war losses, all right, but were they really drafting children to play at guards on the gateposts?
Something in her expression must have given away her thoughts, for the guard's scowl deepened. “It's not a small thing to ask for a pass into rebel territory, citizen. For all I know, you could be planning to defect to them, eh? What 's so important in Jadet that it can't wait for you to cut around?”
She'd expected the question, and as the last word passed out of his mouth Andrasta produced her letter of passage with her left hand. “Andrasta Talethsenn, of Talethsenn Transport. I'm providing security and escort for a vessel that's bound to Scara Brae. It leaves in seven to ten days, depending on the winds, and the cargo it's bringing back will be vital for the war effort.”
“Talethsenn Transport? But that's your... uh...”
Andrasta tried her best not to smirk as the guard's condescension and suspicion dried up. He licked his lips, looking to the document... to her... back to the document. Not for the first time, she offered up a silent thanks for her father's unoriginal choice of names.
“...right. Uhm. Sorry, m'lady. I'll, ah, need to check with my watch officer. Shouldn't take a moment. I mean... uhm, right, not long.”
As she watched him scuttle up the steps to the gate tower, Andrasta wondered for a moment how things might have played out if she hadn't possessed a family name on her letter of passage. Somehow, she doubted that the guardsman would have been so eager to fulfil his duty. Was it right that her name continued to open doors for her, even as she tried to distance herself from her father's careful planning? Was it right that she got special treatment?
Yes, Andrasta tried to convince herself. It was really only a minor convenience, and not one undeserved. Anyone with legitimate cause could make the same request. Oh, sure, the guard might harrass them a little if he was a too-raw recruit with his head full of fluff about the Glorious Empire of Corone and the Duty of the One, but it was in the interest of the guards to see to it that people who could help the country got through. It was also a kindness to the guard that he'd learned this before some of the touchier residents of the North had come through with similar requests. Heh, if he'd been that snide with Lady Bower, he'd probably have been discharged before his star of rank could hit the ground.
“Your, ah, papers check out, m'lady.” She jumped a little; the guard's voice snapped her back into the present, and she took hold of her letter and the border pass with a nod. “Very sorry, terribly sorry for the... uh, the wait. But you know how it is. Rebel spies creeping everywhere – can't be too careful!” He offered up a strained chuckle.
“I understand,” Andrasta replied without hesitation; her lips curved into a smile. “Your devotion is commendable, Guardsman. What's your name and date of enlistment?”
Whatever the guard was expecting from her, that wasn't it. “I... uh, I...” He looked down at the ground, and his face flushed bright red. “Soldier second class Kyle Farrier. Recruited this past winter, m'lady.”
Gods above. A tradesman's son, she assumed, with less than a season of training... no wonder he seemed so green. Was the situation in the forest so bad that they were pushing out raw recruits to fill the gaps? How thin was the Empire spread out, with all those forces trying to push through Concordia? Had losses been worse than the official releases had implied?
Andrasta shook her head. Too many questions, and few of them had any relevance to the task before her. “Well, Soldier Farrier, keep up the good work. I should be on my way.” She snapped a fist to her chest in salute, a gesture that in the past year had become almost automatic.
He still didn't seem to know whether he should be encouraged or terrified, but Kyle managed a weak smile and returned her salute. “Safe journey, m'lady.”