Alydia Ettermire
11-22-14, 12:26 PM
Closed
Winter comes late to the plains, but it is brutal.
Air from Berevar, colder than despair, roared over Salvar, ripped over the Dagger Peaks, and then slammed down on Raiaera with all the loving affection of a boar bear among a rival’s cubs. Knife’s Edge always had snow more than a month before Eluriand, but when mid-winter hit, everyone’s lungs burned with the cold. That the Raiaerans had enough poise to hide their discomfort from the rest of the world engendered rumors that they were immune to it, or that the weather was mild.
Alydia Ettermire, only a few thousand years removed from her fairer kin, knew better. Instead of her usual catsuit, so tight it could almost be a second skin, she wore thick, dense cotton. Interwoven through it were copper wires that connected to a switch and a power cell. When activated, it flooded the garment with a little heat. Her sturdy vlince coat was buttoned and tied as tightly as it could be, her boots and gloves were of Berevan manufacture, and the sharply-pointed tips of her ears were tucked into her hat. The winter wind’s bitter bite ripped indifferently through all her preparations. She might as well have been standing naked on the snow-blown landscape.
Eluriand.
Bright blue eyes scanned the cracked and abandoned buildings. They were even more worn now than they had been just a couple of short years before, when the Necromancer was bearing down on the Elven lands with his full wrath and avarice. Very few ventured this far into Raiaera anymore. For the most part, only the desperate or foolish attempted the trek. Without exception, only the exceedingly hardy or the exceedingly cunning survived.
Scarlet rippled and cracked in the wind, her trademark coat marking her position as clearly as a flag to anyone who might have been in the area. Outside Eluriand’s crumbling walls, Alydia wasn’t worried about any wayward undead; they were frozen until spring’s thaw. Nor was she worried about any animals; the ones native to the plains had the good sense to curl up in the warmest nooks they could find. Perhaps other adventurers were desperate or foolhardy enough to walk Raiaera in this weather, where eyelashes turned to icicles, but that was unlikely. Even adventurers liked their creature comforts.
That was why Alydia had chosen winter’s darkest depths. There were clues in Eluriand, sure as Raiaerans loved starlight. There were clues to the Corruption’s nature, clues to how it could be destroyed, clues to heal what had been hurt. In the mad dash to escape with the survivors, in the hectic turmoil of the intervening years, there had been no opportunity to return and research. With Istien claimed by forces unknown, few found the former capital worth the effort. They just didn’t understand.
All knowledge does not come from books. Many Raiaerans had forgotten or never learned that simple fact. Some things - good and bad - had to be breathed, touched, tasted, or immersed in to grasp their subtleties and their parts in the bigger picture. Any little Alerian sewer-rat knew that. Any first-year beat detective in a minor kyorl knew that. Academia was a wonderful thing, but it was not the only thing.
Thin shoulders shivered at another vicious gust, and the thief flipped the switch on her wrist for another few seconds of precious warmth. She had come from the south, walking her lonely way to her destination, but she had announced her intentions months in advance. The sect of Bladesingers and researchers dedicated to curing Raiaera permitted her to walk their land with only a minimum of official harassment, so long as she was properly escorted. She was a thief known for stealing improbable items of unknowable value - including, rumor had it, Istien itself.
Alydia wondered who they would send this time. Her old friend Hyanda? Gruff but good-natured Glorfindel? A Bladesinger whom she had never met? The one-time detective hoped not. She was here to work, and a new Bladesinger was always a delicate dance. Many of them refused to trust her and her intentions, and she had to be wary of each and every move. A wrong tilt of the hat or a poorly-timed word in her native tongue could wreck days of good impressions and she’d have to start all over again, at best.
Hands rubbed together inside thick gloves. Whoever came, the Alerian hoped he or she did so quickly. At least once we’re in the city, we will be free of the worst of this wind.
Winter comes late to the plains, but it is brutal.
Air from Berevar, colder than despair, roared over Salvar, ripped over the Dagger Peaks, and then slammed down on Raiaera with all the loving affection of a boar bear among a rival’s cubs. Knife’s Edge always had snow more than a month before Eluriand, but when mid-winter hit, everyone’s lungs burned with the cold. That the Raiaerans had enough poise to hide their discomfort from the rest of the world engendered rumors that they were immune to it, or that the weather was mild.
Alydia Ettermire, only a few thousand years removed from her fairer kin, knew better. Instead of her usual catsuit, so tight it could almost be a second skin, she wore thick, dense cotton. Interwoven through it were copper wires that connected to a switch and a power cell. When activated, it flooded the garment with a little heat. Her sturdy vlince coat was buttoned and tied as tightly as it could be, her boots and gloves were of Berevan manufacture, and the sharply-pointed tips of her ears were tucked into her hat. The winter wind’s bitter bite ripped indifferently through all her preparations. She might as well have been standing naked on the snow-blown landscape.
Eluriand.
Bright blue eyes scanned the cracked and abandoned buildings. They were even more worn now than they had been just a couple of short years before, when the Necromancer was bearing down on the Elven lands with his full wrath and avarice. Very few ventured this far into Raiaera anymore. For the most part, only the desperate or foolish attempted the trek. Without exception, only the exceedingly hardy or the exceedingly cunning survived.
Scarlet rippled and cracked in the wind, her trademark coat marking her position as clearly as a flag to anyone who might have been in the area. Outside Eluriand’s crumbling walls, Alydia wasn’t worried about any wayward undead; they were frozen until spring’s thaw. Nor was she worried about any animals; the ones native to the plains had the good sense to curl up in the warmest nooks they could find. Perhaps other adventurers were desperate or foolhardy enough to walk Raiaera in this weather, where eyelashes turned to icicles, but that was unlikely. Even adventurers liked their creature comforts.
That was why Alydia had chosen winter’s darkest depths. There were clues in Eluriand, sure as Raiaerans loved starlight. There were clues to the Corruption’s nature, clues to how it could be destroyed, clues to heal what had been hurt. In the mad dash to escape with the survivors, in the hectic turmoil of the intervening years, there had been no opportunity to return and research. With Istien claimed by forces unknown, few found the former capital worth the effort. They just didn’t understand.
All knowledge does not come from books. Many Raiaerans had forgotten or never learned that simple fact. Some things - good and bad - had to be breathed, touched, tasted, or immersed in to grasp their subtleties and their parts in the bigger picture. Any little Alerian sewer-rat knew that. Any first-year beat detective in a minor kyorl knew that. Academia was a wonderful thing, but it was not the only thing.
Thin shoulders shivered at another vicious gust, and the thief flipped the switch on her wrist for another few seconds of precious warmth. She had come from the south, walking her lonely way to her destination, but she had announced her intentions months in advance. The sect of Bladesingers and researchers dedicated to curing Raiaera permitted her to walk their land with only a minimum of official harassment, so long as she was properly escorted. She was a thief known for stealing improbable items of unknowable value - including, rumor had it, Istien itself.
Alydia wondered who they would send this time. Her old friend Hyanda? Gruff but good-natured Glorfindel? A Bladesinger whom she had never met? The one-time detective hoped not. She was here to work, and a new Bladesinger was always a delicate dance. Many of them refused to trust her and her intentions, and she had to be wary of each and every move. A wrong tilt of the hat or a poorly-timed word in her native tongue could wreck days of good impressions and she’d have to start all over again, at best.
Hands rubbed together inside thick gloves. Whoever came, the Alerian hoped he or she did so quickly. At least once we’re in the city, we will be free of the worst of this wind.