- Messages
- 19
- Character Biography
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Sarah sat at the communal benches in the Mourners' camp outside of Parumora. Her fellows moved around. Most of them were sparring or training some skill or another. A couple others were practicing some of the rites and rituals that their group used. More still were returning from their latest foray into the dead city.
She watched as they trudged along on tired feet. As they bumped fists and hung off of each other. Despite the dour setting they had smiles on their faces. She smiled. No one had died. It had been expected. Their expedition was only meant to go to the cities outer orchards which had always proved to be one of the less dangerous areas. That didn't detract from their happiness though.
She shifted in her seat. Her armour had dug into her side uncomfortably. The black steel covered almost every inch of her. What it didn't hide was protected by silvered chainmail and thick, black cloth. Around her shoulders laid the same black cloak that she wore when she arrived in Phorasmos. Its style and material was distinct from those around her. It did, afterall, come from the burning pits of Molthal.
Glancing down at her gauntleted hands, once more reveling in the feeling of moving her right hand, she recalled her previous armour. It had a style exclusively from Molthal. Worn only by the Sons of Menalus and their closest guards. She had been no guard and her acquisition of it had been a move by one of the Sons to infuriate her former owner, Urrut. It didn't matter anymore. The armour was gone. It had been used in the creation of her ghost mail, but then her spirit vessel had changed it in its entirety. The spiritsmiths that had worked on it had noted that it was one of the more drastic transformations they had ever seen.
She rapped her fist against her heart. A spear wrapped in thorny vines, and piercing the setting sun adorned her armour. It was an amalgamation of symbols. The setting sun was a reference to her family of birth, the Lindwells of Allirea. Then the spear was Urrut's personal weapon and the vines choking it out had come from her own company, the Bloody Thorns. She caressed the symbol a bit more.
Glancing back around, she finally spotted the person on whom she was waiting. A remarkably young woman by the name of Aeris Silversale. She had joined the Mourners some time ago, but after Sarah had. She had taken the girl under her wing when she had come to them. What the girl had needed most of all at that time was nothing more than the presence of someone who would not, could not judge her. And Sarah truly couldn't. She had never been in love before and didn't understand the depths of anguish that came from it.
They had reached an understanding some time ago. Sarah would teach her how to fight and how to survive. Aeris would help Sarah in ways that were difficult for her to do so. Today was one such event. Sarah's platinum hair had grown far too long and unruly. The thick locks, knotted and tangled, reached all the way down to her waist. Far too long for their chosen occupation.
She watched as they trudged along on tired feet. As they bumped fists and hung off of each other. Despite the dour setting they had smiles on their faces. She smiled. No one had died. It had been expected. Their expedition was only meant to go to the cities outer orchards which had always proved to be one of the less dangerous areas. That didn't detract from their happiness though.
She shifted in her seat. Her armour had dug into her side uncomfortably. The black steel covered almost every inch of her. What it didn't hide was protected by silvered chainmail and thick, black cloth. Around her shoulders laid the same black cloak that she wore when she arrived in Phorasmos. Its style and material was distinct from those around her. It did, afterall, come from the burning pits of Molthal.
Glancing down at her gauntleted hands, once more reveling in the feeling of moving her right hand, she recalled her previous armour. It had a style exclusively from Molthal. Worn only by the Sons of Menalus and their closest guards. She had been no guard and her acquisition of it had been a move by one of the Sons to infuriate her former owner, Urrut. It didn't matter anymore. The armour was gone. It had been used in the creation of her ghost mail, but then her spirit vessel had changed it in its entirety. The spiritsmiths that had worked on it had noted that it was one of the more drastic transformations they had ever seen.
She rapped her fist against her heart. A spear wrapped in thorny vines, and piercing the setting sun adorned her armour. It was an amalgamation of symbols. The setting sun was a reference to her family of birth, the Lindwells of Allirea. Then the spear was Urrut's personal weapon and the vines choking it out had come from her own company, the Bloody Thorns. She caressed the symbol a bit more.
Glancing back around, she finally spotted the person on whom she was waiting. A remarkably young woman by the name of Aeris Silversale. She had joined the Mourners some time ago, but after Sarah had. She had taken the girl under her wing when she had come to them. What the girl had needed most of all at that time was nothing more than the presence of someone who would not, could not judge her. And Sarah truly couldn't. She had never been in love before and didn't understand the depths of anguish that came from it.
They had reached an understanding some time ago. Sarah would teach her how to fight and how to survive. Aeris would help Sarah in ways that were difficult for her to do so. Today was one such event. Sarah's platinum hair had grown far too long and unruly. The thick locks, knotted and tangled, reached all the way down to her waist. Far too long for their chosen occupation.