- Messages
- 223
- Character Biography
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Location: Outside of Alliria (along the line cutting north to south)
Time: Early Noon
Skuld herself was silent along the road, travelling now as her daughter quietly played in the small wagon. The horse was plainly used to the small wagon, slowly ambling along as the woman sat atop the single seat behind it. Barely longer than the beast pulling it, made for an easy ride. The makeshift canvas covering shifting just enough in the wind to capture a cool breeze against the sun as the little girl fumbled in the furs and other things that littered the back of the wagon.
A shield, adorned with a black thorn covered rose was hanging from the drivers side. The paint faded and scuffed in places a sword clattered in it's scabbard beside it. They had passed through a town earlier on, one showing signs of issue that Skuld had quickly resolved with a poultice down an out of the way well. And a bit of fishing with the bucket to reveal that those ailing folk were not in fact dying or turning to the walking dead.
Merely a dead bird tainting the water they had drank from.
There was enough coin in the pocket now to secure some supplies from the next largest place in their journey. The former house of the Black Rose on the outskirts of Alliria were likely not in use anymore at this point. Her order having dissolved around her, and scattered to the winds with unknown agendas. It wouldn't be a grand welcome home most likely, but she wanted to at least stop in to pick through the remains.
Her daughter made and merriment all the while, the occasional greeting tossed to the traveler or wayward merchant in their travels.
Upon the seat, she smiled at the area. The thick padded gambeson tunic covered down to her thighs and clashed against the beige breeches as leather boots carefully slid across the floor board of the drivers space. The gloves were more for the reins than her gear, the emblem of another sitting inside her gambeson.
The white triangles across her cheeks were still present, a Zajac emblem that had likely faded from knowledge. Her hands were well worn, almost smooth but calloused from combat and more leisurely life as a farmer. The tucking of a strand of hair not failing to irritate the scowl she wore to shield her eyes from the sun above.
Time: Early Noon
Skuld herself was silent along the road, travelling now as her daughter quietly played in the small wagon. The horse was plainly used to the small wagon, slowly ambling along as the woman sat atop the single seat behind it. Barely longer than the beast pulling it, made for an easy ride. The makeshift canvas covering shifting just enough in the wind to capture a cool breeze against the sun as the little girl fumbled in the furs and other things that littered the back of the wagon.
A shield, adorned with a black thorn covered rose was hanging from the drivers side. The paint faded and scuffed in places a sword clattered in it's scabbard beside it. They had passed through a town earlier on, one showing signs of issue that Skuld had quickly resolved with a poultice down an out of the way well. And a bit of fishing with the bucket to reveal that those ailing folk were not in fact dying or turning to the walking dead.
Merely a dead bird tainting the water they had drank from.
There was enough coin in the pocket now to secure some supplies from the next largest place in their journey. The former house of the Black Rose on the outskirts of Alliria were likely not in use anymore at this point. Her order having dissolved around her, and scattered to the winds with unknown agendas. It wouldn't be a grand welcome home most likely, but she wanted to at least stop in to pick through the remains.
Her daughter made and merriment all the while, the occasional greeting tossed to the traveler or wayward merchant in their travels.
Upon the seat, she smiled at the area. The thick padded gambeson tunic covered down to her thighs and clashed against the beige breeches as leather boots carefully slid across the floor board of the drivers space. The gloves were more for the reins than her gear, the emblem of another sitting inside her gambeson.
The white triangles across her cheeks were still present, a Zajac emblem that had likely faded from knowledge. Her hands were well worn, almost smooth but calloused from combat and more leisurely life as a farmer. The tucking of a strand of hair not failing to irritate the scowl she wore to shield her eyes from the sun above.
