Ciara - East Liadain
She had no idea why she had come here.
The crown had pulled her to this place, it's quiet whispers snaking through her ear and tugging her by an unseen leash. She despised it, hated it, and yet loved it all the same. She could not have explained in a thousand years, not if she'd tried her hardest day after day.
It was a compulsion, a press on the small of her back that drove her forward.
That feeling had brought her here, to Ciara.
It was a city, smaller than Alliria, than Vel Anir and even Elbion, yet it thrived in it's own way. Trade flowed through this place, merchants and smugglers alike stopped here as a final port before entering the sea. Silks and spices piled high in the markets, a representation of this place and it's wealth.
Yet the gold held here concealed something dark.
There was hatred in this place, hatred drawn to the heart of the city itself. The Witch Hunters, or that was what Nayella knew them as. They had a true name, though she had never cared to learn it. Ciara was home to them, an organization created centuries ago not to hunt apostates like her, but all those who showed magical ability. They were dangerous, cut throat, and this city supported them whole heartedly.
Gold, arms, and whatever else the Witch Hunters required flowed to them directly from the city itself. Their Chapter house loomed tall over the city, and their recruits flocked through the streets. Taking a wrong step here, showing one ounce of magical ability was enough to see oneself hung.
Yet here she was.
In the middle of this place that all but despised her. She did not know why, but as the moon illuminated the sky Nayella drew her cloak closer and crept through the streets, her thoughts running wild as to why.
She had no idea why she had come here.
The crown had pulled her to this place, it's quiet whispers snaking through her ear and tugging her by an unseen leash. She despised it, hated it, and yet loved it all the same. She could not have explained in a thousand years, not if she'd tried her hardest day after day.
It was a compulsion, a press on the small of her back that drove her forward.
That feeling had brought her here, to Ciara.
It was a city, smaller than Alliria, than Vel Anir and even Elbion, yet it thrived in it's own way. Trade flowed through this place, merchants and smugglers alike stopped here as a final port before entering the sea. Silks and spices piled high in the markets, a representation of this place and it's wealth.
Yet the gold held here concealed something dark.
There was hatred in this place, hatred drawn to the heart of the city itself. The Witch Hunters, or that was what Nayella knew them as. They had a true name, though she had never cared to learn it. Ciara was home to them, an organization created centuries ago not to hunt apostates like her, but all those who showed magical ability. They were dangerous, cut throat, and this city supported them whole heartedly.
Gold, arms, and whatever else the Witch Hunters required flowed to them directly from the city itself. Their Chapter house loomed tall over the city, and their recruits flocked through the streets. Taking a wrong step here, showing one ounce of magical ability was enough to see oneself hung.
Yet here she was.
In the middle of this place that all but despised her. She did not know why, but as the moon illuminated the sky Nayella drew her cloak closer and crept through the streets, her thoughts running wild as to why.
