It was a quiet afternoon in the reaches of the Shroud, and though the sun sat unclouded in the sky a cool wind drifted through the branches from Coerthas, chilling the air. There was a stillness in the wood, one that would send shivers down the neck of any resident – the older among them looking to the sky for rain or thunder, or even some terrible sort of wind. Edda was no such resident however, the charge in the air lost on her La Noscean sensibilities.
Edda prepared for a walk as she did most other days during her stay in Fallgourd Float. Having never been one for navigation of any sort, each one of her forays took her deeper into the Shroud as she learned the lay of the land, and attempt with little success to hone her ability to call upon the Elementals. The number of times she had gotten lost was far more than she would care to admit, and had only luck and a growing amount of Wood Wailers to thank for her many safe returns. Still, this did not deter her, and her confidence in navigating the expanse of forest between Fallgourd and Hyrstmill grew with each journey.
Leaving from the Eastern gate of the small town, Edda struck a peculiar contrast with natives of the Shroud, a feature many Wailers attributed to her penchant for losing her way. Little argument could be made that she was appropriately dressed for the outdoors, but her clothes were neither weathered nor serviceable, a common trait in Gridanian apparel. A finely made dalmatica dyed a modest pink, decorated with golden clasps and patterns, and boots so finely tailored they seemed more suited for display than actual use. She would consider them plain, yet they did nothing to mask her well-groomed appearance.
Having left Fallgourd, Edda followed the path as she normally did, before following an easy slope off the trail and into the woods. It was not the first time she had gone this way, being one of many routes she used to climb a steep hill that led to a large boulder with a remarkable view. Edda was no frontiersman, and moved at a slow pace. She reached out to touch the trees and plants as she moved around them, the feel no longer fresh but not yet a memory, only stopping to tighten her ponytail or adjust her boots. The hill was still a ways off, and Edda took a moment to rest on a nearby stump, carefully tucking her dalmatica underneath her.
Beside her was a shrub adorned with white flowers, ones that Edda recognized from her own garden at home. She smiled to herself as she reached out to pick one, and it was there she noticed something strange. A line of red streaked across the side of the shrub, as if someone had run by it with a paintbrush. Edda was no stranger to the sight, but her blood ran cold at the sight of it. Pairs of footprints on the ground led up the slope. They were not the prints of any beast, and Edda knew better than to pursue an injured animal. Yet the possibility of someone wandering the woods while injured was enough to compel Edda, and so she gathered herself up and followed the trail at a quicker pace, her heart pounding in her chest. There was more blood spattered on the leaves of trees and bushes through the woods. It was still fresh, and Edda cursed herself for bringing nothing more than a simple rosewood wand with her.
It did not take long at her quickened pace for her to stumble upon a small grove. The sight that awaited her there was enough for bile to rise to her mouth almost instantly. Edda snapped her head towards the sky and swallowed it, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. The smell was beginning to manifest under the sun, and from the small look she gleaned Edda knew there were no survivors. It would not be the first time she had witnessed such gore but the sight was still shocking enough for Edda to keep her gaze towards the canopy. Edda did what she could to manage her breathing, closing her mouth and breathing through her nose. She lowered her head to scan the horizon slowly, resolute on not looking down at the carnage.
As she looked towards the line of trees up the slope, Edda could make out the distinct figure of a tall man – an Elezen perhaps – as he retreated deeper into the woods. There was no way to tell if he was responsible, or simply the first unfortunate citizen to stumble upon this grove. Edda stumbled forward and followed his trail at a distance, using trees as both support and cover. Whether he was dangerous or not seemed irrelevant in her mind. Though she was close enough to be seen he did not seem to make any notice of her presence, and if she managed to travel just a bit further, she could descend back to Fallgourd in another direction to avoid the grove. Wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, Edda continued forward, her heart still fluttering wildly in fear.
Edda prepared for a walk as she did most other days during her stay in Fallgourd Float. Having never been one for navigation of any sort, each one of her forays took her deeper into the Shroud as she learned the lay of the land, and attempt with little success to hone her ability to call upon the Elementals. The number of times she had gotten lost was far more than she would care to admit, and had only luck and a growing amount of Wood Wailers to thank for her many safe returns. Still, this did not deter her, and her confidence in navigating the expanse of forest between Fallgourd and Hyrstmill grew with each journey.
Leaving from the Eastern gate of the small town, Edda struck a peculiar contrast with natives of the Shroud, a feature many Wailers attributed to her penchant for losing her way. Little argument could be made that she was appropriately dressed for the outdoors, but her clothes were neither weathered nor serviceable, a common trait in Gridanian apparel. A finely made dalmatica dyed a modest pink, decorated with golden clasps and patterns, and boots so finely tailored they seemed more suited for display than actual use. She would consider them plain, yet they did nothing to mask her well-groomed appearance.
Having left Fallgourd, Edda followed the path as she normally did, before following an easy slope off the trail and into the woods. It was not the first time she had gone this way, being one of many routes she used to climb a steep hill that led to a large boulder with a remarkable view. Edda was no frontiersman, and moved at a slow pace. She reached out to touch the trees and plants as she moved around them, the feel no longer fresh but not yet a memory, only stopping to tighten her ponytail or adjust her boots. The hill was still a ways off, and Edda took a moment to rest on a nearby stump, carefully tucking her dalmatica underneath her.
Beside her was a shrub adorned with white flowers, ones that Edda recognized from her own garden at home. She smiled to herself as she reached out to pick one, and it was there she noticed something strange. A line of red streaked across the side of the shrub, as if someone had run by it with a paintbrush. Edda was no stranger to the sight, but her blood ran cold at the sight of it. Pairs of footprints on the ground led up the slope. They were not the prints of any beast, and Edda knew better than to pursue an injured animal. Yet the possibility of someone wandering the woods while injured was enough to compel Edda, and so she gathered herself up and followed the trail at a quicker pace, her heart pounding in her chest. There was more blood spattered on the leaves of trees and bushes through the woods. It was still fresh, and Edda cursed herself for bringing nothing more than a simple rosewood wand with her.
It did not take long at her quickened pace for her to stumble upon a small grove. The sight that awaited her there was enough for bile to rise to her mouth almost instantly. Edda snapped her head towards the sky and swallowed it, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. The smell was beginning to manifest under the sun, and from the small look she gleaned Edda knew there were no survivors. It would not be the first time she had witnessed such gore but the sight was still shocking enough for Edda to keep her gaze towards the canopy. Edda did what she could to manage her breathing, closing her mouth and breathing through her nose. She lowered her head to scan the horizon slowly, resolute on not looking down at the carnage.
As she looked towards the line of trees up the slope, Edda could make out the distinct figure of a tall man – an Elezen perhaps – as he retreated deeper into the woods. There was no way to tell if he was responsible, or simply the first unfortunate citizen to stumble upon this grove. Edda stumbled forward and followed his trail at a distance, using trees as both support and cover. Whether he was dangerous or not seemed irrelevant in her mind. Though she was close enough to be seen he did not seem to make any notice of her presence, and if she managed to travel just a bit further, she could descend back to Fallgourd in another direction to avoid the grove. Wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, Edda continued forward, her heart still fluttering wildly in fear.
