The worn brass knob rattled loudly in the inn room. A small rat perched upon the made up bed reared up on its haunches and looked at the door as someone tried to gain entrance. Its glassy eyes stared alert. The knob jangled more furiously and with a round of guttural cursing, the whole door shook with a loud thud. The rat dove off the bed and scurried away into the dark recesses of some forgotten corner. Another loud thud, and the heavy door finally swung inwards, teetering lazily to admit passage.
A thick coated and heavily laden Mirke announced her entrance with an impressive string of mumbled curse words. Roen's letter held between her pursed lips. She flopped her travel pack onto the bed and immediately went to rubbing her left arm and shoulder where she had rammed the stuck door to get it to jar it free from its warped frame. The room was frigid, so she turned her attentions to the small fireplace and quartered logs stacked to its side. She had an appreciable fire blazing within ten minutes.
She discarded the letter on the bed with her other spoils of the sun and bits of clothing soon followed, burying the missive from view. Throw, coat, coif, gloves, and undershirt. Her bare arms goosebumped uncomfortably while she found a more comfortable sweater to slip into. She set her thighboots by the fire to dry out, but kept both pairs of socks on her feet.
The letter. She'd nearly forgotten. She shuffled through the things on the bed until she found it. She ripped it open and deposited herself in the armchair pulled up beside the fire to read. It took her a while to skim the short message, but Roen had accepted her terms and that was all that mattered. She could finally return to her crew. Her initial apprehension faded and Mirke felt a mild revitalization of her spirits and energy that she hadn't felt since she'd been here. Her stay had been overlong, a drain on her senses. But these Ishgardians never seemed to do anything quickly, for good or bad.
So too did she slip slowly into sleep while propped in her armchair, fire warming her cheek. Two pairs of eyes glimmering in the dark from atop the bed, the rat and a friend looking on from the safety of the deepening night.
On the morning she was to set off and meet Roen in Falcon's Nest, she rose early once more and went to organizing her pack for the long travel. Her bed still perfectly made beneath neat rows of rolled up clothing, potions, and knicknacks. Old and new maps of the Coerthas region rolled for travel. Though they were utterly useless to her, she thought it best to bring them none-the-less. Spare clothes were rolled into tight buns to conserve space in her small pack. What might have used to be a cigar case, was stuffed with crystal shards. She slipped this into the pouch inside her pack that held her other assortment of crystals shards and linkpearls.
Mirke was meticulously organized with her packing. If she could not fit something, she would take something out and reorganize. The largest section of the pack was packed with clothes and food, organized in tight, vertical rolls. A large wine bottle was nestled in the middle of her clothes rolls to protect it from harm. The maps rested to either side. In the inside pouch, crystals and linkpearls lined the sewn in pockets. Satisfied finally that she had been able to fit the entirety of her food supply within the pack, she closed the flap and buckled it off.
She rotated the pack on her bed, checking off the outside pockets. Ammo and firesand for her pistol in one. Her spare water canteen in the one adjacent. On the other side, a row of loops to carry tools, though only one such loop was occupied. A marlinspike was hooked there. She hadn't used the thing in some time, but it had proved to be a useful tool in the past, both on sea and land.
Ready. Undershirt, sweater, thick military coat. Two pairs of thick socks, thighboots. Thick gloves and coif, both blanketed with karakul wool. She tied her pack to her belt and thigh, draped her main waterskin around her shoulder, sheathed her sword into the scabbard above her rump, and holstered her pistol to her opposite hip from her pack. The Miqo'te turned about, eyeing her appearance in the early morning light that shimmered through the window. Oh, the final flourish. She withdrew her Storm Captain's insignia and pinned her rank to her military coat's collar.
If I die out there, at least they'll be able to identify meh.
She prodded the coals of last night's fire with her boot to make sure they were truly without life, then wrenched the door open with a few two-handed tugs at the weathered door knob. The rats were nowhere to be seen this morning, likely withdrawn somewhere warm to sleep after their vigil.
Sounsyy Mirke paid her rent at the front desk, and after she expressed her severe disliking for the charged price of her accommodations, she set off into Saint Valeroyant Forum. Much of the snowstorm had passed by now, and the Miqo'te was met with a light flurry. It swirled lazily about the square, coating the grey stone with flecks of white. It looked as if the city were paling with age. Mirke tightened her collar and started the long journey ahead.
As she weaved through the passersby, one small Miqo'te in a forest of tall Elezen, Hyur, and other races who made her all but invisible, she could feel the gaze of the headless and charred statue of Valeroyant upon her. She sneered at the statue on her way past, watching as it collected a fine coat of powder. Some great man or woman who had been elevated to status with a thrust of their spear. Sounsyy wondered just how many statues Ala Mhigo would have if her kin used the same criteria.
Across the city, she noticed temple knights everywhere she went. They looked cold and tired. Perhaps some just returning from the Front? How long had it been since this city-state had seen its last dragon raid? It all looked so at peace this morning, despite being littered with rubble. She made a small hmphing noise. Those were there troubles... and Roen's, should the Ul'dahn sellsword choose to stay here. So far away from the shimmering Jewel, the stifling heat, the blinding sands... Honest, can't blame 'er.
An Elezen knight collided full into her, knocking the smaller Miqo'te onto her rump into the powdered cobbles. The knight turned to look at her, but didn't stop, his conversation with his accompanying knight much too important it seemed. Sounsyy growled at him, but didn't push the issue. She pushed herself back to her feet with a groan and smacked the caked snow off her backside with a huff. She tested her forehead gingerly. There'd likely be a bruise from where the bottom of the knight's breastplate smacked her.
There was nothing for it. She pulled her coif down further over her forehead and after standing in that same spot, looking lost and baffled, pressed on. The sooner she was out in the middle of nowhere, well, the sooner she would be out in the middle of nowhere. Away from Ishgardians. Sounsyy was again reminded why she wanted the Hyur to be her guide - she lacked the disregard of the denizens she fought under. Isolation had fermented in their appreciation for others, up here alone on a mountain top in the center of the world.
The gates came into view. The Miqo'te captain picked up her pace, determined to reach Falcon's Nest before the morning was past.
A thick coated and heavily laden Mirke announced her entrance with an impressive string of mumbled curse words. Roen's letter held between her pursed lips. She flopped her travel pack onto the bed and immediately went to rubbing her left arm and shoulder where she had rammed the stuck door to get it to jar it free from its warped frame. The room was frigid, so she turned her attentions to the small fireplace and quartered logs stacked to its side. She had an appreciable fire blazing within ten minutes.
She discarded the letter on the bed with her other spoils of the sun and bits of clothing soon followed, burying the missive from view. Throw, coat, coif, gloves, and undershirt. Her bare arms goosebumped uncomfortably while she found a more comfortable sweater to slip into. She set her thighboots by the fire to dry out, but kept both pairs of socks on her feet.
The letter. She'd nearly forgotten. She shuffled through the things on the bed until she found it. She ripped it open and deposited herself in the armchair pulled up beside the fire to read. It took her a while to skim the short message, but Roen had accepted her terms and that was all that mattered. She could finally return to her crew. Her initial apprehension faded and Mirke felt a mild revitalization of her spirits and energy that she hadn't felt since she'd been here. Her stay had been overlong, a drain on her senses. But these Ishgardians never seemed to do anything quickly, for good or bad.
So too did she slip slowly into sleep while propped in her armchair, fire warming her cheek. Two pairs of eyes glimmering in the dark from atop the bed, the rat and a friend looking on from the safety of the deepening night.
On the morning she was to set off and meet Roen in Falcon's Nest, she rose early once more and went to organizing her pack for the long travel. Her bed still perfectly made beneath neat rows of rolled up clothing, potions, and knicknacks. Old and new maps of the Coerthas region rolled for travel. Though they were utterly useless to her, she thought it best to bring them none-the-less. Spare clothes were rolled into tight buns to conserve space in her small pack. What might have used to be a cigar case, was stuffed with crystal shards. She slipped this into the pouch inside her pack that held her other assortment of crystals shards and linkpearls.
Mirke was meticulously organized with her packing. If she could not fit something, she would take something out and reorganize. The largest section of the pack was packed with clothes and food, organized in tight, vertical rolls. A large wine bottle was nestled in the middle of her clothes rolls to protect it from harm. The maps rested to either side. In the inside pouch, crystals and linkpearls lined the sewn in pockets. Satisfied finally that she had been able to fit the entirety of her food supply within the pack, she closed the flap and buckled it off.
She rotated the pack on her bed, checking off the outside pockets. Ammo and firesand for her pistol in one. Her spare water canteen in the one adjacent. On the other side, a row of loops to carry tools, though only one such loop was occupied. A marlinspike was hooked there. She hadn't used the thing in some time, but it had proved to be a useful tool in the past, both on sea and land.
Ready. Undershirt, sweater, thick military coat. Two pairs of thick socks, thighboots. Thick gloves and coif, both blanketed with karakul wool. She tied her pack to her belt and thigh, draped her main waterskin around her shoulder, sheathed her sword into the scabbard above her rump, and holstered her pistol to her opposite hip from her pack. The Miqo'te turned about, eyeing her appearance in the early morning light that shimmered through the window. Oh, the final flourish. She withdrew her Storm Captain's insignia and pinned her rank to her military coat's collar.
If I die out there, at least they'll be able to identify meh.
She prodded the coals of last night's fire with her boot to make sure they were truly without life, then wrenched the door open with a few two-handed tugs at the weathered door knob. The rats were nowhere to be seen this morning, likely withdrawn somewhere warm to sleep after their vigil.
Sounsyy Mirke paid her rent at the front desk, and after she expressed her severe disliking for the charged price of her accommodations, she set off into Saint Valeroyant Forum. Much of the snowstorm had passed by now, and the Miqo'te was met with a light flurry. It swirled lazily about the square, coating the grey stone with flecks of white. It looked as if the city were paling with age. Mirke tightened her collar and started the long journey ahead.
As she weaved through the passersby, one small Miqo'te in a forest of tall Elezen, Hyur, and other races who made her all but invisible, she could feel the gaze of the headless and charred statue of Valeroyant upon her. She sneered at the statue on her way past, watching as it collected a fine coat of powder. Some great man or woman who had been elevated to status with a thrust of their spear. Sounsyy wondered just how many statues Ala Mhigo would have if her kin used the same criteria.
Across the city, she noticed temple knights everywhere she went. They looked cold and tired. Perhaps some just returning from the Front? How long had it been since this city-state had seen its last dragon raid? It all looked so at peace this morning, despite being littered with rubble. She made a small hmphing noise. Those were there troubles... and Roen's, should the Ul'dahn sellsword choose to stay here. So far away from the shimmering Jewel, the stifling heat, the blinding sands... Honest, can't blame 'er.
An Elezen knight collided full into her, knocking the smaller Miqo'te onto her rump into the powdered cobbles. The knight turned to look at her, but didn't stop, his conversation with his accompanying knight much too important it seemed. Sounsyy growled at him, but didn't push the issue. She pushed herself back to her feet with a groan and smacked the caked snow off her backside with a huff. She tested her forehead gingerly. There'd likely be a bruise from where the bottom of the knight's breastplate smacked her.
There was nothing for it. She pulled her coif down further over her forehead and after standing in that same spot, looking lost and baffled, pressed on. The sooner she was out in the middle of nowhere, well, the sooner she would be out in the middle of nowhere. Away from Ishgardians. Sounsyy was again reminded why she wanted the Hyur to be her guide - she lacked the disregard of the denizens she fought under. Isolation had fermented in their appreciation for others, up here alone on a mountain top in the center of the world.
The gates came into view. The Miqo'te captain picked up her pace, determined to reach Falcon's Nest before the morning was past.
