Arc 720, 64th of Ymiden
Darius' legs ached as he made his way through the stone corridors, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He had thought that he might feel refreshed, after spending no less than eight trials sitting on a wagon, but the wooden seat had provided no comfort and the damned vehicle had somehow managed to find every rut and stone on the road from Rharne.
That journey, and his sea voyage preceding it, had put him on edge. He had answered the call of Faith Augustin, but in order to do so, he'd had to leave behind a city that was reeling from its own encounter with fire and brimstone. He had come to help with the siege, but he could not tarry long. Scalvoris needed him.
But he had arrived all the same, and the realisation that the battered walls of Storm's Edge might be able to hold out a little longer because of the supplies he had brought was enough to keep his legs moving, one after the other. He had not bothered to clean his boots from the mud of war, nor his leggings from the dust of travel. Small clumps of dirt sporadically escaped the soles of his footwear, only to be squashed beneath them as his feet came down.
Darius held a piece of parchment in his hand. Unlike everything else regarding his ragged appearance - a messy crop of blond hair, a beard that threatened to outgrow his face, and a weary expression that seemed fixed to his face - it was in pristine condition.
The echoes of his footsteps preceded him as he rounded a corner and stepped through a doorway and into a large room. Bookshelves filled with tomes lined the walls, and the human's grey eyes strained as they adjusted to the darker space. But eventually he saw her, sitting at a desk and looking at something.
Darius approached the brunette woman, parchment in hand. If she were to look at it closely, she would recognise her own writing.
"Faith," his gravelly voice quietly managed.
It was her name, of course, but it was also a belief. It was what had brought him to Storm's Edge. He said nothing more, for his mere presence would surely speak volumes.
That journey, and his sea voyage preceding it, had put him on edge. He had answered the call of Faith Augustin, but in order to do so, he'd had to leave behind a city that was reeling from its own encounter with fire and brimstone. He had come to help with the siege, but he could not tarry long. Scalvoris needed him.
But he had arrived all the same, and the realisation that the battered walls of Storm's Edge might be able to hold out a little longer because of the supplies he had brought was enough to keep his legs moving, one after the other. He had not bothered to clean his boots from the mud of war, nor his leggings from the dust of travel. Small clumps of dirt sporadically escaped the soles of his footwear, only to be squashed beneath them as his feet came down.
Darius held a piece of parchment in his hand. Unlike everything else regarding his ragged appearance - a messy crop of blond hair, a beard that threatened to outgrow his face, and a weary expression that seemed fixed to his face - it was in pristine condition.
The echoes of his footsteps preceded him as he rounded a corner and stepped through a doorway and into a large room. Bookshelves filled with tomes lined the walls, and the human's grey eyes strained as they adjusted to the darker space. But eventually he saw her, sitting at a desk and looking at something.
Darius approached the brunette woman, parchment in hand. If she were to look at it closely, she would recognise her own writing.
"Faith," his gravelly voice quietly managed.
It was her name, of course, but it was also a belief. It was what had brought him to Storm's Edge. He said nothing more, for his mere presence would surely speak volumes.
