Xelara first sees a stranger.
Sprawled across the dirt, face hidden beneath their hood. It is a curiosity, but nothing more; from the faint aura of their magic, Xelara can sense that they hold no ill intent.
Emotions tend to be sometimes difficult to distinguish from each other by physical details alone- a pounding heartbeat can mean fear just as easily as it can mean excitement -but magic signatures carry them more clearly.
The influence is incredibly subtle, but over the years, Xelara has learned how to notice it, almost like a sound hanging in the air.
The sound the stranger makes is frail, quiet, restrained. Their magic is rattled, because its owner is rattled; they form no threat. So why run?
As Xelara approaches the stranger, it belatedly occurs to her that she had multiple corpses surrounding them. That would be enough to rattle a regular person and cause them to flee; Xelara may have gotten too used to the sight at this point, so she forgets.
Yet, the stranger refuses to even look at her. Their heartbeat picks up as Xelara stands in front of them.
"What's wrong?" Xelara teases, thinking perhaps a more lighthearted tone will help calm them down. "Don't tell me you're shy?"
Finally, they raise their head.
In the shade of the trees, darkening the shadow from their hood further, Xelara cannot quite make out the color of their eyes beyond the fact that they're light, and wide with a flustered shock. Their skin is smudged with dust and dirt, a slight shine of sweat on their complexion-yet their features are not altogether bad to look at.
Xelara is disappointed when they hide their face again. She's had a long day, she feels tired, and what better cure than a pleasing face?
Soon, however, she discovers why the stranger did so.It's difficult to believe her eyes, even though the gleaming of gold is as clear as daylight. Can't believe her eyes, not for something so important.
Xelara has to make certain.
So she kneels down in front of the stranger, engaging a connection with their magic through a touch of skin, a light grip on their chin
There is no more doubt. Not in the face of that raw well of magic, formless and uncertain, hovering between existence and potential. This is the lost Crown, stumbled upon Xelara as if carried by the currents of the spirits themselves.
Damn them all.
Xelara considers turning her back. Considers running, pretending as if she never met them, leaving the Crown to their fate, but that would make her a traitor to Arsur. She is duty-bound, no, honor-bound to offer her aid.
Then again, that doesn't mean that she has to be entirely altruistic in doing so, does she?
For all Xelara knows, this Crown will be no different from Piruz, giving her no reason to trust them making them an enemy, in fact. At the same time, Xelara has no choice but to help when the Crown has done nothing yet, both as a citizen or Arsur as well as pressured to do so by her conscience. She can deliver the Crown to Rozerîn well enough, but in exchange, she decides to take the opportunity to settle more personal scores.
In the end, getting the Followers of Vidarna out of the Crown's Imperial Guard will be in to their benefit as well, even though it requires some omission of plans. The Crown might encounter some danger along the way, but that's a risk Xelara will have to take.
Besides which, if the Crown ends up killed in the process, would it really matter? If they made it to the throne, either they'd become a Crown like Piruz and Xelara would regret not killing them herself, or they'd become a Crown like Ferzan, in which case...
Well, then they'd end up assassinated regardless. The Followers, the nobility, the magi, the wealthy and the influential, they cannot tolerate any threat to their power. What matters is that Xelara washes her hands from this, as soon as possible.
It won't end well for either of them if she lingers.
Sprawled across the dirt, face hidden beneath their hood. It is a curiosity, but nothing more; from the faint aura of their magic, Xelara can sense that they hold no ill intent.
Emotions tend to be sometimes difficult to distinguish from each other by physical details alone- a pounding heartbeat can mean fear just as easily as it can mean excitement -but magic signatures carry them more clearly.
The influence is incredibly subtle, but over the years, Xelara has learned how to notice it, almost like a sound hanging in the air.
The sound the stranger makes is frail, quiet, restrained. Their magic is rattled, because its owner is rattled; they form no threat. So why run?
As Xelara approaches the stranger, it belatedly occurs to her that she had multiple corpses surrounding them. That would be enough to rattle a regular person and cause them to flee; Xelara may have gotten too used to the sight at this point, so she forgets.
Yet, the stranger refuses to even look at her. Their heartbeat picks up as Xelara stands in front of them.
"What's wrong?" Xelara teases, thinking perhaps a more lighthearted tone will help calm them down. "Don't tell me you're shy?"
Finally, they raise their head.
In the shade of the trees, darkening the shadow from their hood further, Xelara cannot quite make out the color of their eyes beyond the fact that they're light, and wide with a flustered shock. Their skin is smudged with dust and dirt, a slight shine of sweat on their complexion-yet their features are not altogether bad to look at.
Xelara is disappointed when they hide their face again. She's had a long day, she feels tired, and what better cure than a pleasing face?
Soon, however, she discovers why the stranger did so.It's difficult to believe her eyes, even though the gleaming of gold is as clear as daylight. Can't believe her eyes, not for something so important.
Xelara has to make certain.
So she kneels down in front of the stranger, engaging a connection with their magic through a touch of skin, a light grip on their chin
There is no more doubt. Not in the face of that raw well of magic, formless and uncertain, hovering between existence and potential. This is the lost Crown, stumbled upon Xelara as if carried by the currents of the spirits themselves.
Damn them all.
Xelara considers turning her back. Considers running, pretending as if she never met them, leaving the Crown to their fate, but that would make her a traitor to Arsur. She is duty-bound, no, honor-bound to offer her aid.
Then again, that doesn't mean that she has to be entirely altruistic in doing so, does she?
For all Xelara knows, this Crown will be no different from Piruz, giving her no reason to trust them making them an enemy, in fact. At the same time, Xelara has no choice but to help when the Crown has done nothing yet, both as a citizen or Arsur as well as pressured to do so by her conscience. She can deliver the Crown to Rozerîn well enough, but in exchange, she decides to take the opportunity to settle more personal scores.
In the end, getting the Followers of Vidarna out of the Crown's Imperial Guard will be in to their benefit as well, even though it requires some omission of plans. The Crown might encounter some danger along the way, but that's a risk Xelara will have to take.
Besides which, if the Crown ends up killed in the process, would it really matter? If they made it to the throne, either they'd become a Crown like Piruz and Xelara would regret not killing them herself, or they'd become a Crown like Ferzan, in which case...
Well, then they'd end up assassinated regardless. The Followers, the nobility, the magi, the wealthy and the influential, they cannot tolerate any threat to their power. What matters is that Xelara washes her hands from this, as soon as possible.
It won't end well for either of them if she lingers.
Last edited by a moderator:
