Lythdrae's page

Lythdrae, who began to frown almost from the moment they entered the outbuilding, steadily phases her expression scowl during Daeman's speech, but on seeing the boy's smile she grits her teeth and forces a neutral expression as she steps out wordlessly.

"How," She mutters, barely breathing the words, "do they grow old enough to cause trouble, with attitudes like that?"

Startled awake by the hearty cry of her host, Lythdrae surges to her feet in a nearly explosive motion that sends her blanket flying to the side as she assumes a defensive posture. She glances rapidly about the room with unfocused eyes until, instants later, her gaze travels downward to focus on her hands, each wrapped in a single length of offwhite fabric. Carefully sitting down, she reaches into her pack and pulls her gloves on with a grimace and begins to ready herself for the new day. Barbaric a chilly bath might be, but going unwashed would offend more senses and sensibilities than just her own.

Blinking back her surprise at the ironic company she seems to have fallen into, Lythdrae withdraws into silence for several long moments and simply follows Ian's lead through the unfamiliar roads.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation as well," she speaks slowly, turning the words over in her mind, "but it's too long a story to tell in the crossing of this settlement, and I've already given more exposition today than I do in some weeks."

She chuckles a moment before continuing: "It seems, though, that I've inherited my father's talent for solving problems through drama."

So what did just happen? Lythdrae thinks for a moment after Ian raises the question. After a loud sigh, she speaks.

"In brief, circumstances beyond my control have risen up and made my life more difficult yet again." She draws closer to him to speak softly and reduce the chance of being overheard, "and what was your role in the fiasco? You said something about offering light and then the sphere glowed more brightly?"

As Ian speaks, Lythdrae takes her time in folding the page and carefully tucking it into her book before repacking and gathering her things. Petty, she has to acknowledge at least to herself, but if this is how it will be, so it will be, and as is too often the case, there is naught she can do to change it.

"Very well," she passes a hand over her face to conceal a grimace, "I had hoped that the Sun Father's children might have the capacity to see beyond darkness, but it seems not."

Turning to the attendant as she stands by the door, she allows her outrage to show for a rare moment. "Pray to your God, 'priest.' Tell him that you turned away a soul searching for light. I heard it said once that a hungry man is not a wise one, but it seems the same can be said of the rest."

Seemingly unaware of her hand tracing... something... in the air at her side, she storms out of the shrine suddenly aware of the exhaustion that has sunk into her, and turns back to Ian. "You know these parts. Where is the hall?"

Lythdrae's inquisition changes to a scowl, and she turns to rummage through her bag before pulling out a book. She draws her knife carefully, just long enough to slice a single page from the book before sheathing the blade again.

"If you can answer any of these, you have my gratitude." She holds the page out toward the priest carefully.

Lythdrae pauses for a moment, unnerved by the priest's vague question. What about her was he questioning? No matter, a simple answer was easy enough.

"I come chasing answers. It seemed wisest to ask here before traveling on to Northwind."

It is only when the man speaks, and draws her out of her reverie, that Lythdrae realizes that she had stopped halfway through the doorway to stare. If Pelor's power was indeed diminished in these parts, she might be grateful for it.

She pulls herself the rest of the way inside before carefully closing the door and looking about for a safe place to set her pack and rest. The weather might not be so bad as she had been lead to believe, but the travel had certainly grown wearisome. She can't expect the priest (or whomever he might be) to cease his prayers to answer her questions, but she needn't stand about and grow ever more fatigued in waiting for him.

And just what is that light he prays before anyway? Surely a god as widely worshiped as Pelor has better things to do than visit with the one priest praying to him in what passes for a town here? Whatever it is, she can't deny that it catches her eye and won't easily let go.

Yep, the aliases are working out nicely. This picture isn't a perfect fit (the hair's too long) but it's a lot closer than my usual, and nifty looking.

Also, glad this thing is up and running again! On Paizo at that!

For several long moments, Lythdrae stares at the building, torn between urges to bolt, to look further in, to wait for a guide... or other dark whisperings, faint and barely intelligible but distantly tantalizing.

Perhaps someday she would be able to enter the light without fear, but that would never come to be if she didn't take that first step; she couldn't expect to face the Pillar of Light if she couldn't muster the courage to enter a backwater shrine.

"The duelist who never arrives forfeits by default," she reminds herself with a laugh that utterly fails to reassure her. Unclenching her fists through force of will, she slowly edges forward, almost as much sneaking into the shrine as entering it.