It was....loud.
There were too many people, too many scents, too many noises. Flashes of memory, there and gone, poisoning her perception of innocence. Her eyes flashed as chaos cried out in the midst of calamity - but it was only a merchant, hawking their wares. Taloned fingers gripped the hilt of her sword as a harsh, discordant note rose over the murmur of the crowd, a scream sounding in the distance - but it was only a child, playing betwixt and between the puddles accumulated by a recent rain. Everywhere around her there was movement, proof of light and life and love, but overwhelming in respect of sheer volume. Another woman, scarred as she had been, tainted as she had been, might have flinched or shied away, taken shelter in the relative silence of an inn or wayhouse - but Katriel only became more and more still, sinking deeper into herself with each new, novel encounter.
The Warden had been making her way through the market, a distracted frown marring the elemental beauty of her elven features. A bubble of empty space opened around her as she moved through the crowds, and most of the populace instinctively gave the severe-looking Warden a wide berth. She had been on patrol, one of her first so far from the Peak, with several others of the Order. When they had neared Arlathan, they'd deemed it prudent to venture into the city to resupply and restock. Katriel had thought it a sound plan, but she had not been prepared for the sheer magnitude of stimuli the city might offer. Though her fellow Wardens had assured her that Arlathan was barely large enough to be counted a city proper, it had been many, many years since Katriel had been surrounded by so many people. Even Soldier's peak was quiet in comparison. The stone muffled things, quieted even the clink of armor and the clash of swords. Katriel had grown used to the sounds of soldiers and librarians, and the rhythm of the Wardens had long since been relegated to a soothing song in the back of her mind.
Arlathan's song was...different. Louder. More chaotic. She had not yet figured out how to introduce herself into the rhythm of it.
Her appearance seemed to draw a different sort of attention here. She had been expecting fear, wariness, perhaps even hostility. Instead, the populace seemed to take her eyes and talons and scattered scales in stride. She still got the occasional look, the flashes of brief insecurity - but she rather suspected that was more a result of her uniform, and less a byproduct of her ancestry. There were more aberrations here, in Arlathan, than Katriel had ever seen before. They bought and sold produce and textiles along with every other long-eared elf in residence - and wasn't that a miracle in and of itself?
Katriel shook her head, her hair drifting over her armor like smooth black silk, and pushed onward through the crush of the busy midmorning market. She'd need to rendezvous with the other Wardens in a few hours, and she was altogether uncertain of how she was meant to spend the time betwixt then and now.
There were too many people, too many scents, too many noises. Flashes of memory, there and gone, poisoning her perception of innocence. Her eyes flashed as chaos cried out in the midst of calamity - but it was only a merchant, hawking their wares. Taloned fingers gripped the hilt of her sword as a harsh, discordant note rose over the murmur of the crowd, a scream sounding in the distance - but it was only a child, playing betwixt and between the puddles accumulated by a recent rain. Everywhere around her there was movement, proof of light and life and love, but overwhelming in respect of sheer volume. Another woman, scarred as she had been, tainted as she had been, might have flinched or shied away, taken shelter in the relative silence of an inn or wayhouse - but Katriel only became more and more still, sinking deeper into herself with each new, novel encounter.
The Warden had been making her way through the market, a distracted frown marring the elemental beauty of her elven features. A bubble of empty space opened around her as she moved through the crowds, and most of the populace instinctively gave the severe-looking Warden a wide berth. She had been on patrol, one of her first so far from the Peak, with several others of the Order. When they had neared Arlathan, they'd deemed it prudent to venture into the city to resupply and restock. Katriel had thought it a sound plan, but she had not been prepared for the sheer magnitude of stimuli the city might offer. Though her fellow Wardens had assured her that Arlathan was barely large enough to be counted a city proper, it had been many, many years since Katriel had been surrounded by so many people. Even Soldier's peak was quiet in comparison. The stone muffled things, quieted even the clink of armor and the clash of swords. Katriel had grown used to the sounds of soldiers and librarians, and the rhythm of the Wardens had long since been relegated to a soothing song in the back of her mind.
Arlathan's song was...different. Louder. More chaotic. She had not yet figured out how to introduce herself into the rhythm of it.
Her appearance seemed to draw a different sort of attention here. She had been expecting fear, wariness, perhaps even hostility. Instead, the populace seemed to take her eyes and talons and scattered scales in stride. She still got the occasional look, the flashes of brief insecurity - but she rather suspected that was more a result of her uniform, and less a byproduct of her ancestry. There were more aberrations here, in Arlathan, than Katriel had ever seen before. They bought and sold produce and textiles along with every other long-eared elf in residence - and wasn't that a miracle in and of itself?
Katriel shook her head, her hair drifting over her armor like smooth black silk, and pushed onward through the crush of the busy midmorning market. She'd need to rendezvous with the other Wardens in a few hours, and she was altogether uncertain of how she was meant to spend the time betwixt then and now.
08-28-2022, 04:00 PM
