| TIMESTAMP: Day 5, Fall of 511 A.V. |
| She rolled in with the sea wind, walked up out of the harbor and onto the sand like a great, black, billowing sheet. With no hair to catch, the wind tugged instead at her cloak, snatching at the wet fabric with its chilling fingers as if it sought to drag her from the pilings and back into the sea where she belonged. If anyone had been watching they would have seen a figure of unidentifiable shape pull itself out of the water underneath one of Zeltiva’s many piers and stand for a moment, white head down, seemingly engrossed in the sand and pebbles. The boats were everywhere, rocking and creaking, echoing with the trample of feet and the roll of wood against wood. Huge galleons, merchant ships, tiny clippers, row boats. But as it was, everyone up top, be it hairy sailor or suave passenger, was engrossed in their business, and no one noticed the Charoda underneath their feet but a small crab. It raised its claws defensively at Ele and skittered away under a heap of crusted rocks, clacking quietly to itself. In fact, it took Ele several moments to raise her head and look around, her large, unblinking eyes sensitive to the unfiltered light. The smells always took her a bit by surprise when she surfaced, and this time was no exception. There was the slimy, fishy smell of a seaport town coupled with the stench of humanity and all its little quirks and refuse. The ocean was still there, distinct and salty, blowing in on the sea wind, covering the smells with a thin layer she was endlessly grateful for. At this thought she almost shot up a little prayer of thanks to Laviku for small favors. The sounds, too. Harsher, brisker, muddier. Lacking the flowing musical quality underwater sounds naturally had, lacking the watery muffled churning of the surf. Only the harsh bustle from the city, shouts and cries from the great ships, bells from the piers. Screeches from the gulls circling high overhead. The snap of the wind at her cloak, pulling her hood back from her face. Ele made no move to re-cover her head, and instead forced herself to breathe slowly, taking the time to acclimate and gain her bearings. After a moment she reached her white arms through the neck of her cloak and smoothed her fingers over her head, almost nervously. She leaned against around one of the wooden pillars of the pier, fingers brushing lightly against it, letting the rough feeling of the wood which would be submerged at high tide calm her. Then the gangly Charoda peered around and stepped out, climbing the bank to enter the city. |
