Solo Yuk, Yuk, Yuk.

Shake what your weaponsmith gave ya.

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

Yuk, Yuk, Yuk.

Postby Wanda Endust on April 13th, 2014, 2:37 am

28 Spring 514AV
13 Days from Syliras
Around the 19th Bell

The fires were burning, contained under the watchful eyes of the caravan guards. Oranges shadows danced through the trees and cast grim lights on the faces of the caravan. Some people were hunched over their makeshift havens, closely clutching what few belongings they had. Others took more relaxed positions -- or at least seemed to. Their rigid shoulders and fidgeting fingers told otherwise.

Syna had gone to rest only chimes ago, leaving a cloud of tension to hover over the camp as darkness approached. Everyone had been fine in the daylight, with guards and travelers joking amongst each other and with each other. Some folks even ventured to strike up a song or two while they made camp.

Now, with the landscape growing darker by the tick, everyone seemed to be on edge. It had been like this from the very beginning of the journey, of course, though it had only grown worse with each passing day as the caravan made their way farther and farther from the safety of Syliras's walls. All was quiet, save for the hushed and strained conversations among those sharing the comfort of their respective campfires.

As for herself, Wanda had settled in roughly half a bell ago with a friendly-looking couple and their three kids. They were one of the few families on the trip lucky enough to have found themselves in possession of a wagon, and therefore had no problem toting around any and all manner of supplies, including food (of which they seemed to have plenty). In fact, while most of the travelers in the caravan seemed to carry some kind of air of urgency or desperation, the family Wanda sat with now seemed very... normal. Like they were any ol' Syliran family just going about their business. Besides the pile of supplies they had safely tucked away, Wanda noticed that they gave no outside indication that they were embarking on a trip that would take them across a good portion of the region.

Wanda eyed them for a moment longer before turning her attention back to the quill and journal in her hand. The blonde lounged with her bags braced against her lower back, Yarvis hitched to a sturdy-looking tree behind her (despite his indignant stomping). She had long since abandoned her dresses in favor of the more practical -- though plain -- trouser and shirt combo. The dagger she'd purchased was strapped loosely to her waist, unused while Wanda tried to avoid touching it as much as possible. The wooden stick of the tonfa (she still had yet to get used to referring to the two weapons as her dagger and her tonfa) was placed on the ground beside her outstretched legs and was, for the moment, forgotten.

She stared at the blank page of the journal, and it stared back. Neither moved, though the twisting and turning light of the fire threw strange shadows across the empty paper. The fingers of Wanda's right hand clutched at one end of it rather clumsily. She bit her lip. On the previous page rested the last words of her mother, the most recent entry in the book though it had been some time since that fateful day. Wanda had memorized the passage. Not voluntarily, of course, but rather due to the fact that they would surface in her mind at the most spontaneous of times.

'Don't let fear hold you back from anything. Ever.'

Wanda had taken that advice, and now here she was. Huddled around a fire, lonely despite the constant company that surrounded her. She did try her best to stay positive, but sometimes everything was just too much for her to handle. Her mothers words acted as both a comfort and a burden. There they lay, on the other side of the paper. A constant reminder, though all Wanda really wanted to do was forget. She wanted to move on in her own way. But how could she? How could Wanda expect to move past those haunting last words when she couldn't even bring herself to press the quill to the page and write something -- anything else?
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Wanda Endust
Searching for purpose.
Posts: 377
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Joined roleplay: May 18th, 2013, 6:10 pm
Location: Syliras -> Nyka
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