The roof of the embassy was also completely dark, and this was fortunate. If it weren't for that, Evarista would have been in clear view of the watchmen patrolling the wall around the fort. Even though she felt very exposed, she didn't need to fear discovery as long as she kept her silhouette low. Most of the roof structures around the settlement were not lit, which turned out to be quite the security risk. Although, to be fair, the security measures around here were probably not designed with spider morphers in mind.
Deeming herself safe from unwelcome gazes, Evarista stifled a grunt as she tried to move her way up the sloping roof. Countless splinters dug into her clothes and scratched her exposed legs. Maybe doing this sort of thing in a skirt was a bad idea. Her newly discovered sensor tactic allowed her to find imperfections to grab onto, so that she could drag herself to the ridge without tumbling down and breaking her neck. Sloped rooves were truly the invention of an evil architect god somewhere. No, not Rhysol, of course. He'd never do such a thing to his loyal followers.
Wheezing through her teeth in annoyance, Evarista finally swung her leg over the ridge and nestled herself semi-comfortably to the wooden structure, trying to avoid showing her silhouette against the sky. Yeah, the difficult part of climbing wasn't the climbing itself. With some dirty tricks and biological cheating, even an amateur could scale most surfaces. The hallmark of a good climber, however, was the scaling of those surfaces without stressing half the joints, cramping half the muscles, and covering one's entire garb in splinters. That was a feat of finesse Evarista still had some trouble with. Ah, well. It wasn't like she had to launder her own clothes, anyway. A problem delegated was a problem solved, right?
Smirking to herself, the disheveled cartographer took a sweeping glance across the compound. The clusters of black shapes around her represented the modest collection of buildings, surrounded by a well-lit wooden wall, thick enough to have a walkway. Although the moving lights along the walls showed that the patrols there were fully staffed, there was next to no light or movement on the ground. It spoke plainly about how sparsely populated the outpost still was at this point. The only three lanterns were strategically spread out: one outside of the inn, one at the dock, and one at the gate, where she had foolishly stumbled out a while before. That one watchman was gone from there, clearly not bothered enough to make a fuss about what little he saw.
Her vantage point wasn't a bird's view, but it was much better than standing on the ground. She could actually tell the shape of the walls properly now, and had a good viev of where the buildings were placed relative to each other. Yes, this was definitely enough to make a decent map. The only problem was... she couldn't see what she was drawing. She knew herself well enough to understand that climbing down, finding light and then trying to draw from memory would only result in disaster. She had to do it while she had the reference right in front of her.
Hugging the ridge with her thighs, the girl rested the battered piece of parchment against the least uneven part of the roof she could find, and checked it against the distant light sources around the outpost, trying to discern the lines on the paper. Nope. Absolutely impossible. Surrogate vision wouldn't do here, either. Except... hmm.
She had hopes for her Auristics. Leaning so close to the paper that her nose was almost pressing against it, she brought its aura into focus. No, wait. Not the paper. The charcoal. That's right! That was the key. Licking her dry lips in concentration, she squinted at the murky square in her hand, seeking the aural traces of coal on it. She had quite a bit of experience with the auristics of inanimate objects, and already knew how to separate the wheat from the chaff when studying this kind of detail. She didn't care about the abstract colors that an aura showed at first glance; she wanted the difference in internal structure. The charcoal versus the paper: they actually had two different auras.
It didn't work at first. Evarista began sweating with impatience after the fourth failed attempt to separate the intricately conflated signatures. What a stupid situation to be in, she thought. Stuck on a windy roof, at night, trying to do an aural reading of some charcoal smudge. Damn it. Gritting her teeth and ignoring the sweat pouring down her brow, she somehow forced herself to focus again. It took a breath a fifth attempt, straining her eyes until they hurt. There. A fuzzy, uneven polygon took form. It was her sketch of the wall perimeter from earlier. Great. That's all she needed.
The inelegant spy stifled a hoarse giggle as she pulled the remaining piece of charcoal from her skirt pocket. Finally, she could get this thing done, get down from this stupid position, and go get some sleep.