Rhoda A. Dunoir
Sighing slightly as she brushed a strand of white hair from across her scarlet eyes, forcing her flowing ponytail down over her shoulder for what seemed like the thousandth time, the young traveler looked up slightly at the sun blazing overhead, and adjusted the hood of the white mantle she'd purchased for the trip and now wore over her usual ensemble, pulling it down over her face in a futile attempt to keep the light out of her eyes. While the thin fabric of the cloak ensured that it wouldn't overheat her greatly, and the airy nature of her high cut dress - combined with the fact that she was currently riding at a fairly brisk pace on the back of a horse - meant she'd probably stay reasonably cool, it was still a desert they were traveling in, with all the burdens that entailed. Already, she was feeling a thin line of sweat settling into place over her brow, and they'd only recently begun the journey.
Ah, yes. The journey. It had been one that she had been planning for a long time. Yet, despite that, she hadn't really expected to make the trip with company. It had been almost a month now since she'd heard the ominous news, supposed sightings of the Shari and their dark masters, creatures that, since their defeat, had only really been known in legends. Yet, their presence was unmistakably a reality, and it was a grim existence that would have to be dealt with. The sword hanging from her side told her so, and, although she couldn't exactly describe or explain how she perceived this fact, she knew it to be so. It simply wasn't a matter that could be questioned. And so, guided by the blade she now carried, the sword her First Ancestor had carried long before she had even entered the world, she had set out. She was no stranger to traveling, having lived the large part of her young adult life wandering from place to place, and this trip had, at first, been no different. She had gone from town to town, either bargaining as best she could for food and lodgings, or working for those necessaries as well as for transport. Bit by bit, mile by mile, she had made her way alone across the country itself, slowly growing closer and closer to her destination. At first, her arrival in Peacemark had seemed like it would be just another such stop on her journey. And yet, in that city, things had suddenly changed somewhat. In asking around for supplies and guidance toward the legendary tower - although nobody seemed to know of its exact location, the city and its people were rich in old tales and legends that could tell her the direction in which she was supposed to go - she had abruptly been confronted by a girl, one of the companions with whom she now traveled. This girl, a member of an apparently mythical order even she had doubted the existence of, had, to her surprise, apparently already gathered several other individuals with blades like her own, the legendary swords of ancient times. Although she wasn't surprised to be found, she was slightly surprised to know that these others were also headed to the same destination as herself: the tower. Although she'd been somewhat reluctant to join, being rather wary of other people, there was a certain strength in numbers, and she couldn't have hoped to acquisition the supplies she needed in any reasonable amount of time otherwise. But, with the assistance of the Interfector girl, she could procure the necessary rations and horse for her own use. It had been a tempting offer, one she had ultimately agreed to. And now, here she was, an unknown number of miles out of Peacemark, riding alongside people she hardly knew to a legendary destination, with a weapon at her side that most people of the present age would have thought was just a fairy tale. There was a certain sense of awe to the whole situation that wasn't lost on her despite her calm, stoic demeanor, a sense that had remained with her from the moment she'd been guided to this place up to the present.
The silence that had fallen over the group hadn't been broken for some time now. Each rider merely stared ahead, guiding their horses only in the vaguest sense and simply scanning the horizon idly with their eyes. The only sounds were the quiet whine of the wind across the endless sea of sand, the measured breathing of the mounts beneath them, and the dull noise of hooves kicking up sand with every step. Idly, Rhoda reached down and patted the neck of her own mount - a fine mare with a soft gray hide; a large, strong creature that was probably descended from some breed of warhorse or another, considering its rather formidable build - which, compared to the horses ridden by the rest, seemed rather fresh. She hadn't exactly pushed it very hard, simply going alongside the other riders at whatever pace they chose without ever really forcing her mount to move out of its comfort zone. Besides, she traveled light, and wasn't much of a load herself. The beast chuffed, leaning slightly into her hand as she gave it a few reassuring strokes. The traveler had found that if you treated your horse well, it would do much more for you than if you simply ignored it. There was a certain loyalty and respect that even the smallest kindnesses could instill in the noble beasts of the sort she now rode. This horse was no exception.
An angry cry of surprise from next to her attracted her attention. At last turning her gaze from the long, featureless path ahead, she glanced out from beneath her white hood, her scarlet eyes settling on the source of the sound in an instant. One of her traveling companions, a noble boy of some sort, if she had his manner pegged right, had evidently gotten tired of sitting up - she wasn't surprised by this, as personal comfort was usually more important to members of the higher class than physical endurance or training - and had decided to try lying down on the back of his horse, perhaps hoping to fall asleep. Well, that wasn't likely, considering the moving nature of his would-be bed, but it seemed that the horse itself had problems with the idea, as it shifted uncomfortably, evidently made slightly nervous by how its rider was moving about on top of this. This slight jolt was all it took to shake the silly boy from his precarious perch, dropping him face first into the sand while his horse began trotting out ahead. Reaching out, the white-haired rider casually caught the reins of the horse, gently prodding her own mount to stay alongside it while she brought the wayward beast to heel, slowly stopping both mounts and then turning back toward the fallen rider. Swinging out of the saddle of her own mare, she hopped dextrously down, letting go of its reins - it was well trained enough not to bolt and run like the boy's mount had attempted just a moment before - and reaching out with her now freed hand to the fallen rider, offering him some assistance in getting up while at once calming his horse as best she could.
"Are you alright?" She asked quietly as she helped the boy to his feet, speaking one to one with another member of the party for perhaps the first time since she had joined the group. Her voice was gentle and soft, an airy sound that emanated from the slightly concealing hood of her mantle. Yet her speech also held a certain firmness to it, a calm yet direct tone that, although it most certainly showed emotion, seemed to cast this aside in favor of a pointed, straight-to-the-point manner of address.