Soria

He looked up from his sandy resting place to see Rhoda effortlessly calm his horse, bringing it back, and helping the young noble up. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." He said, tugging at the neck of his parchment-colored shirt, sand falling off of his chest, and smiling sheepishly at the hooded young lady. "I've uh...never really been an animal person." He said, thinking back to the time when his sister Viola first brought home her stray cat, Lord Whiskers. The mangy feline had been surprisingly good around the rest of the family, but the second he saw Caine, it was if the boy had murdered the cat's family in cold blood, and drank an entire mug of milk right in front of him. He still had scars on his back from that day. Not to mention his immobilizing fear of birds. He shuddered at the thought.

He carefully got back up onto his horse, being careful this time to sit in the proper riding position. He reached into his saddlebag and withdrew his canteen, taking a long overdue gulp of the luke-warm water. 

"So," He began looking over to the fairer rider. "Where are you from?" 

No one ever expects their first to be anything amazing or something you'll look back on with pride; it generally involves someone unimportant, the action is lackluster, and the result is both disappointingly early and unsatisfying to any degree. Most won't even talk about their first unless they're drunk and feel like joining in on the self-deprecatory ridicule of each other. The obvious reason for this lack of quality is, obviously, the lack of experience the person has. It supposedly gets better after a few times, you have more experience and are generally given more opportunities once you complete that awkward first time. That's what they say anyway, but Aislyn wouldn't be able to find out if it was true for quite a long time; journeys across the kingdom don't tend to end quickly.

Though, it must be said, that after a few horror stories about what other Interfectors had to do for their first assignment, escorting a bunch of children around doesn't seem too bad. The Rhoda girl seemed pleasant enough, even though being around her put the older girl on edge, and Anguish, from that house who seemed to have a tradition for passing down a horrible name, was at least quiet. Caine, someone who likes pissing away the comfy life thousands would gladly kill for, was another story, and Leo suffered from being his associate. After assembling all the people she had been able to find who had acquired, through legitimate means or thievery, one of the sacred swords, they made their way through the Iron Desert. She had received the five fine horses from her commander in Peacemark and was to take both them and their swords to the Tower of Istrikahn, a mission of apparently divine importance, but not one that required a more seasoned Interfector, or ten of them for that matter.

The workings of both the Gods and the upper echelons of the Interfectors would likely always be a mystery to Aislyn, because she was very aware of what was strapped to her back. A weapon that incredible, that destructive, and four others just as powerful were being carried by children across the desert, alone, without any proper security beyond the only recently accepted Aislyn. Forget about demons and the Gods, what were they supposed to do in the event that bandits showed up, or rebels, or any other force more organized than these five? Yes, the Interfectors are skilled warriors and excellent guards, but there is a limit to their skills and it likely falls short of an opposing army.

Regardless of her worries over what her commander's were thinking assigning her to this mission alone, she was now leading these people to do their gods' work against something that means to kill them along with everyone else. So, with that pressure weighted on her shoulders, the sudden sound from behind her and the loud calls that followed; apparently, the young lord had forgotten how to ride a horse and fall off. While some unbroken horses might throw off a rider, the ones that they were given were certainly well-trained and, therefore, the blame could solely be placed upon something the rider did. To prevent something like this from happening again and slowing them down further, Aislyn turned her horse as Caine and Rodah remounted theirs.

"It's good that you are unharmed, but we need to hurry and cross the desert before anything happens. Please refrain from doing anything that will delay us further." Turning back around and continuing with the pace she had set prior to whatever accident had just occurred, a slight smile appeared on her face; it wasn't often that she was able to tell others what to do.

The enigmatic cloaked figure simply nodded in response to the boy's sheepish reply, gently releasing his hand, turning, and hopping up onto her own mount once more. Her movements were fluid, swift, and seemingly effortless, almost as though she was some kind of a ghost simply floating back up into the saddle instead of actually having to climb it. Her scabbard clacked softly against the saddlebag, the only sound she made save for the quiet hiss of the sand as her feet left it, causing countless tiny grains to cascade down into her wake, obliterating her footprints the second she left them.

For a moment, she was completely silent, and it seemed as though perhaps she wouldn't answer the young noble's question, as the party's guide quickly interjected with a gentle scolding. In response to the Interfector's admonition, Rhoda merely nodded, and remained quiet for a moment. However, just when it seemed like she wouldn't speak any further, her quiet voice once more emanated from her white hood, nearly drowned out by the wind that spent the desert continuously.

"Wargleam," Rhoda answered in a single word, her voice quiet, stoic, and perhaps even somewhat unnerving. "Dunoir House. It's... just outside the city." It was strange, listening to her speak. Her words came slowly, and were very subdued and soft. Neither her speech nor her demeanor betrayed any of the thoughts going through her mind at the moment, both being concealed behind a calm, tranquil mask. Hearing her, one couldn't be sure if she was quiet because of some sort of shyness that crippled her attempts to speak, or if it was because she for some reason had literal difficulty talking. She was a mystery, and she was one that became only more enigmatic the more you knew about it.

Drawing forth her own canteen and taking a small sip, she quickly capped the waterskin once more and returned it to the saddlebag, giving a slight nod of her her in the direction of the rest of the party to signal that they should probably start moving. Gently prodding her mare, she once more set off at a slow trot, quickly coming alongside the others and simply joining them in mutual silence. What had been asked of her had been answered, and what she could do to help had been done. Now, all there was to do was to continue on their journey. It was as simple as that.