Saun 14th, 717
The sunlight beamed down angrily and violently, Saun already getting into full swing. As luck would have it Night wouldn't have to deal with such things today. As luck would not have it, that meant desk work for most if not the entire day. True, it was a blessing not to have to be out under the sunlight trying to map out something of menial importance. It wasn't like she'd been working in this same place doing the same job since last Saun or anything. It certainly wasn't like she knew the area around Etzos with the same efficiency as she knew a blade or anything. Sure, she could keep practicing and doing the same map over and over again, always mapping out the same areas for the most minute of changes. The half bird sighed heavily. "What am I even doing today?" She muttered to herself. Of course, she already knew what she was going to be doing, but the quiet and mostly rhetorical question helped to calm her fury. "Damn the man who thought this was a good idea, I'm running out of thing to do," she said as she glared down at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. Today was desk work. The likes of which included tending the shop, making copies of maps (something she was actually allowed to do now) and finally organizing stock from the highest quality maps to the lowest quality maps. The last thing was what annoyed her the most, considering it was the most subjective thing she'd ever had to deal with. Thanks to, "best to worst", being the only regulations people were given when they were told to organize the maps her maps usually ended up in the back, barely good enough to be sold. Not that she really minded, already knowing the truth of the matter well enough, but it still annoyed her greatly.
She sighed, once again dipping her quill into the ink and focusing in on the paper. Focus, it was easier said than done. Especially when the hot weather could also be called fly weather and it was impossible to keep the annoying beasts out of anywhere. Her eyes were trained downwards on the paper, watching the spot where ink would touch papyrus, when a buzzing noise flitted past her ear. She flinched, the quill bashing against the paper and causing a large blot to appear, her head darted around, eyes narrowed against the small menaces. There were tons just flitting around the shop, as people come and go so would the flies. Except the flies weren't exactly shy about breeding right in the shop. "Where are they even coming from?" She heard one of her co-workers ask. Night would like the ask the same question considering flies usually laid their eggs in something rotten.
"Perhaps they're using the temper of the 'Overlord' as a spawning ground," she muttered to herself with a smirk. The Overlord, as Night had not so fondly taken to calling the man, was a second in command of sorts to the real owner of the shop. If no one in the building actually liked Night, then everyone in the building hated The Overlord. Before Night knew it her nickname had picked up popularity and the man was running around trying to figure out who started it. Conveniently enough, Night had been able to keep out of the shop the day he found out, supply runs and all, and was able to keep any suspicion off of herself. He never did figure it out. The real name of The Overlord was Markan Valafie, a vile old man without a single kind cell in all of his body. Part of her was certain that if he was stabbed, his blood alone would be toxic enough to eat through whatever object had punctured such a bag of noxious fumes.
She shook her head, turning it back down. A deep frown ran across her features. This was the first piece of paper of the day she had wasted, certainly not the last if the flies had anything to say about it. Just as she was about to lean back down and use her new practice sheet her ears picked up once more on the sounds of buzzing. She huffed quietly, keeping her eyes on the paper. She started by sketching out the legend. She took a deep breath, keeping her hand steady and her strokes even. It was harder for her than most, the way the quill wanted to veer and move about under her attention, attempting to skit by in all the wrong angles. She supposed that was the fault of the languages she learned to write in as a child. It took an effort to keep every line and letter straight and legible. Her eyes nearly crossed as she stared intently down at her paper, eyes transfixed to the tip of the quill with all of her efforts. Eventually, she leaned back, taking a moment to breathe a sigh and marvel at what she'd created. Before her sat a fairly decent legend, mountains looked like mountains and roads looked like roads. The map would be entirely accurate and could be read, if just barely. Of course, hers would be the kind of map someone sold for a couple of nels in a back ally. The kind where you lost more money than you were making. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed as though her drawing skills remained stagnate at best.
Carefully she set to work on the next part of the map. A compass rose, the small little compass one could usually find in the corner of a map which indicated from which direction one should look at it. The little navigational piece was fairly important. In all honesty, you could probably just make a massive arrow and write north on it and it would still do the job. But there was no denying the compass rose looked better. Or at least, that was as far as her understanding of a compass rose went. Besides that small tidbit, she also knew that it could sometimes be called a windrose. In it's prettier and fruitier term, Roses of the Wind. Again she was clueless as to why. Carefully she drew the four pointed directions, the symbol almost star like in nature. Behind that would be four other points, slightly smaller, that rested in the crook between each of the arms. Those would symbolize the directions like southeast or northwest. It was always amusing when someone asked where southnorth was. As malicious of a habit as it was, she's built up a tradition of pointing in the middle of the star and going "there". The same thing could be said when someone asked about westeast. It was either sad, annoying, or hilarious depending on which way you looked at the situation. Taking it in stride, choosing the option that was least depressing, Nightshade had decided to take it as hilarious.
Finally, the compass rose was finished as she scribbled on tiny letters for each direction. On one map she'd gone as far as to make the compass rose white, making sure not to color it in as most do. At the center, she wrote SN and WE. She got yelled at and was told to throw the map away when a customer finally did buy it. She had thought that making it clear she could just go over it with black later if anyone got upset, but apparently an example had to be made of her map and it was promptly burned, this having happened back in Cylus no one was too upset about more fuel for the fire.
After putting the finishing touches on the beginning of the map she looked down at what she had created. It wasn't necessarily good, but it certainly wasn't as bad as when she'd started. Of course, she hadn't even begun to work on the actual bulk on the map. For that, she'd need to pull the current master copy and she didn't really feel like going through that nonsense. She always got a lecture. It seemed that people still had a distrust of her in the workplace, but honestly how much could she blame them? In the end, she belonged as a scout. That was just who she was. It would be better if she could draw really good maps. It would be better if she could make master copies. It would be better if she could travel the world in a way that no other cartographer could, making maps of everywhere. Even the "dangerous" places that the Smarter Charts refused to map and sell. To do such would ensure herself a future as a true adventurer. As soon as she learned how to properly use medical attention on herself she'd never have to worry about anything else, she'd never have to travel with another person. She could travel the world doing good. She wouldn't need friends because she wouldn't stay in a single place for more than a season if that. She could become a traveling saint, only barred from the likes of Rynmere. And that had ways of being nullified.
Now wasn't the time to think about such things. She was still young, she had arcs before she'd reach an age where adventure wasn't an option and even then those arcs could be extended through immortal and magical means. For now, she had a map to finish drawing.
"Nightshade!"
Or not.
"What is it, boss?" She responded as she turned her head upwards to gaze at the likes of The Overlord.
"I want you to head out with the boys. We're going a bit further than usual and there's a good amount of rough terrain. They need your wings if they want to finish by the time we need it. This map is getting too old to sell." He commanded, a stern look on his face as if he was about to shut down any argument.
Night wasn't about to give him any. Instead, a brilliant smile lit up her feature. "On it!"
