Timestamp: 19th of Cylus, 717
Location: Dust Quarter
It was cold.
Dark, and cold.
The temperature had dropped dangerously low the trial before, resulting in a number of deaths being reported in the Dust Quarter thanks to the disgraceful state of housing – or, in some cases, the lack thereof. Many of the citizens who lived just outside Rharne’s walls were either homeless or made their home in poorly maintained shacks. That, combined with Cylus snow and a complete lack of sunlight, was a recipe for disaster.
In an effort to help, the Thunder Priestess' Healer branch had spent most of the morning and early afternoon roaming the Quarter, offering aid where it was needed and handing out blankets, mittens, and scarves. Some of their sisters had joined them – Novitiates, mostly, and a few Clerics.
And, of course, Sabine.
Sabine’s mentor had “strongly encouraged” her to join the aid efforts, which of course meant that not joining was not an option. She had said it would be “good for the soul,” and that “a little cold helped build character”.
“I have plenty of character,” Sabine muttered.
She glanced sideways at Vincent. He, too, had character. The lantern she held in her right hand did little to illuminate his cloaked face, but his stoicism was apparent in the relaxed curve of his shoulders and the calm pacing of his steps.
When she had told him she was joining the Priestesses in the Dust Quarter that trial, she had asked him if he wanted to come along. It had been meant as a joke – an idea so ridiculous that he wouldn’t possibly say yes. She had thought he would laugh, wave at her from underneath the warm blankets that covered his bed, and send her on her way.
Instead, he’d agreed.
Only Ilaren knew why.
“Aren’t you freezing?” she asked, not for the first time. Despite her fur-lined gray cloak, gloved hands, and knee-high boots, the cold had still managed to seep into her skin and chill her to the bone. If this was what built character, then the type of character she was building clearly meant turning into a miserable old bag.
Up ahead, a tiny house sat squeezed between two other homes of a similar structure. The roof was whole and unpatched, unlike so many others they had seen that trial, but the windows were boarded up with wood and it was an easy guess to say that there was little to no insulation inside.
Sabine tightened her hold on the blankets she balanced on her left arm. Her complaints fell away, as they always did each time she and Vincent approached a new home, and the corners of her lips fell into a small frown.
It was anyone’s guess who, or what, they would find inside. Sometimes they found a family who welcomed their aid, but other times they were threatened or told exactly where they could go by the stubborn Rharnians who mistrusted their intentions.
Thankfully, they had not yet stumbled upon a body like so many of her sisters.
The lamplight swung out before them, helping to avoid the pockets of ice that littered the walkway leading to the door. Once there, Sabine set down the lantern, sucked in a preparatory breath, and knocked. During the wait that followed, her arm would brush against Vincent's. If he glanced her way, she would respond with a half-smile.
Whatever his reasons for being with her, she was thankful he was.
Location: Dust Quarter
It was cold.
Dark, and cold.
The temperature had dropped dangerously low the trial before, resulting in a number of deaths being reported in the Dust Quarter thanks to the disgraceful state of housing – or, in some cases, the lack thereof. Many of the citizens who lived just outside Rharne’s walls were either homeless or made their home in poorly maintained shacks. That, combined with Cylus snow and a complete lack of sunlight, was a recipe for disaster.
In an effort to help, the Thunder Priestess' Healer branch had spent most of the morning and early afternoon roaming the Quarter, offering aid where it was needed and handing out blankets, mittens, and scarves. Some of their sisters had joined them – Novitiates, mostly, and a few Clerics.
And, of course, Sabine.
Sabine’s mentor had “strongly encouraged” her to join the aid efforts, which of course meant that not joining was not an option. She had said it would be “good for the soul,” and that “a little cold helped build character”.
“I have plenty of character,” Sabine muttered.
She glanced sideways at Vincent. He, too, had character. The lantern she held in her right hand did little to illuminate his cloaked face, but his stoicism was apparent in the relaxed curve of his shoulders and the calm pacing of his steps.
When she had told him she was joining the Priestesses in the Dust Quarter that trial, she had asked him if he wanted to come along. It had been meant as a joke – an idea so ridiculous that he wouldn’t possibly say yes. She had thought he would laugh, wave at her from underneath the warm blankets that covered his bed, and send her on her way.
Instead, he’d agreed.
Only Ilaren knew why.
“Aren’t you freezing?” she asked, not for the first time. Despite her fur-lined gray cloak, gloved hands, and knee-high boots, the cold had still managed to seep into her skin and chill her to the bone. If this was what built character, then the type of character she was building clearly meant turning into a miserable old bag.
Up ahead, a tiny house sat squeezed between two other homes of a similar structure. The roof was whole and unpatched, unlike so many others they had seen that trial, but the windows were boarded up with wood and it was an easy guess to say that there was little to no insulation inside.
Sabine tightened her hold on the blankets she balanced on her left arm. Her complaints fell away, as they always did each time she and Vincent approached a new home, and the corners of her lips fell into a small frown.
It was anyone’s guess who, or what, they would find inside. Sometimes they found a family who welcomed their aid, but other times they were threatened or told exactly where they could go by the stubborn Rharnians who mistrusted their intentions.
Thankfully, they had not yet stumbled upon a body like so many of her sisters.
The lamplight swung out before them, helping to avoid the pockets of ice that littered the walkway leading to the door. Once there, Sabine set down the lantern, sucked in a preparatory breath, and knocked. During the wait that followed, her arm would brush against Vincent's. If he glanced her way, she would respond with a half-smile.
Whatever his reasons for being with her, she was thankful he was.
