who: @despairlyklor where: the Silverlands, in the forests outside Lóren'dial when: present days notes: let me know if this works, I can make any necessary changes Talisa had not followed Fyren on one of his guild contracts in quite some time, but in the wake of a recent argument he had weaponized her hesitancy to engage with the world they inhabited against her and she had begrudgingly resolved to try again. It went this way every few years; Talisa would try to find some aspect of Taravell to invest in, promptly became disillusioned, give up, and whittle months away sulking. With constant talke of an all out war on the horizon, Dark Spawn seemingly encroaching from every end of the earth, and the Aetherian making their presence plainly known across the map in Iskaldrik Talisa had come to understand this might be her last chance to come to know and experience the Taravell in the fables Fyren told her about the world he had once walked. The opportunity to trail Fyren’s coattails to the forested hills outside of Lóriel’dal on contract with the guild seemed like a natural starting place. The contract was simple and low risk, even for Tag-Along-Talisa: discover the hideout of a band of thieves disrupting trade between the Silverlands and Queenslands and take them either to custody or their graves, whatever the occasion demanded.
Of course, Talisa was hardly a warrior. She kept her own quarters and remained close to the provincial, woodsy inn where the true guild members slept and had established a small communications hub with the four or so members on the contract. Her days and nights were her own, though she perpetually hovered near or with Fyren when he had spare time. The woods were charming in their own sylvan way, but Talisa was hardly a naturalist. The setting was wasted on her as she gazed upon the towering spires of the city, which she had heard was something of a cultural hub, far on the horizon and wished she was somewhere more exciting.
Finally, several days in with slow progress made amongst the guildsman and almost none at all on Talisa’s account, the steele dragon decided that even if she would night find her great love of Taravell in the woods of the Silverlands she could at least find something productive to fill the days it would take for the guild to finish their work. After the recent break in of a thief who had the audacity, and unfortunately some soft of invisibility cloak, to ransack the home she shared with Fyren Talisa knew she needed to learn to defend herself better. She could dispatch a pile of logs into firewood, but her skills started and ended there. To practice her hand grip and aim, she had chosen an unfortunate tree not far from the inn–and from the sight of the rather dispersed chop marks in the tree, it was not going well. When the sound of someone behind her pricked up the sharpened, elvhen ears of her polymorph form she turned to see who had intruded on her embarrassment of a practice drill. She recognized the man as a guildsman, but had been half expecting Fyren. “Are you all returning from the fray, or headed into it?” she asked, somewhat breathless from the exertion of trying to learn to wield the ax.