It’s cold. Too cold. From the steamy jungles of Ionia to this - this frigid wasteland - it was a shock to the system, to say the least. A rift in the world, a mysterious speaker, a frozen world, torn from the land she knew and fought for - and now she was alone. A high price to pay for the power and strength she craved, of course - a bargain to destroy those who would not hesitate to carve down her home - but she had not realised the depth to which she would have to stoop.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Wincing with the cold underclaw, she hurried through the town, wind whistling through her earfeathers. Boots would have to be acquired soon, she realised, despite having wrapped herself in a plethora of blankets and cloaks. The bunkhouse was clean and welcoming, sure, but the sheer number of strangers there set her quills aching with tension. She felt too obvious, her dark plumage too stark a contrast on the gleaming ice and snow - she missed the fanciful golden blur that kept eyes and ears off her. Xayah had left as soon as she had dressed for the weather, in her own way - practically a walking ball of cloth and insulation. Truly, the tropical vastayan was out of her element in this world of frost and freeze.
“The Crystal Tavern,” she murmured, breath fogging in the air, face beginning to prickle from the cold - perhaps another place to take stock of her situation, find out just what this place was all about. The door swung open, the heavy knotted wood frosted with ice, and she sighed as the heat of the hearth washed over her. Xayah nodded a cursory greeting towards the bartender and stopped dead in her tracks, all thoughts of a warm drink forgotten.
Surrounded by swooning citizenry, probably mid-story. That cocky laugh. Those feathers. That hair. That goddamn grin. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
@battledanced