Who: @vicoya When: After the battle with the blighted dragon and the ranks of the Legion of the Dead have grown Where: Lostlands Encampment Notes: Took me long enough : (
Keeping count of the days had been difficult between the onslaught of new information, the strange cycle between dreamless sleep and nights when she couldn’t determine between Tove’s recycled memories and visions produced by her own subconscious. Things were better, but they were different. The relief she felt to be back at the encampment with the overall group could not be understated, but it felt altered somehow compared to the time spent in the tower before being abducted. Freydis was unsure if it was a change within her or because of the constantly shifting state of affairs in the way Iskaldrik found itself embattled that caused this.
And then there was the sudden loneliness. It was strange to be alone after what she and the other women had endured together, how dependent their survival had been on operating as a unit. That simply wasn’t so any longer, and though Freydis was grateful her isolation was a direct result of safety she still felt like something of an open wound.
Freydis suspected it would take time to reconcile this–to compartmentalize her feelings as herself and the way her shared knowledge and memories with Tove now colored her perceptions. The protectiveness she had felt would not wear off, but she knew better than to insert herself or intervene too directly. Even so, she found herself wandering a stretch of the camp that many of her peers might assert someone of the nobility had little business deigning to enter. The Legion of the Dead seemed to have cloistered themselves off, and why shouldn’t they have? While some minds had been opened, or at least convinced to play as nicely as possible with the magic-users and non-human beings of the troupe, many remained as stonewalled as ever against the idea of cooperation. Freydis felt their salvation, or any hope for survival at all, lay within wider cooperation across all factions.
It was that thinking precisely that landed her at Vicoya’s doorstep–if one could call it that. The tent city that served as the encampment had almost certainly seen better days, but trapped behind the shimmering wall of the arcane dome that trapped them, it served its purpose well enough. She worried she might be intruding on the woman’s privacy, but forced herself to extend a hand out to try and catch the woman’s attention nonetheless. “Do you have a moment for a word?” she asked quietly, something about her face looking sullen and wasted behind her eyes. Perhaps Freydis ought to have tried to make the connection with the woman sooner.
