Syeira n'a pas aimé ça. Elle n'aimait pas du tout. La brume n'était pas naturelle. Mist se produisit le plus souvent le soir et ne survivait pas souvent à la lumière du jour. Les brouillards n'ont pas soudainement jailli dans l'existence dans les profondeurs de la nuit et ici elle a été englobée en eux même dans l'heure des sorcières. La lanterne accrochée à la tige de métal sur sa tête semblait complètement incapable de percer le linceul oppressif qui, à son tour, la força à cheval à ralentir à un rythme de plissement sans qu'elle ait à puiser sur les règnes.
Le gron poilu cramoisi a également noté que quelque chose d'autre avait changé. Les grands conifères qui avaient été sa garde d'honneur en bas de la route avaient versé leurs aiguilles et étaient maintenant un peu plus que des griffes osseuses s'étirant pour lui râter la chair. Les ombres avaient grandi, se présentant eerilement comme des taches plus sombres de brouillard. Cela lui donnait l'impression qu'elle était entourée d'ombres affreuses désireuses de consommer son âme même.
C'était étrange. La raison lui a dit qu'elle n'avait pas vraiment voyagé jusqu'ici, qu'elle devait entrer dans une tourbière ou un marais, mais que ses autres sens étaient différents. Elle pensait que quelque chose de magique s'était passé et elle craignait qu'elle n'ait été attirée dans les terres de l'insaisissable ou bannie dans les neuf enfers de Baator pour y être mise en place par les diables. Aucune de ces pensées n'était agréable et elle caresse nerveusement les petits crânes accrochés à sa taille.
Le wagon rebondit le long de l'autoroute, les ressorts supportant les grandes roues en bois coulant doucement et finalement elle se trouva dégagée de la forêt. Au début, elle pensait être arrivée, puis elle a été surprise de voir son souffle se brouiller devant elle et un frisson dans l'air. Cela l'a alarmée car il n'y a jamais eu de brouillard en hiver. Le froid lixiviait l'humidité de l'air. Pourtant, il y avait encore de la brume. Il reculait, s'éloignait dans toutes les directions, mais il était là.
Les yeux verts de Syeira regardaient ce qui semblait être les restes gelés d'une bataille ancienne. Un simple homme mort, enduit de jantes, entourait la carcasse brisée d'une citadelle. Elle tira son manteau vert autour d'elle, des pièces d'or la tapissant ensemble en le fermant sur son ventre nu pour éviter le froid. Lentement, elle continua, touchant les règnes du cheval qui s'était arrêté, clairement aussi stupéfaite qu'elle. Ensemble, ils ont plié en avant à travers le champ de cadavres gelés, se demandant où elle pourrait être à Faerun.
Syeira
Age: 26
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Class: Wizard
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Equipment: Syeira is a roving Gypsy with a Vardo wagon, a wooden walled wagon that is her home. Inside it are all the common implements one might expect including pots and pans. Attached to the top is a keg of water, several bags and small chests containing food and supplies.
Skills and Abilities: In addition to having access to several spells Syeira is a herbalist and crafter of potions.
Personality: Syeira has a scathing, dry personality. She has seen the worst of humanity. She's been chased out of towns at pitchfork point. She's been beaten and robbed and worse. As a result she has a rather low opinion of others. She usually keeps cynical nature hidden to customers who come to her seeking their fortunes read or to have a potion made effecting a sweet and trustworthy young woman.
While Neutral Evil, Syeira is not particularly murderous nor is she likely to blithely betray trusted comrades. Trust, after all, is a valuable commodity. She is, however, a coward and a shuckster. She has no qualms performing confidence jobs, rooking customers with dubious potions or otherwise making a quick bit of coin at someone's expense. Her personal favourite is a cure for common colds that works in just three to five days. It's amazing how often she sells those.
Backstory: Syeira was an orphan child, her father was a caravan merchant who getted her on the local strumpet. When her mother died only two years later, Syeira was left an orphan with no one to care for her. When the Gur came through and performed for the entertainment of the small settlement they refused to pay as was promised by the town villein and instead offered them the child as trade in lieu of payment.
The Gur were shocked, as slavery was something not seen in the Western Heartlands of Faerun, at least not outside of Waterdeep where Calishite caliphs and pashas often conducted business. Still, they took the child. For it was thought by their matriarch that it would greatly please their patron goddess Selune who was, by nature, a protector.
Thus Syeira group up with the Gur as one of them. She did stand out amongst them, with the Gur's dusky skin and dark hair, which was both a blessing and a curse for some of their number always saw her as an outsider and an outsider learning their secrets. She developed a number of thiefly skills for fleecing crowds when she was young but as she grew older she was often remarked for her insight which involved her learning to be a fortune teller. Occassionally, she would even glimpse strange images and was claimed to have "the sight".
Unfortunately, later in life as she reached her late teens, she incurred the lust of son of the group's "Big Man" and given his deluded notions of position, coupled with drink and the bawdy suggestions of his peers took to having his way with her in front of them. She, of course, responded by plunging a blade into his chest and nearly killed him... though not for lack of trying, having thrust into him thrice before being pulled from him kicking and screaming.
This event had dire consequences. It split the very clan apart in deeming the proper means to proceed and eventually it was determined that, for the good of the clan, she should depart for she would ever be a wedge, a schism in their group, forever setting them against one another.