#location.eterna

Araceli is grimy, dirty, and sticky. It’s been a week since the forsaken ship had gone up in flames, and the dip on the ocean that followed had done nothing to improve her mood. The week that followed wasn’t any better, as she struggled to piece together where to return, when her mind was still broken down in pieces. Making her way back to Lysara proper from the Queenset Isle Sylvie and her had washed up on had been an obvious step, but from there, she had struggled to find her place. She knew that at some point she would have to make it to the Tower, to try and get a witch to look at her fractured mind, but before she could even attempt to do as much, her feet had taken her to a Warding Stone and towards Eterna, further into the city and to a front door that seemed oddly familiar. 

It took her a long moment to realize that it was her place, and another for her to gather the courage and knock. It felt as if she would find a key part of her behind the door, but she can’t explain why. 

The thing about rumors is that despite every attempt to stop them, they will only grow and grow and grow. In time, they will change and twist and bend, but the kernel of truth will always remain. Anyone keen enough can dig past the shell to find the pearl within, and Valdís delights of working out the precision necessary to do it. It's a test for a skill she rarely gets to use on the Sea's Peril and one she does not want to lose. Her occasional trips to hostile shores is more than enough to keep her sharp, and as good excuse as any to supervise the crew manning the merchant ship to ensure there isn't any funny business going on.

Mercury's Bazaar is an excellent place to start on her meandering journey through the streets of Eterna — a pulse point of commerce, all merchants flock to it's streets and in between the banter and barter the truth slips from careless lips. Not quite as careless as those found in the bars, but in plan daylight the clientele will probably be worthless to her.

Stopping before a booth full of books, she allows her eyes to move languidly across the covers. She is trying to figure out if there is any worthy addition to her personal library when she feels someone loom over her shoulder, blocking the light.

"You mind?" She snipes, glancing back to send the interloper an accusing look. "You are hogging the light. Move."

Turning back to Eterna when they have declared Aventia lost was a bitter pill to swallow. Part of her had rebelled against the order, demanded to turn around and fight until the bitter end to ensure that the people of Aventia didn’t lose their home. Lailani had held them as they cried, soothed their fears and anguish and reassured them until hope took root, and yet she could do nothing but watch as the armies pulled back. 

Bitter optimism always pushed her forward, but even then, there is a pit of disappointment as she moves through the streets of Eterna. The light will not always prevail, she knows, but the hope is always there that it will. Another sigh filled with melancholy leaves her as she weaves through the streets, following the careful tug of the Weave as it leads her forward. Always forward. 

For a moment, she wonders if there will be another fight when she reaches her destination, but then her eyes fall in Nylathria and her spirit lifts as the tug disappears. 

Falling back into the comfort of research is something Shenuvun does easily, far easier than falling asleep. Her mind had always been too busy for her to go to bed easily, a million and one thoughts racing through her head as she laid back and looked at the ceiling, and that hadn’t changed in the mines. Rather, her propensity to avoid sleep had increased, born from her increasing paranoia and the knowledge that lowering her guard could very well see her dead in the hands of any of the other prisoners. So Shenuvun slept fitfully and with difficulty, which explained the shadows under her eyes as she walked through Eterna in the direction of the Tower, hoping to make use of their library once more. It also explained the sluggishness of her movement and her rather distracted manner as she weaved through the crowds. 

Another yawn escapes her as she sits a few feet away from the Standing Stone, and Zuleima doesn’t bother covering the yawn. It’s born out of boredom, rather than the need for sleep, and she takes a moment to check the sky to make sure she got the time correctly. In the distance, she can see the sun beginning to dawn, just enough rays coming through to both weaken her and let her know that she is indeed early to the meeting. It had been a deliberate choice, not wanting to waste time with the Right’s complaints if she didn’t make it on time, and giving some respect to the human's limited time. Zuleima might have all the time in the world, but the same cannot be said for the Master at Arms. 

Bored, she taps against the side of her parasol and debates on sending one of her conjurations to fetch Morijah to rouse her from sleep, in case she had indeed forgotten their meeting. In the end, she doesn’t need to do anything, the sound of steps finally reaching her ears. Standing up in a spring, Zuleima stretches her spine until it cracks and twirls the parasol in greeting to the mortal. 

Araceli had been leaving Knead to Relax with a bag of warm pastries held in hand, when a familiar face caught her eye on the crowd. Blinking slowly, she tilts her head and steps forward, eyes focused on the face until recognition flickers fully. Bafflement follows, but it doesn’t stop her from surging forward and weaving through the crowd to reach the face she hadn’t seen in so very long. Childhood seems so far away with responsibilities weighing heavier every day, but that doesn’t erase the memories spent sneaking through Eterna to see more of how people lived everyday or the people she met while doing it. 

Making it to the Cisterns while keeping a low profile in Eterna is more of a bother than she wanted to admit, and for a brief moment Valdís yearns for the time when she was relatively anonymous among the upper class of Lysara. Then she remembers Lady Ilithya’s face when she tried to steal her wig, and a snicker escapes her. Perhaps she doesn’t regret it nearly as much as she should, she muses as she makes it inside the bar and heads to the bar to order a pint, her eyes falling upon an elvhen that seems rather out of place with the usual crowd. Curiosity piqued her, and she considered her options for a moment before shrugging carelessly. The worst that can happen is that she meets another asshole with a stick in his ass, like the Queensguard in Caribella, and she is itching for a fight so if that ends up being the case. Well, all the more fun for her. And if not? He might have something of worth to share.