Queen of Thieves (queenofthieves) wrote in riftlogs, @ 2018-03-03 20:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! complete, ! narrative, skyrim: astrid |
Who: Astrid
What: Fucking magic users
When: March 3rd
Where: The Marshes
Warnings: Language
Status: Narrative
At first, she didn't notice. It smelled the same. Or mostly anyway. Riften had a heady, watery stink that one eventually got used to, to the point where she rarely smelled it at all anymore unless she was down at the docks while the fishermen hauled in their loads. Sometimes it was worse down in the Cistern, with so many unwashed bodies rubbing so close to each other. That was why Astrid stayed at the house most nights. Not all, of course, wouldn't be right to seem like she didn't want to spend time among her own men. Didn't want to look like she thought she was better than them, even if she often did. But most.
Last night hadn't been one of most. Bryn was off on his own job and that left the Riften house empty and echoing. She didn't like it when he wasn't there. It felt too closed in, too real, too...well...homey without his large comforting bulk there to remind her of their place in the world. Without the trappings of the sewers, she could look around the house and forget, for a moment, where she came from, and she didn't like that at all. And nothing reminded her of her place in the world better than Bryn. So she'd slept in her old bed last night, with men snoring to either side of her and the comforting sound of arrows hitting targets and water trickling through gutters all around her.
Honestly if her boots weren't getting wet she might not have even noticed the difference. Astrid sat up slowly, annoyed but alert. Her hair was covered in muck, but that didn't bother her so much. Merely more evidence of the situation she found herself in. A swamp. She hated swamps. Swamps followed no rhyme or reason. In a mountain or a forest, if you could find the water you could find the way. But in a swamp water went everywhere, wherever it damn well pleased. Fucking swamps.
Astrid picked herself up out of the mud. She didn't bother to try and wipe it away, there was no point. Then it would just be on her hands and she needed her hands more than she needed a clean backside. Slowly and methodically she took stock. She still wore her Nightingale leathers, she'd been too tired to take them off when she'd come in near dawn. Her pendant still hung around her neck. Beside her in the mud lay her daggers, her bow, and her quiver, thank the Goddess for that. her cowl and hood were crumbled in a heap. She thought she'd hung it on the peg of her bed, must have gotten tangled with her blankets and been pulled off. At least it was here now, whatever shape it might be in. She pulled it up and put it on, grateful for the feeling of security it brought her.
She did not know these woods. That was becoming clear the longer she stood there. This was not a place she had been before, and she had been most places. The air didn't smell right. The trees didn't look right. The birds didn't sound right.
"Very interesting," she said quietly to herself, a low murmur of sound that was softer than a whisper. Magic users. Only explanation. It wasn't exactly the first time she'd been snatched by someone with a grudge, but that time the someone had stuck around to gloat about it and ended up dead. There was nothing for it, she'd have to find her way. Closing her eyes, Astrid tested the ground with her feet. She stood still for so long a curious bird landed on her shoulder, thinking her to be a rather oddly shaped tree. At last, she opened her eyes, sure of her direction. There was the slightest elevation to her left, the ground going upwards by inches at a time. Up meant away from this wetness and up meant a better vantage point. Silently, she turned her steps in that direction.