Post by Sevirris on Jun 2, 2020 0:26:02 GMT
Even in a warzone there are silent evenings of little consequence, where no grand events happen leaving everyone to a simple time of solace to build relationships with the warriors, who fight beside them, to remember what brought them where they are or simply look toward the future, with all their dreams and aspirations. This is one of them, an entirely common evening, when the Druchii simply had to endure each other's presence and rest.
Sevirris sits, within the tent claimed by the Coven. She's been relatively sickly since the day before the Command moved into Avelorn. The enigmatic Sorceress largely kept to herself, even more so than she usually did. Her presence and keen eye known, yet rarely seen. Currently digging through some roast, with little apetite.
Lethen sits, in a chair, in front of the tent she has chosen, after her discussion with Duvaindir drinking water and observing the bustle of the camp settle for the evening, with the last loose rays of sunshine gleaming off her heavy brass face mask. Seemingly content to await the next course of action.
Sevirris sits, within the tent claimed by the Coven. She's been relatively sickly since the day before the Command moved into Avelorn. The enigmatic Sorceress largely kept to herself, even more so than she usually did. Her presence and keen eye known, yet rarely seen. Currently digging through some roast, with little apetite.
Lethen sits, in a chair, in front of the tent she has chosen, after her discussion with Duvaindir drinking water and observing the bustle of the camp settle for the evening, with the last loose rays of sunshine gleaming off her heavy brass face mask. Seemingly content to await the next course of action.
