TimeStamp: Glade 89, 123
As the sun rose over Dawnhold, there was a momentary glint in the light, strengthening a single beam. This little ray of light landed upon quite an unassuming patch of the white stones of Dawnhold's roads. The bead glowed, then grew, forming a circle of pure sunlight there above the alabaster. A white boot stepped through, followed by the rest of a woman in form fitting white cloths and light brown and grey leathers, a scarf wrapped around her neck, her cloak fluttering in the chilly, winter touched winds. Her hair, pure white was loose and messy, and her violet eyes were darting around, before settling upon the Citadel.
A curt nod, and she stepped forward, a hand raised to her mouth, a small gasp through her fingers, her breath held in her chest. Another boot came through the portal of light, and with it, a white robe fluttering in the winds, an older, green skinned Orkhan man. He stepped forward, a hand upon the woman's shoulder, a comforting squeeze, as he too looked to the citadel. He spoke some words to her, but to any onlookers they couldn't be heard. The woman gave a few short nods, her hair parting, revealing her elven ears. She composed herself, wiping away a few tears.
The older man looked back as a third person stepped through the light. As she did, the portal closed, the morning sun subdued and matte off her full suit of armor. It was not pristine and perfect like many armors that were more suited for ceremony. This armor bore many scars, was worn, carried many stories with it, and the woman moved as comfortably in it as one would their own skin, and her armor made not a single sound. A green skinned Orkhan like the man, her face heavily tattooed, she bore a severe countenance. She too looked up at the citadel, and her gaze darkened.
She stepped between her companions, as a young page or attendant of some sort approached. No weapons were in hand on any of them, nor even openly worn. As the young man arrived, he asked the woman in the armor for their names. Her voice carried, and in it, an unshakable authority.
"Si'uvi Tikor Neverfall, Knight-Marshal of Ailos. Rophalin Zinpeiros Torchthief, Knight-Commander of Ailos. Tukor Qida Runerender, Knight-Commander of Ailos."
The young man's eyes grew wide, for these were famous names in the circles of Dawnmartyrs and the world of Ecith, and even among Imperials. And in the Order, there were only five Knight-Marshals in total, two of which stationed here. With a nod, he turned on heel, to go fetch those that would welcome them properly. As the trio waited, Rophalin, the white haired woman, was pacing about, bouncing around on her toes and heels, humming some song, inspecting the buildings and people nearby. Tukor, the robed man, reached into a pocket hidden in his sleeve, pulling a bright pink fruit from it, biting into it as he began looking to the skies. And Knight-Marshal Neverfall stood at her position, her eyes cast forward, her arms crossed behind her back, and she waited.