82 Frost, Age of Steel
Zaichaeri Controlled Woodlands
The chill of Frost had begun to fade, brushed aside by the gentle warmth of the coming Glade. Even still, Vanessa had made sure to pack an assortment of blankets and furs in the back of the carriage. The absolute last thing she needed was for Anton to catch cold and for her to be blamed for it. No, she was taking her job more seriously now, and even wore a new dark blue jacket with House Michaelis' heraldry on her left sleeve. It was well tailored, clean, and did not even smell like stale grog. Those all mattered to Vanessa far less than the magical cloth that had been stitched along the lining, and of course the appropriate documentation sitting in her coat pocket just beside her flask.
They had begun their trip before the sun had rose, but she hadn't once complained about the dire hour of their departure. She was instead excited to be out of the city's walls, every day seeming more labyrinthine and claustrophobic than the last. She did complain about the bouncing and jostling of the carriage as it rolled over uneven, unworked ground on its way to their destination.
She had even spent some of the trip trying to read a collection of leaflets she had gotten from locals down in the Knob. None were particularly riveting. If they were, she surmised, Zaichaer would not have let them be distributed. What was instead important to her was that she continued reading as voraciously as she could, whether she read about rising tensions between nations or a new business offering discounts for its grand opening. It was still slow going, but she no longer had to speak the words aloud, and was recognizing more of them by the day.
After some time, the carriage finally stopped, and there was a knock on the roof of the cabin, the driver. Vanessa still found it difficult to believe that House Michaelis, and by extension her, had personal chauffeurs.
Peering out the window, Vanessa saw enormous old growth trees towering at the edges of the clearing, snow melting from the branches and leaving the ground wet as she opened the door and stepped out. She breathed deeply, the scent of pine and rain heavy in the air, and smiled.
The clearing was large, and was a well known camping site for those who traveled the roads without coin for an inn. The forest seemed to stretch ever onwards before them, and there were no small number of trees back the way they had come from either.
"C'mon, Anton. Help me unpack." Vanessa said as she circled around to the rear of the carriage and begun unloading her armaments. Four pistols far too expensive for her paygrade, a similarly filigreed rifle complete with an already fixed bayonet, and ten boxes of caster shells. She also had brought along no small amount of empty bottles and chipped plates to serve as targets. She had yet to figure out precisely how she might set up the targets such that Anton might hit something, but Vanessa's best plans had never been planned.
The carriage driver, Walter, tipped his hat to the both of them as they retrieved their gear. He was an older gentleman, wings of grey hair well styled on either side of his head. "I shall be back for you come evening. I would love to stay and observe, but these horses are not cavalry stock. Unused to the roar of battle, and I'd hate to spook them as such to delay your return trip."