#sigtryggr.troupe 1

[studentalthea]

@sigtryggerx location: Haven notes: Flashback, End of Troupe 1 to establish some vibes!

The air in Haven carried the crisp bite of coming summer, laced with the acrid scent of woodsmoke and damp earth. Beneath the looming stone walls of the Northern city, the Iskaran refugees huddled in long, uneven lines, wrapped in patchwork furs and threadbare cloaks, their breath curling in the cold.

Althea sat on a raised platform overlooking the ration distribution, her gloved hands folded neatly before her, the dark furs and violets of the Student's insulated robes unmarred by the grime and desperation that clung to the encampment camp below. She had no personal hatred for the Iskarans - disdain, perhaps, but nothing so passionate as hate. Althea didn't think of them nearly enough for that. If anything, the sight of them queuing like obedient cattle amused her. A people so proud, so insistent upon their strength, reduced to waiting in line for scraps handed out by those they had once named enemies. There was a lesson in that.

While Althea took no enjoyment watching women clutching their children close, it was a fair sight, seeing the Viking men worn from weeks of travel. Tattered clothes and engraved armbands. Even battered as they were, there was a resilience that couldn't be understated. If the tales from their travel were to be believed, they'd been through quite the ordeal. Aetherians. Blight. It all seemed too fantastical to be true.

One such approached, looking more worn than the rest, to which Althea greeted in kind.

"You've missed the line," Althea stated in lieu of any actual greeting, "it begins... all the way... back there." She gestured to a spot that had to be at least fifty feet away. Far away from her.