As a light brown courser trotted towards the village, its rider looked ahead with glazed eyes, lost in thought. If this had been mere months ago, the beauty of autumn in Santaruz would have left Morgan in awe, but her current situation left her with no desire to admire the scenery. Besides, despite the lovely sights, she did not want to spend any more time in this Elimine-forsaken country than she needed to. She hoped she could conclude her business in Lycia before long, and not just due to her bitterness towards their empire.
Her family had disappeared. Despite all her attempts to track them down, the trail had gone cold.
Tracing her family's path through Etruria had been remarkably easy. She'd managed to follow their route almost exactly up to the border, using information gained from villages they'd passed through on their way. As soon as she reached Lycia proper, though, such information grew sparser and more spurious; by the time she'd made it to Badon, Morgan couldn't fish out anything on their whereabouts. Coming to Santaruz was nothing but a hunch, and one that Morgan was dreading would lead her even further off the trail.
Morgan shook her head, trying get herself out of her funk. From what she'd heard, Santaruz could potentially be hostile towards a traveler like herself, and she needed to be aware if that was the case. Taking a brief look at the village ahead, she spotted a number of Lycian soldiers marching from building to building. From what she could see, at least some of them were warriors of Lycia's church. A knot formed in her stomach at the sight; the last thing she needed was potential arrest at the hands of zealots like these.
Morgan dismounted and led her horse to a tree at the edge of the village, tying to to one of its lowest branches to stop it from running off. A sudden impulse to remove her bow from its pack washed over her, but she dismissed it as foolish. Leaving her horse behind, she walked at a brisk pace through the streets, scanning the the buildings for an inn or tavern of some kind as she went. She clutched her pack in an iron grip and prayed she didn't look too conspicuous.
Her family had disappeared. Despite all her attempts to track them down, the trail had gone cold.
Tracing her family's path through Etruria had been remarkably easy. She'd managed to follow their route almost exactly up to the border, using information gained from villages they'd passed through on their way. As soon as she reached Lycia proper, though, such information grew sparser and more spurious; by the time she'd made it to Badon, Morgan couldn't fish out anything on their whereabouts. Coming to Santaruz was nothing but a hunch, and one that Morgan was dreading would lead her even further off the trail.
Morgan shook her head, trying get herself out of her funk. From what she'd heard, Santaruz could potentially be hostile towards a traveler like herself, and she needed to be aware if that was the case. Taking a brief look at the village ahead, she spotted a number of Lycian soldiers marching from building to building. From what she could see, at least some of them were warriors of Lycia's church. A knot formed in her stomach at the sight; the last thing she needed was potential arrest at the hands of zealots like these.
Morgan dismounted and led her horse to a tree at the edge of the village, tying to to one of its lowest branches to stop it from running off. A sudden impulse to remove her bow from its pack washed over her, but she dismissed it as foolish. Leaving her horse behind, she walked at a brisk pace through the streets, scanning the the buildings for an inn or tavern of some kind as she went. She clutched her pack in an iron grip and prayed she didn't look too conspicuous.