Yolryta was never the seat of the betrayers, but they were the most important. The families of Yolryta joined onto the cause of the Isle Carrosa and her families before any others considered it. Before the Betrayers could be brought back into the fold. And, while Carrosa betrayed for philosophical reasons, the families of Yolryta had no such noble goals. Yolryta was a mass of arable land, a veritable breadbasket waiting to be planted. But the Kingdom needed no new, distant breadbasket. It is, after all, replete with farmland already, on Vyrrolte’ytta itself. But this new state of Betrayers, they could use such a place, and so the Families of the Isle Yolryta made a deal and became the reason their state survives to this day. And the reason those families, at least the surviving ones, are among the richest in all that remains of the Vyroltea.
But with money comes disconnection. The families, so focused on the profits of their plantations, have ships coming in and out at all hours. Their greed means fewer patrols and eyes than they should have. And the number of people coming in and out means one more is oft unnoticed walking about town. Alessari knows she can use this, so long as she looks the part. A part of a ship’s crew wandering the docks and nearby buildings, then a peasant of some kind further inland. Ytsarra is a perfect such town, where anyone could disappear for some time, in most circumstances. Unfortunately, this town also still conducts regular trade with Rylitta, so that rule doesn’t really apply. It won’t truly be safe for her to stay here. Not for long, at least. By now, the assassins have likely figured out her ruse. Figured out that an heir to House Tise’el still lives. When the Betrayer spies within the Kingdom’s armies get word, they will first check if Ressyta still hums to the melodies of her house. Then, once they know she is not where she ought to be, they will assume she has infiltrated them through Rylitta. Then the military and the intelligence organizations of the Betrayer State will come here to root her out. She knows she can’t hide from them in this small town. She needs to find garb and head into the countryside first.
Alessari waits below decks for the sailors to all be gone, off to enjoy the town and all it has to offer. Once only silence remained in the decks, she heads up herself. The sun burns lower than she expects, but still burns in the sky above. And the local guards seem to be on to the next ship into port. Heading off the boat, she moves past the docks and into the area of town in which the sailors await their next batches of cargo, or their bosses to give them the whistle. An area of town where everyone is a new face, and holds themselves as such. She could stay hidden here for quite some time, she muses, were she not in her situation. With a somber shaking of her head, she walks the streets, eyes on everything without moving her head. She absorbs the garb and postures of everyone who seems to be local. She needs to become one of them.
The key to peasant garb here seems to be on the formless side of such fashion, rather than the drab side. Useful to Alessari in hiding her own armor beneath the disguise. Most people might try something with the bars and find places to lay low. She doesn’t have such luxury of time or energy to waste any doing that, though. Her best bet, she figures, is to find an outfit left out to dry. But to do that will mean she’ll need to head further into the city. To areas where a lone sailor type would stand out like a sore thumb. Fortunately, slinking about in the shadows is something she’s quite comfortable doing. And while she prefers to do so while wandering between the trees, she can make do among the stones.
Waiting for a clear street, she heads into an alley. With a jumping start, she bolts up the wall and rolls onto the roof. Staying low, she makes her way to the edge, leading deeper into the large town’s more residential areas. Waiting for the street below to be clear of people, she leaps across to the next rooftop.
People, they do not tend to look up unless something stands out. Keeping low and only leaving the contours of the roofs when the streets below are clear, Alessari is practically invisible. Just as she wants it. About seven streets past the final sailor she’s seen in town, she finds a line hanging across two buildings. A line with three sets of clothing hanging off of it. Testing the line by pressing down on it, she can tell it won’t be able to hold her weight. If she could hold onto the rooftop with her toes and hang horizontally, she would just be able to reach the clothes that seem the best size to her eye, well trained in the finer points of dress and fashion. She could pull it in, but that would drop at least one item from the first set of clothing onto the ground below, and even though she needed to take those clothes, she wanted to do it without causing too many problems. Instead, she ties a rope between a pair of arrows. Taking the first, she twists it deep into the thatching in the roof she’s atop. Taking a breath and a moment to aim, she fires the other arrow across the road. The rope-laden arrow imbeds itself in the exposed joist, just below the roofing.
Wrapping herself around the rope, she slowly slides out above the street. Two windows and an empty street. She keeps her eyes on all three, darting from one to the next to the next, then back. All clear as she slides down her line to beside the outfit. Gripping the rope with her legs tightly, she leans over and removes the shirt from the line. She pulls it on over her own leathers and cinches the bottom. Then she takes the pants off the line. Holding them in one hand, she wraps the other arm around her rope and lets her legs fall. With one hand, she pulls her borrowed pants on over her leathers, tucking it under the cinch as well, best she could with one hand. Finally, grabbing the shawl, she loosens her wrapped arm and drops from the rope. She hits the dirt road with a roll, perfect for making the slightly damp clothes look well-worn. Wrapping the shawl over her bow and head, she checks the street one last time, then heads towards the road out of town.
As she’s leaving town, she runs into a small team of three mercenaries about to enter. They’re looking for work on the front, in all likelihood. Unfortunately, one of these mercenaries used to work for her House, doing the occasional brutality. It seems Orrysalro has switched sides in the ensuing time. Fortunately, a new ship must have just come in, because the guards Alessari expects should be at the gate are not there.
Orrysalro looks at her, surprised. “Alessari?” he says, baffled by her presence, “What are you doing here?”
“You know this peasant?” one of his fellow mercs says, then makes an assumption, “Good on you, I was worried.”
Alessari stares the merc she knows down. “I could ask the same of you,” she says quietly.
“I suppose, but you know the answer to that one,” he replies.
The third adds, “Because there’s more money on the front than anywhere else.”
Still staring at Orrysalro, Alessari continues in her quiet, menacing voice. “Go your way, head to the front. Forget you ever saw me, Orrysalro.”
The second merc laughs at that, “Why? What on-”
Alessari cuts him off. “I’m not talking to you.”
“We aren’t scared of you,” the second presses.
For the first time in this conversation, Alessari’s head turns. She faces towards the second, laughing merc. “You should be,” she says quietly. A shiver runs down the merc’s spine.
“Sari, these are good men,” Orrysalro insists, “Don’t kill them, please.”
Alessari turns back to him. “Will you forget me?”
“That depends,” he says, “How big of a problem will it be for us if I do?”
Alessari shrugs. “Miniscule. You’ll understand once you’re on the front, in all likelihood.”
With a sigh, Orrysalro nods. “You’re forgotten for now, Sari. Don’t screw me on this.”
“Take care of yourself, Salro,” Alessari says as she heads past the somewhat confused and frightened group of mercenaries and towards the next city. She could tell his men will have many questions for her old, well, acquaintance. None he would ever answer, but they will have questions nonetheless.
She decides to head for Inrotta. It is both a stop along a few Caravans’ paths, and is a frequent port for the young states to the north. She hopes that, from there, she can find a way out of the Betrayer State from there, and can do so before news of her survival and flight reaches the wrong ears. Before this place is overrun by people looking for her. The roads between Ytsarra and Inrotta are winding, passing around the plantations of the region. If she weren’t from Ressyta and used to a truly beautiful and wild nature, this walk might be a wonderful sight to take in. Trees of many varieties line each farm’s borders, defining them as such. But it isn’t the same as Nature. It’s not wild as it should be, and it constantly yearns for a freedom that the families who control this land fight against at every turn. If she weren’t on the run, she might be tempted to help, but she can’t afford that. Not right now. Her own safety needs to be the top priority. She’s studied the maps of her familial enemies’ lands enough to know the main roads, at least.
For the tale of the House Tise’el, what happens on the second day of Alessari’s journey ranks alongside their exile and their refusal to betray as one of the most significant turning points in the story’s direction. Had she continued to Inrotta, she would likely have been caught by the intelligence presence there. But instead, she begins herself, and in turn her family, on a different path. All because on the road, she meets a lone, well armored woman in need of assistance.
The sun blazes strong overhead when Alessari spots along her path, a woman hounded by wolves. The woman seems more than capable of defending herself against one, maybe two. But five seems a bit more than even the human woman in plate armor with a tower shield can handle. And, in a split second decision, Alessari sees an opportunity and decides to help. She needs to think on these wolves, she takes a moment as she slides into a better angle. Spotting the largest of the group, she deduces it’s likely the alpha female of this group. The others seem to swarm near it any time it gets threatened. Taking an arrow and drawing it back, she says an Ancient Elfish chant, drawing her thumb along the fletching. The green-gold spiral spins up and down the shaft. Then, she fires.
The arrow slides deep into the wolf. Unlike the okrativ on Ressyta, this is a normal wolf. She stands no chance against a well placed, deep hit from Alessari’s bow. The vines spill out from the corpse, wrapping themselves around the legs of the two nearest wolves. Two of the others, without their mother’s force of will containing their wild side during a hunt, begin to yell at one another. The well armored woman takes the opportunity in the panic to take care of one of the entangled ones.
With the chaos and the vines, it takes the pair of women little time to dispatch the remaining three wolves. The woman approaches Alessari, holding out a hand. “Many thanks for your aid this noontime,” she says with a pleasant smile. “I am Sister Hilan, of the Darian Order of the Cold Fist’s Bold Flame.”
Alessari takes her hand. She knew she would since before she fired at the wolves. “Alessari. A pleasure.”
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