*COMPLETE* There are whispers across the kingdoms that the Paragon, that strangely gifted person who can wield all four Skills, has been found.
They're wrong, of course. No one has caught the Paragon. Allayria should know: she's it.
But Allayr...
Thalassa City is a bright, shining cascade of white walls and roofs rising and falling against the deep blue backdrop of the sea. Something seizes up in Allayria's heart when she looks at it, the place she called home six years ago.
They change into vivid, airy tunics and pants at the forest line, the billowing clothes drifting in the breeze as they make their way down the winding road to the city gates.
"Have you ever been here before?" Allayria asks the others curiously.
"All the time," Ben answers. "Thalassa is one of the first places we looked for the key, and it's a convenient port for all sorts of other items."
"Have you been?" Iaves queries, glancing sideways at her, but what he really means is: When did you come here? And: Why did you have to dye your hair?
"A long time ago," she answers and says nothing else about it. A hurried, stilted conversation mere paces from the city gates is not the way she wants to tell Iaves and Meg about where she came from.
Like Solveigard, the noise and bustle, the close proximity of all these people, all these things, all these animals, briefly press down at Allayria as she enters Thalassa City—but this is no city of metal and smoke, this is her home. The vibrancy of it all sears against her eyes for a moment, but the sea air and the familiar cries of the gulls in the sky seem to dim everything else. She presses a thumb against her wrist anyway, and thinks about the mental wall she will have to try to build again when they settle in for the night.
They go to a small, cottage-like inn near the docks. She always loved the docks as a child, on the rare occasions she accompanied her father or mother to them. The ships, huge and brown; the sails, flapping with what can only be desire to set out once more; the people, all clothed in different garb, scampering back and forth, lost in whatever small lives they lead. The docks are always moving.
Having lived in the upper quarters of Thalassa, Allayria is unfamiliar with the city life around them though, and she does not recognize the owner of the inn, a stooped, wizened man with cloudy eyes and a rough, baying voice. Iaves pays him the rate and the man hobbles up, clutching at an old, intricately carved cane as he leads them to the room.
"Carved it myself," he barks, catching her gazing at the cane as they stop in front of a chipped, blue door. "Three years. Would have been two months if not for the damned arthritis in my left hand. Let me tell you—"
"Thank you so much for your help, sir," Ben interrupts, placing a silver coin in the man's hand. "We appreciate your hospitality."
The innkeeper eyes the coin before flipping it into his pocket.
"Breakfast is at sunrise," he bellows, jabbing the cane into Iaves' stomach. "If you're late, you're on your own."
"I miss Magda," Iaves sputters, a hand clutched at his side, but the room they enter is much more spacious than the one at The Open Arms and there are yellow and royal blue flowers in the basket hanging out of the open window.
They stow most of their belongings under their cots but with the floor tiled and firmly in place, they agree that Ben should keep the key around his neck.
"When are we going to look around for a ship?" Allayria asks, stretching out on the cot next to the window.
"Tomorrow morning," Ben answers. "We should concentrate on getting supplies today. We're going to need food and water for our entire stay on the island—I doubt there will be anything there. We should also look into getting more rope, maybe some grappling hooks, wood, candles..."
"I think fire girl here can handle the grappling hook part," Iaves interjects, jabbing a thumb toward Allayria as Meg snorts from her place on the floor.
"Why do we need them anyway?" Allayria asks.
"We have no idea if the path to the library is accessible," Ben explains. "It may be that we'll need to do some climbing... You know, we may need tents as well, if we have difficulty getting inside..."
"So basically we need to prepare for everything," Meg cuts in.
"Yes..." Ben trails off, and he's looking to the side, his eyes out of focus. There's a long list of items scrolling down behind them, pulling themselves out of nothingness as he runs over all scenarios, his fingers drumming against the ground.
"Meg and I can get the food," Allayria volunteers, partially because she knows where the food market is, partially because the salt air is calling to her. "Candles and rope should be around there too, right?"
"I know a place," Meg says, stretching out. "Iaves, want to tag along?"
"Sure, why not?" he answers, turning back from his perch on the window.
"Durable food, please," Ben murmurs, a thin line appearing between his scrunching brows as he scribbles a list of items. "And look at the weapons, will you, Meg? See if there's anything useful."
"Yeah, yeah." She waves the request off, slinging an empty sack over her back. "We'll be back by noon then."
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Note: A full view of the artwork can be found on my deviantart account here: http://asimsluvr.deviantart.com/art/Meg-655478230
