Dawn broke, but with little light with it. Riza rose out of her firm, inflexible bed, feeling the residual sensations of straw sticking at her through her sleep. The room was dark; no candlelight illuminated the area nor did the warm, morning light seep in from around the shutters. In fact, the air was frigid and cold, Riza shivering briefly as she left the warm embrace of the blanket she was sleeping under. Even though she slept in the same clothes she had been given by Renald a few days ago, they hung loosely off her slim frame and did little to insulate her from the cold.

Even though her clothes were getting dirty and she hadn't washed herself nor her clothes in days, that was barely even an issue on her mind.

As she slowly came to, her mind regaining the mental acuity and focus she had normally had when sober, the nearly silent soundscape began to buzz quietly with life. The slamming of the shutters against the window, against the wall, grew louder--so too did the wind, cutting through the small gaps and pushing against the whole house, a quiet howling to her ears. Even the bed, with its old, wooden frame, creaked as she pushed herself to the edge, her bare feet tentatively making ground against the cold, wooden flooring.

Her craving for shoes grew less by the day--not having to deal with mud or soil getting between her toes lessened her annoyance with the fact Renald had nothing in her size. Besides, there was something more real with physically touching the magical world around her, unhindered by cloth or leather.

Her ears perked up as she began to make out the sounds of irregular rainfall, pitter pattering against the roof.

Murmurings and mutterings could soon be heard echoing out from the other room; the sound seeped in from around the doorway as the wooden slab sat poorly on its rusty, iron hinges. She could make out a few words--barely--but a combination of volume and inability to speak the language meant those words were vacant of context and effectively unintelligible to her.

Though she did hear her name, and not in the sense someone was calling to her.

As she rubbed her hands together, stretched out her body on the bed and jumped straight to her feet, she began to stretch. Her feet made nary a sound, with the rustling of cloth mixed with the soft footsteps the only sounds that could be heard from her. In an attempt to warm herself up and to be in the best state if she needed to move quickly, she exercised her muscles briefly, limbering up.

Once satisfied that she had completely flushed the sleep out of her system, her mind sparkling with clarity, she focused once more on the sounds of conversation.

Nothing. Pure silence.

Hesitantly, Riza pushed open the door to the bedroom, the surprisingly light thing swinging out of the way and granting her a view of the current occupants.

Pleasantly, the two people sitting at the table were two that she was familiar with; one was the enigmatic Saniel while the other was Belfore, her recent conversation companion.

Saniel's yellow hood was down, and his unscarred hands were clasped together on the table. His robes were spotted with dark, damp patches but both his hands and his hair were completely dry.

Belfore, meanwhile, had his hood down for once, his shortly cut, greying hair wet and unkempt--even his neat amount of facial hair was dripping slightly. His robes, though presumably soaked through, bore their usual, dark colour and prevented any off-colour, damp spots from being obvious.

Now that they were finally side-by-side, Riza found herself with her first opportunity to truly examine two people at the same time; any other occasion always had their faces occluded, their hoods up, or there was only one of them.

Firstly, there was a distinct difference in age; Belfore's salt and pepper hair betrayed stress, age, and experience through the colour, but he had a head full of hair and a beard that looked like he spent at least a little bit of attention on. Saniel, meanwhile, had slightly shorter, brown hair the colour of soil.

Then, there were their eyes. Belfore looked on with sunken eyes, crows feet only one amongst numerous winkles, but they held an unimaginable depth and pierced straight through you. Perhaps it was related to his class or his skills, but his eyes were uniquely expressive, even without doing anything.

In comparison, Saniel's looked... Mundane, really. They were of a typical brown that Riza had observed, of the shallowness she had grown all too used to in her memories, the energy of youth intermittently enlightening them.

And, finally, there were their clothes. Belfore had already mentioned briefly to her the different arms of the Dominion of Skaldur, as well as the roles within it, but their different uniforms--she supposed--cemented in her mind the distinctions between what was just knowledge in her mind.

Belfore's robes were thick and dark, looking expensive. His hood was a bit more saturated in colour--a bit more purple--but with sparkling golden accents crafted in impossibly complex and beautiful patterns, any meaning beyond their aesthetic appeal lost on Riza. When they first met, he had brought a rugged cloak with him, though she was a bit confused with why he didn't have it with him, seeing how it was apparently raining outside.

Saniel's was much more similar to the rest of the Dominion that Riza had met; white robes speckled with dirt towards his feet but otherwise untarnished by any decoration or pattern except for the hood. Whereas Belfore's hood was accented with delicate filigree-like things, Saniel's was much a bucket of paint had been dropped on his head. His whole hood was yellow, contrasting, even slightly, from the pure white robes as much as possible. Emphasis was more on a colour distinction rather than weaving intricate, beautiful patterns into the fabric. He also had with him a dark, brown cloak, lined with fur and draped around his shoulders.

Saniel, she had gathered, was a young and relatively inexperienced member of the Dominion and, as Belfore had told her, of the two groups that currently occupied this outpost, he belonged to 'Domain 5'. Though Riza found such a generic name strange for what seemed to be a high-class and auspicious organisation, Belfore hadn't commented on it, seemingly quite normal to him.

Talking of Belfore, though he was a part of the Dominion just like Saniel, he wasn't in any kind of 'Domain'. Rather, he belonged to the 'Halls' which seemed to be a collection of archives and archivists. Though he seemed very eager to explain it all to her, time was the enemy and he had to content himself with merely explaining the situation succinctly; there were groups of archivists that made up the halls and each member was known as a 'scribe'. He was a member of the Hall of Voice, known as a linguistical scribe, and longed to be head scribe of said hall, a feat he greatly praised Riza in helping him move forward in. She didn't really understand, but gratefully accepted his praise.

She was certain there were probably complex and nuances politics in play between the different branches of the organisation--information that she had better learn quickly lest she screw herself over accidentally--but seeing how both Saniel and Belfore sat at opposite sides of the table, making eye contact and neither in an elevated position over the other, she assumed that their positions must've been relatively similar. Not too drastic a difference to demand a heightened level of respect.

Though, maybe she was observing a gross disrespect that neither commented on?

As she entered the room, Saniel motioned to a seat while Belfore began waving his hands in a silly fashion. She didn't know why she was drawn to it but, as she sat down, she watched his hands with interest.

"Hello, Riza," Belfore spoke, Saniel staring at him somewhat incredulously.

"To what do I own this fine visit?" Riza replied, feeling somewhat more content than last night, raising her head high and staring Belfore in the eyes.

"There's an update to your situation," He began, casting a quick glance at Saniel who was now staring between the two of them. "My report has been filed and sent and so a reply should be arriving in around a week's time. For the-"

"How long is a week?" Riza blurted out inelegantly, the question stabbing at her mind.

"It's eight days," He replied quickly.

"And a day is how long?"

"A day is a day--from sunset to sunrise," His words were sharp and curt.

Riza sighed internally before saying 'okay'.

"Hmm. Well, for the time being, you have been assigned under Steward Andreya provisionally. Saniel, here," He gestured towards the young man, visibly perking up upon hearing his name. "Is Andreya's assistant and has been tasked to escort you while you get used to the place. Additionally, you have been given the rank 'Neophyte of Life'." Belfore finished talking, his tone steady like he had rehearsed what he was going to say.

He didn't continue, nor did Riza reply as she was processing everything. So many words, terms, all with a meaning she didn't yet know--and that was ignoring any informal and unofficial phrases he might've used.

Eventually, however, Belfore must've deemed the silence protracted enough for he opened his mouth to speak once more:

"Do you have any questions?"

"What exactly will I be doing?" Riza inquired after a minute or two of thinking.

This prompted Belfore to whip his hand through the air suddenly before falling into a quick, rapid conversation with Sanie. She couldn't follow the conversation--their voices too quick and too quiet--but she could only imagine it was because Belfore hadn't been told beforehand.

Finally, Belfore drew back and cleared his throat with a cough.

"The first thing that will happen is that you'll be taken to the quartermaster for your equipment. After that, you'll be introduced to Sylan, another Neophyte of life; he'll advise you on what you'll have to do."

"Will you be there as well?" Riza quickly asked, a question prompted by emotions stirring within her. "To translate?" She added.

"I suppose I will be," He answered. His choice of words seemed strange to Riza, but she didn't question it.

Saniel asked something of Belfore once both of them withdrew from that exchange.

"Do you have any more questions?" Belfore asked after only a minute of talking. Riza shook her head, knowing that many of her queries would be answered soon. "Very well. We'll be off, then." With that, he sharply stood up out of the chair, his movements quick and sharp. Saniel reacted minimally, standing up himself as Belfore wiped his hand through the air again. It reminded Riza of something trying to catch a fly with their hands, somewhat.

Saniel said a few words to her, including her name, and began walking out of the room, throwing up his yellowed, heavy hood. Belfore only gave Riza a look, his face impassive to her slightly worried expression, as she followed him out.

The main focal point of this part of the village, excluding the gaping hole in the ground, was undoubtedly the towering building which she assumed to be their main base. However, that was not the only building they had acquired; many of the neighbouring buildings had been commandeered and Riza could see many people moving about inside--even if it was only through the small gaps in the shutters--as well as some horses here and there. The ground beneath them was hard, compacted earth and even under this torrential downpour--that made her look upon Saniel's covered back with envy--refused to become saturated with water and turn into a muddy, slushy mess.

That is to say, her feet were surprisingly clean for the conditions, the combination of concrete-like Earth mixed with the rain limiting the filth that could cling to her.

The building she was staying in was one of the smaller ones--though, compared to the houses she initially passed by as she had entered the village itself, half-destroyed and overgrown with wild, rampant plant-life, her building was larger in that it contained more than a single room--having only three rooms total while most either looked like they contained more rooms or the floor space itself was larger. Very rarely, peeking over the rooftops, she could spot another floor to a building, though those were often hollow and partially collapsed floors.

She had been situated on what seemed to be the outskirts of the outpost; the streets grew busier as her proximity to the church-like building increased and the buildings began to look less dilapidated and sturdier. Though, none of these residential buildings--made out of either wooden planks or bundled up stones encased with some mixture of mud to keep them there--held a candle to the construction of the church; carved stone bricks compared to slap-dash pebbles.

The cold air nipped at her arms, her clothing doing barely anything to keep it at bay. Her feet, placed on the icy ground, felt stiff even as she flexed her toes, and the rain pouring on her drenched her clothes, damp fabric sticking to skin. She could physically feel her energy being eaten away by the weather.

However, once it seemed that she was getting close to the church, Saniel abruptly turned, bringing her away from the centre of the outpost--for it seemed to be roughly radial in area--off towards the right. Riza could begin to make out their presumed destination now; there was a stout building of similar construction to those around it but many tents were thrown up around it, a stable was nearby--whether a make-shift one or purpose-built, she didn't know--and a large gathering of people outside, either milling about or walking somewhere. If the outpost was a rough semicircle, then she went from one point on the circumference to another, and that confused her.

"Why are we walking away from the church when we were just walking to it?" Riza asked Belfore, the man following closely behind her at a leisurely pace. She pointed towards the building she meant, in case whatever skill he was using failed to translate that word.

Talking about translation, that skill (or skills, she wasn't really sure just how many he was using) intrigued her; was it a basic translation or more a localisation? She suspected the latter, and if so, did it grant the user the ability to use colloquialisms and idioms or merely translate them into something meaningful? Questions for a later date, Riza concluded, shelving those thoughts.

"The Watch Tower?" He clarified, after having waved his hands about in the indication that he was using the skill.

"Yes. We started over there," She pointed towards the rough location of her temporary residence, the map in her mind clearing itself up, "and could've walked straight here. Instead, we took a long route."

"Ah," Belfore exclaimed, comprehension dawning on him. "Well, it may have been the longer route but it was also the less muddy route," He answered, eyeing her bare feet as understanding emerged in Riza's eyes. She nodded her head.

Saniel kept a watch on their conversation out of her periphery, but the contents eluded him and as long as Riza didn't dash away, he was fine.

They quickly arrived at what Riza assumed to be where the quartermaster either lived or worked. At least, now she could see what was inside the tents, the place looked a bit like a temporary armory; there were clothes, weapons, tools, and what-not piled up, in boxes, or hanging from something. There was even barrels of food and drink, though those were guarded by a few people wearing visible armour covered by both a white tabard and cloak.

Inside, the room was surprisingly small; wooden walls of clean and processed wood that looked newer than the building itself sectioned off the area, leaving Riza and her companions a small space just in front of a counter where a short, surly man sat. His skin was dark and tanned, her arms large and thick, and his head completely bald. The only hair Riza could see was the brown, bushy eyebrows and a thick, full beard hanging from his face.

As soon as she stepped in, the man eyed her suspiciously before saying a few words towards Saniel.

They talked for a few minutes, as Riza just stood there awkwardly. She was tempted to ask Belfore to explain but stopped herself from doing so; there wasn't just a time cost to questions but an essence one as well. She knew she'd be annoyed if someone kept wanting her to use her paltry 4 essence all the time.

Eventually, with what seemed to be hefty annoyance in the man's face, he withdrew from the counter, only to return from a backroom a few moments later holding up a gambeson and a tabard. He tossed them onto the counter as Saniel turned to look at Riza.

"This is your new outfit," Belfore translated for him. "You must wear it at all times and keep it clean as much as possible. Anything less is a sign of disrespect," He continued, his tone dipping slightly on the last sentence, like he was tired of hearing it himself.

"I don't get robes?" Riza asked, and Belfore responded before saying anything to Saniel.

"Those are colours," He emphasised, "And no, you don't. They're only given to loyal and respected members, which you are not." Though there was a risk it would have sounded rude, to Riza, his matter-of-fact tone sounded more blunt and tired of pleasantries than anything else.

Cognitively, Riza knew it was logical that this was her situation, but she couldn't help but get annoyed and upset at it; frustration gnawed at her as she picked up her clothes, a physical reminder of how she was lesser in this organisation. For as kind and polite as Belfore may have seemed, he was involved in the Dominion, and not at the lowest level; he was at least partially complicit in its functioning.

Eagerly, Riza donned the gambeson and tabard, happy for the warmth the thickness would provide her if not for the symbol it represented. The gambeson, unfortunately, seemed to be a tad too large for her; the sleeves dangled off her arm slightly to where she constantly felt like she needed to pull up the arms to get a comfortable range of motion in her wrists. The tabard, at least, fell to her knees, the loose bit of cloth feeling fine on her.

"Is there not one in women's sizes?" Riza asked, turning towards Belfore.

"Those are woman's sizes. Are all humans this short?" He asked curiously, his gaze serious and suggesting he wanted an actual answer.

"I'm like... Average? A bit below? For a woman, at least. The men are as tall as you and Saniel," She replied earnestly.

Once more, a question that had plagued her for the past few days reappeared in her mind; the topic of height. Renald's wife's clothing was larger but she gathered from context that she seemed to be a large woman, even to him. But then, there were also all the people she had seen in the village. A weird situation arose; she constantly felt dwarfed and diminutive but when she looked at people, they never seemed distinctly giant--Out of Belfore, Saniel, and Renald, the latter two were about average height while Belfore seemed to be a little above 180 centimetres, if she had to guess. All completely normal heights.

And then it came to her; the women were tall as well. Pictures of all the women she had seen passed through her mind as the realisation dawned--there was practically no height difference between man and woman.

"Well... I'm sure you'll grow into it," Belfore replied, caring less about her predicament than the information on her species, a distinction between the two of them that she was beginning to realise may actually exist.

"Can women grow beards as well?" Riza asked suddenly, the question appearing abruptly in her mind as memories of fantasy races emerged.

"What? No. Don't be silly." He answered promptly, not even having to think about it. "Are humans different?"

"No. I was just curious about the level of sexual dimorphism of Skaldians," Riza said almost absentmindedly.

By now, Saniel had grown tired of waiting for them to stop talking and forcefully gained Belfore's attention. Some quick words were spoken before, once more, Riza was led off again.

Time to meet Sylan.