[Cordelia Harrison]

A fair woman walked into the Inn, looking for rest and companionship after her long and weary journey. She wore a light blue cloak with the hood up in order to conceal her fair skin. She pulled the cloak down revealing soft red hair that cascaded from the release of the binding hood.

At her side she wore a sword. Simple, yet elegant. If someone was to inspect it more closely they would see that it had been used. Very used. The thought wasn't even a chilling one to the woman any more. She had seen her share of battle and wasn't afraid of it. Not any more, at least. She had been once. The day they had killed her father had changed that fear. Her thirst for vengenance created a pit of only death and blackness in her soul.

She had found the man and had sentenced him to his punishment, death by her sword. He had put up a fight, but he had underestimated her vast knowledge of swordmanship. With her mission in life done all that was left was go home. Yet, she just couldn't do it. She couldn't face her mother. Especially since she had left against her mother's wishes. She knew her mother would be worried about her, but there was something that she needed to learn - about herself and the world. That experience wasn't going to come from learning proper lady like manners. The only way she could learn what she desired to was to become a wanderer - a traveller. It was her vocation somehow.

Her soft leather boots made no sound as she crossed the wooden floor to an empty table in the corner. She sat down in the worn wooden chair and looked down at her hands. The scar from the battle shone angrily up at her, reminding her of what had happened on that day.

She loosened the cloak, finally allowing herself some kind of comfort. She stretched, trying to loosen the tension from her aching shoulders.