Erast was like a mole on the backside of the Realm, dark and ugly. It was a town that none really cared to travel to even if it was unavoidable. For those that knew about it — though not many did — Erast was the last stop to nowhere. Of course, this was one of the more affectionate names the places had procured over the span of its existence. The others were only spoken in fits of passion by those who had somehow escaped it.

The town leaned like a crooked old man bent over after years of laboring. Shabby buildings with rotted roofs and worn windows smudged with age lined the dirt roads. Lyssa noted with a wrinkled nose that the dirt had been turned into puddles from a heavy rain. The mud made noises under her pony's hooves. Each step sinking in before popping out with a slosh as she neared the gloomy place.

"Gods help," she muttered, passing through a pair of manless gates. "I wonder if anyone's been told we're in the middle of a war."

Not that any war would touch them this far south. With the Teeth at their back and the moors wrapped around them, no one was fool enough to waste the effort coming out this way. If they did they would find nothing but grim faced southerns with accents that made them damn near impossible to understand. Erast — and the other hovels in the south — was a place that saw few outsiders. Which had no doubt been her daughter's foolish reason for moving there. Lyssa had been meaning to ask why a village closer to the ocean wasn't more appealing but she wouldn't get an answer now.

Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth as she pushed her pony onward. The streets were generally empty except for a few muddy patrons who had dared to struggle through the slop. With heavy clothes and heavier gazes, they all paused to watch Lyssa pass before going about whatever business they had somehow found for themselves. She did her best to ignore them as her hand slid up to pull her hood a bit farther down her face. The thick dark fabric of her cloak did well to hide her from their views, though she still held her breath whenever someone took a particularly long look.

Her destination was buried in the maze of shabby buildings, but it looked to have been taken care of better than the rest of them. She swung herself off her horse, boots sinking into the mud, before taking a good look at it. Temples were often round and decorative so this one would have passed better as a common hall. It stood out against the builds beside it with its high domed roof and paint but not as temples should have. Lyssa was sure the gods wouldn't accept worship from such an ordinary building. An air of skepticism enveloped her as she looped her reins around the post beside a mucky water trough. But then again, who was she to say what the gods would or wouldn't like? Legends said they often outdid themselves when it came to surprises, and this place was certainly a shock.

It wasn't her place to judge the people of Erast, she was here for a purpose. If the small building fulfilled it then she had no right to complain. The only thing she wished for was making sure her daughter passed into the After the right way and to be sure things were attended to. Once the chores were finished she could be on her way back to the High Cities and have the dreadful place behind her. This was only a short detour to make sure the family she had left wouldn't be hunted and slaughtered like animals. Her daughter's husband had always been kind but Lyssa wasn't sure if the loss of Charis would send him into a spiral. Only time would tell, the problem was in Nirih time could be life or death for their kind.

For now, her task was in front of her. A knot tightened in her stomach as she paced forward and brushed through the black curtains into the temple. Inside was not as bad but still nothing compared to the marble and colored windows of the High Cities. Large pillars of wood held the arcing roofline where most of the windows had been shuttered in preparation of the coming winter. The ones that stood open allowed a few gray pieces of sunlight into the room though it was mostly lit by the torches that had been hung on the walls. Despite both of these things the room was shadowed, a swirling smoke making it harder to see than usual poor lighting.

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She grumbled at the dimness, marveling at yet another thing she found off putting about the countryside. Then, despite being inside, she shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. The torches definitely hadn't been placed for warms as the flames did little against the crisp southern air. She wondered how the residents hadn't frozen during worship; concluding grimly that perhaps it wasn't as common a thing in the bitter place. The gods hadn't given them many favors in the barren landscape, no trees or life outside of the stubborn shrubbery. Few creatures thrive in the cold, especially when the frost took root and turned it into a white wasteland. Nothing like the cold in Parth, where nights were long and would steal your breath. Still not something to worship though. She wouldn't worship them if she lived in the south either.

Her eyes moved from the useless fires to the center of the room where white sand blanketed the depth of a shallow pit. Lyssa's breath caught in her throat for a moment as she glimpsed the covered form in the center of the sand. She wasn't one to cry, not even when something as sorrowing as losing her only child happened. Years of fighting had taught her long ago that the gods were as cruel as they were kind. They didn't often give reasons for taking a life before it had its chance to live something meaningful. Her daughter wasn't young by any means, she had birthed a babe from her loins and survived the harsh reality of having Lyssa as a mother. Still, it was too soon for her soul to be taken to the goddess. If only she could blame it on the war like other mothers did.

The heavy soles of her boots scuffed against the stone floor as she descended a few of the steps. In a swift motion she  dropped so her knees connected with the worn cushion set before the small altar beside the sand. Her head dipped, hands pressing flat against the ground as she bowed low enough for her forehead to brush the dirt. The goddess was a cruel and mysterious woman, but she took care of those that worshiped her righteously. Charis has been one such person and it was this thought that Lyssa found comfort in.

"May the goddess accept you at her bosom," Lyssa muttered into the cold gray stone. The swirling smoke that cut through the air softened the sound of her voice in the echoing hall. A cloud of it puffed from one of the incense held upright in the stark white stand, twisting up into the soft light before escaping out one of the windows. Her flaxen eyes followed it as she lifted her head in an attempt to avoid staring at the body before her.

How long had it been since she had seen her daughter?

Lyssa didn't know if she wanted the answer to her own question. It had been years, longer than it should have been. She wasn't sure what kind of mother that made her. It was accepted long ago that her methods of mothering were a lot different than the average house-bound woman in Nirih. Charis had been raised largely on the road, slung onto saddles with her traveling companions or thrown into the back of wagons. Her life had been unstable except for Lyssa's adamince on her learning how to control the gifts their bloodline carried. Mages had a responsibility to know how to use their magic, it was wasteful not to.

Still she knew Charis had hated that part of her life. It was the reason why she had longed to settle for ages before she had finally found Leontiy and moved to Erast. For Mages peace was near impossible, but Lyssa didn't doubt that Charis had found it in her small piece of the world. It wasn't leisurely, there was no sleeping in castles and riding horses for fun. Yet every letter that Lyssa had gotten from her daughter had been a happy one. It was only in the last mail from Charis that had held any sort of worry, begging Lyssa to come to them. She had said she was dying.

"Gods help," Lyssa finally forced her eyes to the body. She had been so sure Charis would pull through that she hadn't come. Not until the messenger had arrived with the grave news. Forcing the budding thoughts from her mind, Lyssa pushed up from the ground and dusted her hand on her trousers. This didn't do much as she pants were just as dirty.

A few voices had appeared muffled by the curtain and the heavy air. Still they echoed, though Lyssa couldn't tell whether it was in the hall or her own head. Perhaps they were people who came to grieve for her daughter. Friends Charis had made in the hovel they called a town. She half hoped they were, that she wouldn't be left alone in the hall with Charis' unanswered calls. Instead they passed, the voices going faint before disappearing completely. Leaving Lyssa not only alone but in a painful silence. She could take no more of it.

"I need a drink." Then, glancing once more at her daughter's body, she left.