Chasing Ghosts

After days of searching, there are still no Wanderers to be found and no tracks to follow. Doubts creep up and she stands upon the forgotten battlefield lost in memories.

She'd obtained her old mercenary armour from years ago, it something she'd never thought she'd wear again but considering she had no other alternative and her previous armour had been beyond repair, she'd had little choice. The armour fits perfectly and she appears little different to when she last wore it 6 years ago, though she does not notice it herself. Her face is thinner and colder, containing little of the warmth that she is known for. Her hair is longer, growing how it pleases and she has little care for it as long as it stays out of her way. Perhaps it was wearing this armour that was why these shadows and fears try to capture her mind now, though the silent woods and firm ground around her still sings of the final battle. The fear of history repeating itself and that she is once again left behind, her previous self's ghost taunting her of her failure from inside her old armour. Wanderers faces replacing old lost ones in bloody defeat and death.

The quiet and pensive Yorva, still fighting against the past that has caught and hurt her.

Watchful and often a joker, Arthasdir whose eyes never stray far from Yorva.

The kind and wise Mathildah, always there to lend a hand and offer advice.

The charming Mr Fox, Eredian, dependable and a frustratingly good fighter.

The mysterious and witty Aeirillen, whose beautiful stories and songs she never tires of listening to.

And Fiontann...... grumpy, contrary and often frustrating. A light frown appears on her otherwise still face, her brows creased. But completely fearless....... her face softens, losing the frown. Clever, amusing and strong too. His dark eyes mostly mischievous or calculating unless in battle where they burned, fearsome as his love of battle took over. Someone she would follow anywhere....... But apparently no more. Her face returns to the still, empty expression. The cold air that had emanated from her, now sad and tired.

Where were her brave and loyal companions now? Why would they not come out from the shadows and return to her.....

((A close enough picture to how I think of Roth but if ive forgotten any Wanderers there, Im sorry please tell me ))