Maebel

I like Tinabula. Power there, and strength behind the smile and occasional giggliness. Perceptive also.
Why pray here rather than the Temple at Fort Conviction?
I looked about the Chapel in Caenna, its old familiarity, the scent of incense still flavoured with Baione flowers as it was when my mother prepared it, for I follow the same recipe.... Safety here, calmness. A place that has always been. For much as I strive to build Invicta's new home strong, there is a nagging fear that perhaps it will go the way of Fort Invicta

 Luscilla scowled as her feet tipped the rise.  In the distance she could see the rock hewn form of the Mitran temple.  Though it was near ten furlongs away, she could see a curling wisp of smoke rise gracefully only to be caught and dispersed by the wind.  

The chill of night had not yet fully come to- and as such that same breeze only served to brush the tips of the Aquilonian grasslands and send little mites of gooseflesh across her skin.   Turning back she sighed heavily.  "I'm not a damned hauler." She muttered for what was certainly not the first time over the course of her journey.  The reason for this utterance-  slung over the saddle of her horse-  bound with thick Stygian hemp rope was the rumpled form of a bedraggled Maebel.  Shaman of the North, Brutalizer of the Vanir, and Violently Stupid Drunk.