One would think this sort of thing might get easier, with time.

Einheria Idunn Vaetki is no stranger to adventure, and now, no stranger to vigilantism; she has wandered different segments of the continent in search of people and treasures and other such things, met all manner of unusual people in her ventures, been whirled around into a neverending dance of chaos and lawlessness. It's strange, the things she's managed to do in the small amount of time she's been a part of the outside world, as though her life truly holds bearing out here. The delicate, shivering dragoness who startled awake in the heart of a bitterly-cold home all those months ago, only shielded from the wind by the blanket of her father's wing, vaulted into the world with a witch's promise and seven centuries' worth of storybook knowledge, would likely shudder violently at the thought of all the things she'd do in the weeks to come.

In truth, the slightly-less-delicate, still-shivering dragoness of this very moment only shudders slightly at the thought of what she's about to agree to, her lower lip only slightly raw from idly and cautiously biting at it. It's a wretched habit, she knows, but it keeps her busy.

The tavern that stands before her is small, out-of-the-way, tucked in a corner beside a fisherman's shop; the windows are dim, the wind that howls around her serving as one of the only sources of noise. The Frozen Docks are, as promised, fairly quiet with the slow fall of evening, the biting chill chasing travelers further along into the Pale City, into the warmth of homes and inns-- not into a little place like this, with its poor insulation and poorer choice in drinks.

Even so, this is where she has agreed to venture, and so venture forth she shall.

As she does with most places, Einheria feels remarkably out of place within this ramshackle tavern as soon as she steps into it, the floorboards creaking beneath her heels as she walks over to a table in the corner and perches in one of the chairs, ankles crossed and hands politely clasped in her lap, mantle gathered around her so it does not touch the dust-kissed ground. She stands out, and she knows she does, but it isn't as if that matters-- she is the only one here, and she has no interest in a drink.

"...You don't exactly look like I'd imagined," sounds a voice, and Einheria quickly looks up to find a pale-faced, pale-haired tiefling standing at the corner of the bar, hip balanced against the counter. She's tall, evergreen-haired and blue-eyed, her flesh as clear and clean and pale as mint, a breath of winter spun into a woman. She's clothed quite warmly, as is appropriate for the temperature, and an enviable confidence bristles through her. Skepticism darkens her gaze as she looks Einheria up and down. "I mean, I was told I was getting a pale-haired woman taking this job, so I assume that's you, but... hm. This sure doesn't seem like your kind of scene."

"O-Oh," Einheria glances about, well-aware she's the only one in the room, fidgeting in place like a mouse caught beneath the leg of a chair. "I-I assure you, good lady, I am here for what I promised to be here for. I am... n-no stranger to ventures of this manner."

Oh, but not even Einheria herself would believe her, with the way she says it-- she can hardly blame the way this woman keeps glancing hopefully at the door, as if expecting some other pale-haired savior to march through it...

Sadë’s day had been dreadful.

Her hunt for Ekar was far from over, and she had reached a frustrating point in her escapade. A vampire woman, one of chairmen of Ekar’s ever-growing army, had been the focus of Sadë’s for quite some time. Upon following her, she had come to the conclusion that the vampiric lair was somewhere in Frost Gale, this much was clear. The abundance of vampire scum that she had run into in this city was far more than any other she had ventured to. The Zeinav Desert was a painful dead-end, Moonglade was almost too mystical of a place for such foul creatures, the Arid Mesa uninhabited by many, but Frost Gale…this was Ekar’s home. She had him right where she wanted him.

Until an all-too-clever mage pulled the rug out from under her.

On the tail of this henchwoman, she had found a section of the city where the undead and hated creatures of Charon seemed to lurk, hiding in the shadows of the forgotten alley’s and decaying buildings. Sadë was careful to ask questions, doing her best to work up deals with easily manipulated outcasts and poor criminals. She had been so careful. An informant who disguised themselves as a stall owner had directed her to an intelligent mage who had a way of slipping in places unnoticed. That should of been her first red flag. Why she had thought this trickster was one to trust, she didn’t know. She had been so successful in the time leading up to this moment, taken so many vampiric lives, satisfied her hunger, she had gotten too cocky. Following the stall-owner’s advice, she found the location of the mage. She was presented with a short, old woman who was adorned in bone necklaces and beaded accessories, dirt caking every inch of her. She had tangled white hair and a jagged smile, but Sadë was no stranger to crooked individuals. She had not grown up around them, that much was true, but she had certainly shaped herself to handle them. Whilst she did her best to extract any information possible from the elder mage, she couldn’t help but feel they were talking themselves in circles. It wasn’t until she had left and found herself in a shop that she noticed her coin purse had been emptied. Not only that, but the journal she kept on her belt that had tracked her journey, almost all of the valuable pages had been ripped out. More specifically, the pages of all possible locations of the lair and the lists of names of every henchman she had staked.

This was not good.

Ekar knew she was after him.

Sadë was frantic and full of rage. She knew it was him, and she had just given herself away to someone who would dish out this information to him in one second flat. Somehow she had looped Sadë into her little game of thievery and deception. No. No, she had worked so hard. She stomped out of the shop with a huff and quickly took to an alley way, thrusting her fist at the cold brick.Her knuckles cracked open and dripped hot red blood all over her hand. It stood out harsh on the white blanket of snow coating the ground, and for a few moments, she just watched as it flowed out.

There was no use continuing on when she had not a solar to her name, and she couldn’t continue her hunt so soon until she was out of the clear. She was now the one who had to go into hiding, it disgusted her. She felt pathetic. She barreled through the streets, searching for something to take her mind off of the defeat. Her hand throbbed, and she did her best to focus on this. She honed in on the feeling of her bruised bone and broken skin. She almost forgets at times that she is flesh and blood, living and breathing, made up of marrow and bone. She had lost before, she reminded herself, and she had prevailed.

She will do so again.

A warm wooden quest board stood out against the cool tones of the city, and she approached without second thought. A flyer jumped out at her, with the words DESTROY ALL CARGO DESTROY ALL PLANS in bold at the very top. It was a fresh proposition, in need of a convict tonight. Destruction sounded satisfying enough, and she ripped the paper from the board and headed off to the tavern listed as the meeting location at the very bottom of the page.

Sadë entered the tavern, a heaviness following her. A scowl was placed firmly on her face, warning all around her that she was not one to mess with, especially not now. She held the flyer in her hand, though now it was wadded together into a small ball from the clenching of her fists. Those closest to the door looked up at her, taking in her height and the presence that she carried. Her dark eyes darted all around the establishment, doing her best to stake out the pale tiefling that had been described as the employer on the notice. Her gaze scoured the bar, moving from the bustling tabletops to the dark corner where two pale-haired individuals stood. The taller of the two seemed to be searching the doorway for someone, and Sadë took that as the hungry (gaze) of an anxious employer.

Her steps held dense intention as her boots clacked heavily on the floorboards. She approached the two strangers with her shoulders set back and her head held high. Her posture was dangerously perfect, as if a pole was attached to her back to keep her stiff and upright. The tiefling watched her as she neared, her brows furrowing inquisitively, but with a sense of excitement behind it. Sadë was now directly in front of the pair, but she made no effort to stay a word. She took the crumpled paper in her hands, pulled it apart, and slammed it down onto the table in front of her.

The pale tiefling jumped, quickly trying to mask her fright her laughter. She slowly reached for the flyer, a hesitation in her movements. “Here for the hijacking operation? You’ve found the right place.” She turned to Einheria, and then back to Sadë, taking the two of them in as they stood next to eachother. “This is much more like what I imagined, no offense to you doll.” The tiefling nudged Einheria, a tension still left in the air. Sadë looked down to her left, silently judging every part of the girl that jumped out to her. The girl had an angelic yet mousy appearence, small in stature and delicate in appearance. Einheria smiled up at her, and Sadë quickly looked away.

Wonderful. Just…wonderful.

The longer time ticks on, the more Einheria realizes that her would-be employer is clinging to the hope that someone else will arrive.

It's hardly subtle, and she doubts the fine woman standing behind the bar intends for it to be as such; she keeps glancing at the frost-kissed window, watching the sun slink down over the horizon, watches deep blue chase traces of cloud-touched lavender and rose away beneath the snow-veiled surface, watches little blue stars peek out where they can between the thick clouds that rain an endless fall of snow down upon the docks. Her surprisingly well-kept nails tap out an idle rhythm against the worn-wood countertop-- one two three four, one two three four--, each cycle of the beat only serving to remind Einheria that she is not what this woman is looking for.

But oh, the quickest lesson Einheria learned when she wandered out into the Pale City when all of this began was that folding over gets you nowhere. It had been tenacity that made Ak'ka the Bonegrinder let her follow along in their hunt for a wizard, tenacity that propelled her through all manners of chaos with Sir Shaa in the Gold Port, tenacity that led her through the sand-enclosed hell of a waking tomb with Flare Redscale. You only get anywhere when you learn to dig your teeth in and cling, and Einheria was not gifted with the glittering boreal fangs of a frost dragon for nothing.

And so she remains, stubbornly, pert and pretty as a porcelain doll posed on a pristine shelf, ankles crossed and hands folded over her shining glaive. There is little she can do to hide the apprehension that sits so naturally on her face, but her message remains clear all the same.

She is unsure how much time passes, but it finally seems as though the tiefling will finally relent, a short sigh leaving her as she sets aside the glistening glass tankard she's spent the past fifteen minutes cleaning inside-and-out, the rag not far behind it. There's resignation in those blue eyes, pine-colored brows furrowed in what can only be begrudging surrender, and her lips fall open to speak--

But that is when the door slams open, and a new figure enters.

The woman before them both is a vision in monochrome, her hair like spilled ink down her shoulders, down her back, the dim lantern-light refusing even to settle within a black so fathomless and deep. She is statuesque in every sense, with skin the color of an artist's favored marble, her features chiseled in a way only a sculptor's hand could manage, sharp and sloping, dramatic and oh-so-lovely, her stature as commanding and as tall as any centerpiece of a town square. Einheria has never born witness to a solar eclipse herself, but this woman's eyes make her think of one-- they are that same deep black, but the vermilion splashed around her eyelids calls to mind the aura of the sun.

She is lovely, and she is terrifying, and oh, she is absolutely the kind of lady this tiefling had in mind.

Einheria withers.

"No offense to you, doll," comes those inevitable words from her would-be employer, laced with something that might have been pity, excitement buzzing in her eyes as the initial fear seeps away. All Einheria can do is nod, at first, offering a weak little smile up at this tall and intimidating woman before her, her lips falling open to wish her well on instinct--

...and yet, no sound comes out.

It hardly feels fair, really, to be turned away so quickly because of a quick glance. Einheria knows she is as capable as any other, knows that she is easy to dismiss but hardly unworthy of consideration, and... and to validate that line of thinking would be beneath her. She takes a deep breath, lavender eyes flitting anxiously between both women for a brief moment, before she tries again.

"...I appreciate and understand your assessment," she says, sweetly but firmly. "But I assure you, I am not one to be underestimated. Is there, perchance, any way you could ration this work out between myself and this good lady, as well?"

The tiefling freezes, then, those blue eyes flitting between the two as though she expects the ink-haired stranger to bite her for so much as entertaining the idea, as though such a woman would automatically be prone to such barbaric notions based on appearance alone. The hesitation lasts for a fair moment before she looks up to the tall stranger, that easy confidence of hers yielding beneath uncertainty, a silent beg for approval.

"...I suppose it isn't... impossible," she begins. "...but that would be up to the lady here."