The wind was cold. It bit at her bones and knawed at her porcelain skin. Well, it was porcelain at times. A constant switch from pale to burnt, the cycle was horrid and unending. Just as the reign of the sun was a constant in her new homeland, The Anderfels, and she loved it. Unlike this cold.The kind of cold she could never quite settled into, a lover of the fire of the sun...despite all of it's curses. But was she about to complain about the weather? Of course not, the girl she was becoming hardly complained at all. Instead, she gritted her teeth against such things, coolly watching her surroundings. Sweet Illia, always with something to prove. Not a prissy Circle mage, not as some Wardens had teased. Not even as her fingers rapped against her polished staff. That place had nearly killed her, she would be worthy of more than its name.
Although those thoughts were not too prominent in her mind. They were focused on the beauty of her surroundings, holding in the chatter that threatened to burst onto the nearest comrade, and a sense of excitement building within her. The feeling that something was building. An approach. Something so almost tangible, the firey-haired girl could taste it on her tongue.
At this very thought, she was called over to her mentor, with a gesture and a snap. That was all that was ever needed. The small girl scrambled up to the boulder, neither missing a step nor falling over her feet. It seemed the rigorous training was beginning to have effect, in her slight gain of agility and the control over her fires the year that had almost passed had given to her. That the Wardens had shown her, taught her. Or rather, Vincello Cervantes.
Given was most certainly the wrong word. Illia had fought for this control, she had bled for her training and worked harder than she ever thought she could. Near every step of the way her mentor had been beside her, guiding her, leading and tempering her, from the moment he had freed her from the Templars and onwards, ever onwards. Until she was ready, and after that. A constant, he was, and with blind faith she thought he always would be. What was once a quivering, wide-eyed girl was on her way to become more than could be imagined. That was thanks to The Warden-Constable.
Looking up at her mentor she smiled, despite the bitter cold and the aching of her muscles, she smiled.
"I shan't forget, hahren," she said with a small smile, her teasing elvish name for her mentor bringing her more amusement than it perhaps should have. There was a beauty in the language, another gift given by Vincello. The words of her people she had lost as a child, it gave her a certain warmth to be speaking it again. Even in it's many fragmented pieces. To his other gentle reminder she bit her lip and nodded, it was always hard for her to hold back what she wanted to say. The last time they'd had a scuffle with a certain city guard had been almost singularly her fault.
And it won't happen again. To temper that temper, was exactly what was needed.
Another snap, and the entire ranging were on the move, Illia staying at her mentor's side, only a fraction behind in her steps.. Towards the Templars and the elven woman. And the Tempalrs. It had been a considerably long time since she'd last faced them, sage to say she was both eager and nervous. Unsure of the outcome, especially if Vincello was doing what she thought he was. What she suspected.
There they stood. Metal giants in with their swords and their ways. The many ways they could quench the fires and stop the magic, it was frightening. What they'd planned to do to her, the Circle, the Chantry, the Templars...it was hard to forgive. They were almost an evil, with a few redemptions. Even their gaze seemed dark, the Captain's was one she fell under. And returned, with the real emotion in her eyes, the colour of fire. Anger, hatred...mischievousness, almost. Why? Because in her mind, she had an inkling of how this was to play out. It involved, Templars on fire, and that was a pleasing thought.
With a slight knowing smile, she switched her staff from her right to her left hand, the dominant one, and watched the proceedings. Ever ready. Ever wiling.
Vincello spoke his words, the words that were his title and then some. The situation was shockingly similar, almost surreal. Although it had another air about it, it was different somehow. She was different. This elf, that lay on the ground, she didn't have the sense of magic around her. Not that Illia was all too adept at sensing such things. Wherever it was to go, it was curious and curiouser.
"They would see you dead... I would see such impressive skill not be wasted..." There was worry within, worry and doubt and anticiptation. In a sense, she had been right. Something had been building. Was it about to explode?
Or catch fire? Like the Templars should.