[b]Sister Cordelle of Exeter - The Rebellious Nun[/b]

Cordelle was displeased with the summons that had led to her removal from the Convent of the Seven Souls - a humble but cozy stone structure located in the Forest of Exeter in Northern Rein. Though the convent itself was ramshackle, containing nought but the barest necessities for life and quiet meditation, the convent owned much of the surrounding lands and its bounty, and Cordelle missed the fresh air of the forest and the freedom to roam about. The Tower, though much richer in furnishings than the convent, with many a room to wander, was already creating a sense of claustrophobia within Cordelle. The Tower had a pervasive chill, perhaps from being located on an island, and she could feel the cold achingly in her joints. She recalled speaking with a man called Bremen, a finicky fellow who had shown her to her quarters within the Tower. He seemed high-strung, though it was clear why. Though Cordelle hadn't met the Mad King, she had heard much of him at the Convent. The Convent had a tenuous relationship with the crown, and in summation, they tended to leave each other well enough alone to avoid conflict. Cordelle was surprised when the Mad King sent word to convent requesting her scholarly services. The Convent was busy caring for travelers and refugees who were evacuating Rein. The Convent was busiest in troubled times, and she was hesitant to leave it. 

There were three others who Cordelle had met in passing - Deles, Lupus and Charles. Interesting fellows, but all consumed with their work and hadn't been much company. Being alone, Cordelle pondered the task before her as she paced throughout the tower. The piles of quills and parchment were intimidating and she wasn't ready to begin. She whistled as she wandered, until a muffled voice yelled at her to keep it down. Retreating into her study, she surveyed the books, manuals and journals she had brought with her to aid her in completing the task. Her eyes settled on a set of books with well worn leather covers, emblazoned with the Flame of Ignaes. It was then that she decided what she was going to record first. Shaking off her cramped feelings and general misgivings, Cordelle sat at her desk to write. She grumbled as she realized the chair she sat in didn't allow her feet to touch the ground. She grumbled loudly, wishing more than ever that she had ignored her summons. The Cataclysm was no fun if one had to spend it cooped up in a tower. Watching the sun reach its zenith, she resigned herself to writing until it sunk into the god-forsaken lake that surrounded the tower that, if she was being realistic, could easily be her tomb as the Cataclysm descended upon Rein. 

"[i]Ignaes ignites[/i]," she murmured to herself - a type of reassurance that was becoming hollower and hollower as the day passes, "More like Ignaes ignoramus." If there was any time for irreverence, now was certainly justifiable.