[table][row][center][h3]Artemisia[/h3]
[i][b]Temporary Camp Outskirts[/b][/i][/center][/row][cell]

Every breath was a labor, every step a struggle. One foot at a time, the haggard young woman trudged up the by-now familiar and welcome hill just outside camp, and with a final groan she let herself fall against the tree growing from its crown. Limp, she slid down its smooth surface and into a sitting position, where she lay like a puppet with its strings cut.  Silence -save for her breathing- endured for a few moments before a rebellious spirit sparked within her. She mustered up her fury, her indignity, and let it loose.

“Guh!” That march. That. March. Never had Artemisia walked so much, so hard, for so long in all her life. Sure, she was fleeing from an invading army that'd be more than happy to put her to the sword if they identified her as a threat, but was dying really that bad compared to all that exercise? The soreness had yet to leave her. And ever since deciding to stick with this army for the time being, putting on the guise as a mage hired for the army, they'd been working her to the bone. Training, chores, training, upkeep, meetings, and more training. Being off the battlefield seemed a fair sight tougher than being on one. At least then she could share her misery with a few poor suckers before biting it. Oh, well. At least they fed her without question, at let her be alone most of the time. Plus, she got some less-conspicuous clothes to wear—a baggy, long-hooded caster's robe in the Empire's colors. When night fell, and the drills ceased for the day, she could finally relax and start prodding people for stories. Already she'd filled a few pages with tantalizing summaries. If there was one thing war was good for, she learned, it was making history. Speaking of, it was about time she jot down a bit more of her own.

After making another entry in her journal, Artemisia sighed and set it aside. She felt better already, satisfied even. As much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't in the best of shape, and those morning drills were making her stronger. Still, as long as she stuck with these Lothians, she grew no closer to her goal, unless by some miracle her target lay among the ranks of soldiers she failed to examine so far. And if he or she did turn up here, what exactly could Artemisia do? Kidnap someone from under an entire army's collective noses? Her best bet in such a case lay in the heat of some battle, during which enough distraction would exist to let her take someone unawares, but if forced to fight she would be obliged to reveal her identity as a Dark Mage. Another sigh escaped her. If only she could turn invisible. Or warp somewhere far away from here.

As her thoughts slid to happier places, she started daydreaming of exploring with her father, and grew oblivious to the surrounding world.[/cell]

[cell][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/wW8IBnQ.png[/img]
__________________________
Status: [color=lawngreen]Fatigued and distant[/color]
[/center][u]Class:[/u] Occultist
[u]Inv:[/u] Vulnerary, Book of Secrets
[u]New entry                                     [/u]
[sub][i]Bone-tired and sore from drilling again. Yet, this situation should not last much longer. Now that the battalions have gathered and made preparations, I hear from my as-of-now compatriots that the commanders will be assigning teams of soldiers to missions in the near future. A little excitement and variety will go a long way toward making this unexpected sojourn bearable. No new individuals have piqued my interest, though I did happen to encounter that long-haired brawler who came to my defense again. Witty and refreshingly humble for a noble scion, if not overly gregarious, I must admit him not-unpleasant company. Yet, among the many faces to bob in and out of my vision on any given day, I can count none as those of friends. Yet my eyes scour them nonetheless, seeking the rosy hue of destiny.[/i][/sub][/cell][/table]