The fire crackled. It was a small fire, only a little larger than a cozy little campfire, but despite the crackling, there was nothing fueling it. It burned on its own, a tiny source of light, heat, even comfort in an otherwise empty void. The smoke wafting from the flames smelled of the heat of battle, sweat and steel and blood, and just underneath it all, the faint scents of honey wine and hickory smoke. With each soothing flicker, the flame seemed to grow, then recede, each growth outmatching its recession until the flame was a wild fire. The scents of honey and hickory smoke were gone.
The fire was gone. In its place stood a woman, taller and more powerfully built even than some men, with hair the color of charcoal, pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head, and eyes the color of burning coals. Her armor is simple, made of tempered steel plate hammered by hand, covering from neck to foot with mail and leather showing at the joints. A large flamberge hangs from her back by intricately designed leather straps. The cloak hanging from her shoulders glows, similar to the fire that had announced her arrival, even flickering and crackling the same way, leaving the woman backlit in a way that made her stature seem even more intimidating, the glowing flame of her eyes leering almost angrily from the shadows of her dark-skinned face. She stands, regal, intimidating, while the sound of a crackling fire whispers in your ear: Aerotes…