Moirelin Xavlirel is my RPG character over at 'Fans, who I created a few years ago.

She is a Travelling Priestess of the Graveyard Hag, fresh out of Carthak.

Just a warning here: this is most definitely a WIP so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, I'm very busy with exams at the moment. And I'm generally pretty lazy when it comes to updates, which you'll know if you've read my other TP fic So This Is Love (I've got the next chapter in the works, promise!). Anyway, I have got a plot kind of figured out for this one, so I will be updating eventually...

Disclaimer: Not mine. Except for Moirelin.

Chapter One

Moirelin sighed, slumping into the short grass at the side of the road. She deserved a break from walking. Rolling onto her back—and hitting her head uncomfortably on the hard ground—she stared at the blue sky above her, watching the wispy clouds float on the breeze.

Nothing had prepared her for this. Well, that wasn't entirely truthful—she had been prepared, shown a map, given food, water, and two new sets of clothes. But in reality, she was totally unprepared. She had no clue what she was doing, no clue as to where she was going. When she'd told the High Priestess that she wished to be one of the few who ventured over the borders, one of the women whose lives were literally left in the hands of fate—a travelling priestess—she hadn't realised there would be so much...travelling. Allowing herself another selfish sigh (honestly, was she so accustomed to life in the city?), Moirelin heaved herself up into a sitting position once more, to better access her pack. It seemed like life on the road was beginning to revolve around mealtimes. When her hand finally found purchase on a piece of hard bread, she lay back on the grass again to try and enjoy her meal. The food served at the Temple in Carthak was one thing she definitely wouldn't miss! So here she was. Sitting at the side of an unknown road, on her way to the Hag knows where. Eating a piece of hard bread that tasted peculiarly like, wait—she took the piece of bread away from her mouth and examined it—yes, definitely mould. She groaned. Forcing herself to swallow the bread already in her mouth—who knew when she would have her next meal—Moirelin stuffed the piece in her hand back into her pack, tying the flap shut in an agitated manner.

"Could this day get any worse?" she asked the heavens. When they didn't reply, she crossed her arms angrily. Best not to anger the gods, she thought dejectedly, the Hag would probably bring a skyful of rain down on me, just to further ruin my temper. She lay on the grass once more, running her long pale fingers through the short green blades beside her. She quite liked grass. What an odd thought to have. But then, there wasn't much grass to be seen in Carthak...

She sprang up with a start. Looking quickly around herself, and down at the imprint her body had left in the grass, she surmised that she must have fallen asleep. From all that walking. Picking herself up and dusting off her breeches, she chided herself for such stupid behaviour. What if some sort of murderous vagabond had come along the road, intending to kill her and steal her possessions? The self-righteous part of her mind reminded her that she had a weapon—the short sword that was her specialty, which she carried on her person at all times—and was by no means helpless in a fight. The other, more sensible, half of her mind interjected with the fact that she had been asleep...and therefore would have been gutted and roasted in less than a second.

Moirelin put a hand against her throbbing forehead: sleeping on the hard ground had given her the mother of all headaches. She closed her eyes for a moment. The darkness behind her eyelids soothed the throbbing slightly. But then she began to feel sleepy again: she imagined how ridiculous it would be if she fell asleep standing up, only to be woken by her own body hitting the road. So she opened her eyes, hoping that she was close to a town or someplace she could rest safely for the night. Turning to look down the road in the direction she had come from, she was surprised to see a small shape in the distance. For a moment, she wondered where this person would have come from. Surely she hadn't been asleep for so long that someone would have reached her by now? Perhaps, she mused, this person had come from the last town she had passed, or someplace in the woods. Yes, that would definitely make more sense.

Something suddenly occurred to her: she wasn't wearing her robe. Priestesses were required by Temple Law to wear their uniform at all times. This included when in public, when in the Temple, when performing duties for the Hag, and when at private gatherings of priestesses. Moirelin had taken her robe off about a day ago, when she became too hot and sweaty from walking. Although good for concealing weapons and other things, robes were altogether annoying. If she wasn't required to wear one so that she could be recognised as a priestess, she would do without one entirely. This train of thought prompted another question. Would she be better off not wearing her robe when she met this stranger? Glancing down the road, she could see the outline of a person. He or she was definitely getting closer. Her mind was racing, her hand half outstretched towards her pack. What did this person think of the Graveyard Hag and her 'minions', as Adeline used to call them? Was this individual favourable towards the Hag?

Moirelin made her decision, grabbed her robe and struggled into it. She tied the cord around her waist and made sure everything was where it should be. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought to bring a mirror with her (something she would no doubt come to regret later on), so she made do with finger-combing her hair. Finally, she checked her pack, making sure all of her belongings were shut tight inside. Well. Glancing down the road once more, she was slightly dismayed to see that the stranger still had quite a bit of road to travel before he arrived. Moirelin sat down carefully, arranging her robe comfortably around her and hoping she wouldn't rise with grass stains on her backside. Now she must wait.

His hair was light, similar to straw in both colour and texture. As he came closer, Moirelin noticed that his eyes were very dark, and looked out of place in such a pale, innocent face.

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky a delicate pink. She shaded her eyes against the brightness, for the setting sun directly behind the man had backlit his form, making it difficult to clearly see his face. Squinting uncomfortably as he walked closer to the place where she sat, she was comforted by the friendly smile on his face. Perhaps this man was in favour of the Hag, or at least had no objections to those who chose to follow her.

"Hello," he said, still smiling. He sat down on the grass beside her, lounging rather than sitting straight-backed as she was. Moirelin had argued with herself during this stranger's long approach on whether she should be standing or not: too formal, maybe, but then again, she was a dignitary or sorts. She had finally come to the conclusion that she should be seated, but not too comfortably. She must give the right impression, being a Priestess and all.

Now that he was here, she was at a loss. What should she do? Engage in polite conversation? Surely this man did not think that they would travel together on their way (if they were, in fact, going the same way)? Moirelin smiled at the blonde stranger, gathering her thoughts. She had expected him to pass on by her; maybe they would exchange a polite greeting, nothing more. She was not accustomed to initiating conversations with strangers. Quite a problem, she noted, since a Priestess was expected to converse with all manners of people from different walks of life.

"May I ask your name?"

Moirelin startled out of her reverie. She had totally forgotten that the blonde man was even sitting beside her, she was so caught up by her own thoughts. This was one of the things her teachers had always scolded her for: Priestesses must bear witness to the world and its events, in addition to the people in it. Personal contemplation was only suitable when in prayer to the Hag, or in a Priestess's personal time.

"Moirelin Xavlirel," she replied, inclining her head in what she hoped was a graceful manner.

He grinned. "Well, Moirelin Xavlirel, you have a bug."

She gave him a rather bewildered look. Was he a crazy person? Had he followed her intending to kill her, or worse? Did he—

He reached over toward her, she flinched, and he picked from her hair a...

"A bug," she said, surprised. Internally, she was cursing herself and her stupidity. Was she becoming paranoid? He probably thought she was a crazy person! Stealing a glance out of the corner of her eye at the man, she saw he was watching her with interest, a smile showing at the corner of his mouth.

She stood up abruptly, grabbing her pack. That caught him off-guard.

"I'm sorry, but I must be on my way," she said. Immediately, she turned and started walking, keen to put as much distance between her and the strange man as was physically possible.

"Where are you headed?"

Damn him, he was trotting to catch up to her. She quickened her pace.

"I'm afraid that's none of your business."

"Maybe so," he answered cheerfully. He was walking next to her now. She was becoming very irritated.

"My name's Ji, by the way," he continued, apparently oblivious to her mood, "I'm heading to Tyra, business you know, otherwise you wouldn't find me anywhere near the sea."

The sea, Moirelin thought suddenly. She'd forgotten all about that: she'd surely have to find a boat to get anywhere that wasn't Carthak. And how long would that take? Would this parasite of a man stick by her side all the way to the docks? How could she possibly get rid of him? Beside her, the man—Ji, he had said, was oddly silent, perhaps deep in thought. His head was slightly cocked to one side as if listening to something far away. Yes, she decided, she needed to get away from him. Doing some more quick thinking, she came to what she hoped was a solution—

"I'm headed a bit further than that, actually. My boat will no doubt be leaving as soon as I arrive at the, er, docks."

"Ah," he said, smiling again, "Might you be travelling to Tortall then? I've heard it's like no other country in the world. Wonderful things happen there, it's rumoured." Still he smiled, encouraging her to answer. He'd moved nearer to her now, and the body heat radiating off of his skin was abnormally hot.

He'd caught her interest about Tortall, it's true.

"Yes, that's right," she replied confidently, "Tortall...Corus, in particular." She'd had to do some quick thinking there, and Corus was the only name she recalled from her foreign history lessons.

He was grinning openly now. It was rather disturbing.

"Tell me about these 'rumours' then," she demanded. Anything to stop his obscene grinning.

So he did. His story ended just as the twinkling lights of a small township came into view, close to twilight. That night, as Moirelin flopped down on the most comfortable bed she could afford, the last thoughts that crossed her mind were of female knights, mythical monsters, and magic.

A/N: Sorry about the lack of double spacing, my computer doesn't seem to want to co-operate. Reviews are love!