Most camps were crowded, or so she remembered. It had been a long time since her last visit to Thanalan, and the number of adventurers at Horizon seemed diminished. A simple surveillance of the area confirmed her suspicions.
Upon her arrival to the brilliantly colored kaleidoscope of a desert, Osiria was met with a crushing feeling of abandonment. Her once thriving community had splintered into different tribes and she found herself, once again, alone. It was a familiar feeling, but one which she did not savor. It would appear other adventurers were experiencing the same predicament. Her heart felt the sadness of the Twelve.
Osiria had been traveling for days, and each new step sent a fresh wave of pain through her weary limbs. The trek from Gridania to Western Thanalan had been a grueling endeavor. Her white chainmail sported dust from the desert wind and her red halfgloves were badly damaged.
"I should have bought the vambraces in Limsa," she confided to no one, vainly longing for the protection they would afford her calloused hands in battle.
Resignedly, Osiria made the decision to spend the night at Horizon's Edge before joining up with a scouting group in the morning. Another adventurer's fire had been left smoldering; but a few carefully controlled kicks sent the wood ablaze once more. The flame offered her both succor and heat to cook the latest catch.
She liked to occasionally trade in her shortbow for the more commonplace wooden rod. Although she was not a fishmonger by any stretch of the imagination, she had managed to catch dinner, and that was good enough for now. The cookpan sizzled, full of Brass Loach caught near Camp Drybone. It would keep her satisfactorily satiated.
"Now, about those arrows..." she mumbled, relieving her back of the bulging quiver.
