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How slow life seems when there is no one to run from, or to run to, or even to run for. How lonely life is without anything at all paying attention to you. Such was the boredom Rhia felt as she sat in the darkened corner of the tavern, all but content to sip the soup steaming in front of her. She was as of then without family, without ties, and without enemies it seemed. Fifty years since the Hunters had last attacked her, and even longer since she had been in love, or even lust. Even her dearest Guardian seemed to have left her, at least for the time. She was without danger, so in accordance to his duties he was not needed. Not that she'd have minded the conversation and company. But who could beg an angel of death to stay and make small talk? For that's what he was, they'd only recently come to realize. She suspected that was why he'd gone away, resuming the duties he'd for so long forgotten.
Oh, how bland a soup tastes when one has tasted the food of kings. Yet how sweet, how colourful when one has eaten nothing but berries and roots for weeks before. Rhia sighed and rested her chin on her hand, pushing the spoon around in the soup.
"Won't someone demand that my head roll along the floor?" she asked the chair across from her, currently occuppied only by her black sword, Blade. He, of course, said nothing in response. She set the spoon down and sat back with a groan, lifting her foot to rest on that chair. Her eyes wandered around the room, comforted by the fact that no one payed her any attention, mostly because of her choice of seat. No window, and the candle on the table did only enough to light up her eyes, deterring any curious gazes from looking for more than a moment.
While she was bored, she certainly did not take for granted the peace and quiet she'd been experiencing the past five decades. Centuries, even millenia of running, fighting, dying; she supposed she needed to heal some of her scars before they be replaced by more again later. For in fact there was little room for new ones, only room enough to open the old. It was her scars that were her reason for her conservative dress. Breeches, long-sleeve tunic, undershirt, and scarf, despite the warm spring weather. Her cloak rested on the seat behind her, to be worn throughout the year, rain or shine, blizzard or drout. One plus of constantly being on the move was that she could travel with the weather; migrate, like the birds and some cattle. Only, she stuck to the colder areas, rather than the warm. Not only did it make her dress more comfortable, but her usual human enemies were often slower and stupider when it became cold.
Of course, there always was the exception. She smiled to herself as she thought back on one man in particular, one of her greatest challenges concerning humans. As the winter thickened, his skills only seemed to become better and far more intimidating. That's not to say she was in any trouble. The times had not yet given humans the abilities to match or overcome Rhia in any way, and most of them only proved a nuisance or setback rather than any kind of threat.
She sat forward again, lifted the bowl and drained its contents. She set the bowl back down, rummaged through her pocket, and produced a few coins to be placed beside the bowl. Standing up, she pulled her cloak around her, hood low over her head to hide her face from the light, and hooked Blade back onto her belt.
"Shall we, old friend?" again addressing the sword. This time, she could feel the hum of the weapon under her hand, and smiled. A few graceful strides, and she left the tavern.