It would appear that the Tranquil did not need to locate his storefront conveniently in order to do sufficient business. Another person might have found this irritating; Amalia took it as a piece of evidence that his work was as good as she'd heard. This was not a matter on which she'd tolerate anything less than the best this cesspool of a city had to offer, and the word from anyone who knew anything about enchantment was that he was the best. This was the one part of the process of which she was not capable, and so it fell to her to find someone who was. That he seemed to be one and the same as the peculiar-looking man who knew Venak hol was an interesting coincidence, but not one that had factored into her decision.
The shop, like most Darktown endeavors, was run down to all appearances, the wood chipping away to the thinnest of boards. There was no sign indicating what it was for, and the door swung open without much noise. Amalia stepped through with less, casting her eyes about the room in an attempt to locate the elvish proprietor.
The workshop was much cleaner on the inside than it was upon its exterior, dominated by a large, central worktable and a singular chair. This surface was polished to a shine, and behind it stood several rows of open shelving, upon which were arranged the tools of Rilien's trades, all neatly aligned but not labelled. There was no need, as he knew what everything was, and nobody else needed to. When the door swung open, he glanced up, catching sight of a face he knew, but not well. This was Sparrow's acquaintance, the one she had seemed so distressed to meet. Conversely, however, she had also been somehow pleased, and though he did not pretend to understand it, he had noticed. The woman was much like Sparrow in her distinct lack of conventional appearance, but that, so far as he could tell, was where the similarity ended.
"You are Amalia. What do you require of me?" he asked bluntly, setting aside for the moment the delicate glass bottles he was working with, but not before stoppering each of them, content to ignore her until she spoke. The clear containers, he shelved, contemplating opening his singular window to rid the room of the smell of nightshade. In the end, he decided against it-- the scent was far more pleasant than Darktown's was.
Efficiency was something Amalia had always appreciated, and it seemed that this basra possessed the quality in spades. Far be it from her to dally in conversation when he was so clearly inclined otherwise, so she placed the wrapped bundle in her hands on the table, untying the ragged twine that held the cloth in place and flipping both ends of the burlap away to expose what lay underneath. "Can you enchant this? The material is most unusual, I am aware, but I was told that you were the person to ask." She stepped back from the table, giving him the space to examine the object if he so wished. In the meantime, she glanced around the shop's interior, paying particular attention to but not approaching the glass vials on the shelves. It would appear that the elf's trade was not limited to enchantment, but also included potions, and, if the smell was anything to go by, poisons.
An interesting fact. She might have even been inclined to inquire over it, were she not here for a very specific purpose and intent on its completion. Still, it was leading her to believe that things would work out after all. As someone who believed in maintaining a minimum of personal possessions, she did not have a fortune to offer in coin, and it had occurred to her that she was asking rather a lot, at least of a basra. Qunari did what needed to be done regardless of the amount of labor involved, but those not of her people were rarely the same.
Rilien's eyes narrowed, and he did cross to the other side of the table, though he did not place his back to the woman. He'd noticed how little noise she made; he was willing to assume that she was inclined towards stealth and no stranger to murder. Though he was not afraid, he considered himself relatively intelligent, and whether she would harm Sparrow was an entirely separate matter than whether she would harm him, had she the chance. Picking up the object on the table, he tested it with a small hammer, running a thumb along one edge. It only confirmed what the peculiar color and weight had led him to guess, and his brows drew together slightly. "An unconventional construction, indeed, but sturdier than most. I can enchant this. Lightning, flame, or nature would be optimal, but it would also tolerate an infusion of spirit or ice. The choice is yours."
He tested the heft and balance with a few deft motions of the hand, nodding ever so slightly. The workmanship was exceptional, actually, better than any of the Kirkwall craftsmen could manage. He also doubted they'd ever use bone. "You made this." It was not a question.
"I did," she replied. "But it will not be I that makes use of it." The Qunari pursed her lips momentarily, considering her options. The obvious choice was nature damage, but the more she thought about it, the more fire seemed appropriate instead. It was as much a gift from her as it was one to him, and she had burned for it, in a sense. It had also not escaped her that there was a certain violence in his nature that matched it well. "Enchant it to burn, and if you can have it done in two days, I'll pay you in this." Reaching into a pouch at her thigh, she extracted a glass vial of her own, filled with a viscous red liquid that was most assuredly not a potion of medicinal nature. She willingly handed it over, watching keenly for the Tranquil's reaction, though he was far harder to red than anyone else she'd encountered in this place.
Two days wasn't a problem, at least not in terms of the time it would actually take him to complete the task proper. Rilien could enchant an object within a few hours of intense concentration. Folding lyrium was not an easy task by any means, but it was also not a long one if you knew what you were doing. The demand in the time frame came from the fact that he'd have to move this job ahead of orders he'd received before it. Not that he cared in the slightest; this was by far the most interesting and challenging thing he'd been asked to do since he'd set up shop here. Most people just wanted rat poison or pain killers--it was only rarely that he ever received the opportunity to do something more than that. Most of the more complex brews he made were either for his own use or the occasional Red Iron contract.
He took the vial from the Qunari and examined it closely, unstoppering it and sniffing delicately. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he smoothed his face over. That alone was rare, but then, what he was holding was perhaps rarer still. "You would pay me in the blood of dragons?" he asked flatly, meeting the woman's mismatched eyes. He blinked slowly, then tilted his head. "If you part with three vials of this and the heart, it will be ready tomorrow." Were he more superstitious, he would be unable to believe his luck. There was a chance-- a slim chance, but still a chance-- that the heart of a dragon could be the key to something he wanted, not as a matter of necessity, but as a matter of what little emotional capacity he still possessed.
"It is done," Amalia replied immediately. Three vials was less than half of what she'd managed to collect and preserve, and the heart, while interesting, was not anything she had a use for. If he was asking for it without being offered, chances were good he had a reason, and that was enough to make the exchange a beneficial one for both of them. She paused for a moment, ready to leave, but found her steps pulling up short of the door. Frowning, she turned herself to lean against the wall. "Venak hol-- the one you call Sparrow. How long have you known him?" she crossed her arms and folded one leg over the other. She'd intended not to ask this question, but... it was unexpectedly difficult, ignoring the fact that this man knew things of her brother that she did not. It had been years, and perhaps she had no claim on the information anymore, but all the same, she desired to know.
Amalia could not say that she had ever cared for a particularly large number of people in her life. Well, that was perhaps not exactly true. She cared for all of her people, devoted her life to protecting them. She'd lost much in the effort to do so, endured much. It was still not the same as the sense in which one cared for individual other people. Though it was a common-enough word among the Qunari, none were kadan to her, and none had ever been. Venak hol was just as important, but she hadn't wanted to bind him with the appellation. Sure enough, he'd flown away from her in the end, as some part of her had always known he would. It was his nature and she did not blame him for it. Yet in the absence of true ties to anyone else, without anything to occupy that place in her heart, it had hurt more than it should have. Amalia, even as a Qunari, was an incomplete person, and she knew it. It was what prevented her from earning the last measure of the Ariqun's trust; the kossith woman had been explicit about this fact. What she had instead were empty spaces and a prodigal brother she could not let go of, even though she knew he was not capable of filling all of them in.
"A few years," Rilien replied tonelessly, beginning to pull certain tools and ingredients down from shelves and set them down on the table. He noted mentally that he was low on raw lyrium, and needed to purchase more of it. A minor irritation, considering the fact that the prices for which he was able to do so were very much above its market value. That sort of thing happened when you were not affiliated with the Circle and had to work through smugglers to obtain what you wanted. The independence was well worth it, however. He glanced over his shoulder, noting that Amalia was still present.
"She was hiding from debt collectors. In my house." There was the barest hint of dry humor there. "I took care of the problem and let her stay. She is... much the same still, but attempts to help, in her fashion." He could not ascertain if that was the answer the woman wanted, but it was the true one, if very abbreviated, and he wasn't going to mention the possession. Just because someone knew Sparrow did not give them the right to that secret. If Sparrow wanted this Amalia to know, she would tell her, and Rilien wasn't going to.
Amalia nearly smiled at the first part of the tale. That was just like Venak hol, to be hapless even when he thought he was being clever. There was something very honest about that quality, and it was the reason he'd earned the name she gave to him, because it had once worried her so. She'd always been concerned that the world would be too hard on him, given everything that he was but had not chosen to be. His very presence had convinced her that collaring Saarebas was not the right thing, and could not be what the Qun truly demanded. Collaring Venak hol would have killed him, like cutting the wings from a bird. Maybe Sparrow was an appropriate name, too, in its way. There was no way the Qun could demand that. She had firmly believed so then, and this much at least had not changed.
She was curious, though. "Why would you do that? He was not yours to look after. All I have seen of the people here leads me to believe that others would have killed him, or at least thrown him out. What makes you so different?" The question was clipped and blunt, but in this instance, it was something she could not help. The answer was important. If he gave a good one, she could breathe just a little more easily, knowing that her friend was at least being looked after, supported. Everyone needed that sometimes, even birds who wanted nothing more than to fly on their own.
Rilien was perhaps prepared for the question only because he had asked it of himself so many times. It had bothered him for nearly a year after he made the initial offer, because it seemed very much a rash, impulsive choice, and if there was anything he was not, it was rash and impulsive. He leveled a long stare at the Qunari, but she did not retract the question, so he answered it to her as he had to himself. "I did not know, at first. I still do not fully understand it. All I can say is that I was once in a situation where someone could have easily made life easier for himself by leaving me to die, and he chose not to. I had less to lose than he. I do not require extravagance. If someone could lose everything he cared about partially on my account, a few sovereigns was trivial. Perhaps I had simply known him too long. Now, she is my friend, and that is reason enough." He barely lifted one shoulder, then set about his work, a clear sign of dismissal.
Amalia took it for what it was and left without another word. For all the lack of certainty in the man's answer, she was satisfied with it, and knew now that Venak hol was well off here, perhaps moreso than he realized. Perhaps moreso than he had been with the Qun. That thought alone troubled her, but she banished it. Whether he knew it or not, Rilien was very much like a Qunari. She did not know what other person he spoke of, but perhaps she owed him her thanks, as well.
The shop, like most Darktown endeavors, was run down to all appearances, the wood chipping away to the thinnest of boards. There was no sign indicating what it was for, and the door swung open without much noise. Amalia stepped through with less, casting her eyes about the room in an attempt to locate the elvish proprietor.
The workshop was much cleaner on the inside than it was upon its exterior, dominated by a large, central worktable and a singular chair. This surface was polished to a shine, and behind it stood several rows of open shelving, upon which were arranged the tools of Rilien's trades, all neatly aligned but not labelled. There was no need, as he knew what everything was, and nobody else needed to. When the door swung open, he glanced up, catching sight of a face he knew, but not well. This was Sparrow's acquaintance, the one she had seemed so distressed to meet. Conversely, however, she had also been somehow pleased, and though he did not pretend to understand it, he had noticed. The woman was much like Sparrow in her distinct lack of conventional appearance, but that, so far as he could tell, was where the similarity ended.
"You are Amalia. What do you require of me?" he asked bluntly, setting aside for the moment the delicate glass bottles he was working with, but not before stoppering each of them, content to ignore her until she spoke. The clear containers, he shelved, contemplating opening his singular window to rid the room of the smell of nightshade. In the end, he decided against it-- the scent was far more pleasant than Darktown's was.
Efficiency was something Amalia had always appreciated, and it seemed that this basra possessed the quality in spades. Far be it from her to dally in conversation when he was so clearly inclined otherwise, so she placed the wrapped bundle in her hands on the table, untying the ragged twine that held the cloth in place and flipping both ends of the burlap away to expose what lay underneath. "Can you enchant this? The material is most unusual, I am aware, but I was told that you were the person to ask." She stepped back from the table, giving him the space to examine the object if he so wished. In the meantime, she glanced around the shop's interior, paying particular attention to but not approaching the glass vials on the shelves. It would appear that the elf's trade was not limited to enchantment, but also included potions, and, if the smell was anything to go by, poisons.
An interesting fact. She might have even been inclined to inquire over it, were she not here for a very specific purpose and intent on its completion. Still, it was leading her to believe that things would work out after all. As someone who believed in maintaining a minimum of personal possessions, she did not have a fortune to offer in coin, and it had occurred to her that she was asking rather a lot, at least of a basra. Qunari did what needed to be done regardless of the amount of labor involved, but those not of her people were rarely the same.
Rilien's eyes narrowed, and he did cross to the other side of the table, though he did not place his back to the woman. He'd noticed how little noise she made; he was willing to assume that she was inclined towards stealth and no stranger to murder. Though he was not afraid, he considered himself relatively intelligent, and whether she would harm Sparrow was an entirely separate matter than whether she would harm him, had she the chance. Picking up the object on the table, he tested it with a small hammer, running a thumb along one edge. It only confirmed what the peculiar color and weight had led him to guess, and his brows drew together slightly. "An unconventional construction, indeed, but sturdier than most. I can enchant this. Lightning, flame, or nature would be optimal, but it would also tolerate an infusion of spirit or ice. The choice is yours."
He tested the heft and balance with a few deft motions of the hand, nodding ever so slightly. The workmanship was exceptional, actually, better than any of the Kirkwall craftsmen could manage. He also doubted they'd ever use bone. "You made this." It was not a question.
"I did," she replied. "But it will not be I that makes use of it." The Qunari pursed her lips momentarily, considering her options. The obvious choice was nature damage, but the more she thought about it, the more fire seemed appropriate instead. It was as much a gift from her as it was one to him, and she had burned for it, in a sense. It had also not escaped her that there was a certain violence in his nature that matched it well. "Enchant it to burn, and if you can have it done in two days, I'll pay you in this." Reaching into a pouch at her thigh, she extracted a glass vial of her own, filled with a viscous red liquid that was most assuredly not a potion of medicinal nature. She willingly handed it over, watching keenly for the Tranquil's reaction, though he was far harder to red than anyone else she'd encountered in this place.
Two days wasn't a problem, at least not in terms of the time it would actually take him to complete the task proper. Rilien could enchant an object within a few hours of intense concentration. Folding lyrium was not an easy task by any means, but it was also not a long one if you knew what you were doing. The demand in the time frame came from the fact that he'd have to move this job ahead of orders he'd received before it. Not that he cared in the slightest; this was by far the most interesting and challenging thing he'd been asked to do since he'd set up shop here. Most people just wanted rat poison or pain killers--it was only rarely that he ever received the opportunity to do something more than that. Most of the more complex brews he made were either for his own use or the occasional Red Iron contract.
He took the vial from the Qunari and examined it closely, unstoppering it and sniffing delicately. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he smoothed his face over. That alone was rare, but then, what he was holding was perhaps rarer still. "You would pay me in the blood of dragons?" he asked flatly, meeting the woman's mismatched eyes. He blinked slowly, then tilted his head. "If you part with three vials of this and the heart, it will be ready tomorrow." Were he more superstitious, he would be unable to believe his luck. There was a chance-- a slim chance, but still a chance-- that the heart of a dragon could be the key to something he wanted, not as a matter of necessity, but as a matter of what little emotional capacity he still possessed.
"It is done," Amalia replied immediately. Three vials was less than half of what she'd managed to collect and preserve, and the heart, while interesting, was not anything she had a use for. If he was asking for it without being offered, chances were good he had a reason, and that was enough to make the exchange a beneficial one for both of them. She paused for a moment, ready to leave, but found her steps pulling up short of the door. Frowning, she turned herself to lean against the wall. "Venak hol-- the one you call Sparrow. How long have you known him?" she crossed her arms and folded one leg over the other. She'd intended not to ask this question, but... it was unexpectedly difficult, ignoring the fact that this man knew things of her brother that she did not. It had been years, and perhaps she had no claim on the information anymore, but all the same, she desired to know.
Amalia could not say that she had ever cared for a particularly large number of people in her life. Well, that was perhaps not exactly true. She cared for all of her people, devoted her life to protecting them. She'd lost much in the effort to do so, endured much. It was still not the same as the sense in which one cared for individual other people. Though it was a common-enough word among the Qunari, none were kadan to her, and none had ever been. Venak hol was just as important, but she hadn't wanted to bind him with the appellation. Sure enough, he'd flown away from her in the end, as some part of her had always known he would. It was his nature and she did not blame him for it. Yet in the absence of true ties to anyone else, without anything to occupy that place in her heart, it had hurt more than it should have. Amalia, even as a Qunari, was an incomplete person, and she knew it. It was what prevented her from earning the last measure of the Ariqun's trust; the kossith woman had been explicit about this fact. What she had instead were empty spaces and a prodigal brother she could not let go of, even though she knew he was not capable of filling all of them in.
"A few years," Rilien replied tonelessly, beginning to pull certain tools and ingredients down from shelves and set them down on the table. He noted mentally that he was low on raw lyrium, and needed to purchase more of it. A minor irritation, considering the fact that the prices for which he was able to do so were very much above its market value. That sort of thing happened when you were not affiliated with the Circle and had to work through smugglers to obtain what you wanted. The independence was well worth it, however. He glanced over his shoulder, noting that Amalia was still present.
"She was hiding from debt collectors. In my house." There was the barest hint of dry humor there. "I took care of the problem and let her stay. She is... much the same still, but attempts to help, in her fashion." He could not ascertain if that was the answer the woman wanted, but it was the true one, if very abbreviated, and he wasn't going to mention the possession. Just because someone knew Sparrow did not give them the right to that secret. If Sparrow wanted this Amalia to know, she would tell her, and Rilien wasn't going to.
Amalia nearly smiled at the first part of the tale. That was just like Venak hol, to be hapless even when he thought he was being clever. There was something very honest about that quality, and it was the reason he'd earned the name she gave to him, because it had once worried her so. She'd always been concerned that the world would be too hard on him, given everything that he was but had not chosen to be. His very presence had convinced her that collaring Saarebas was not the right thing, and could not be what the Qun truly demanded. Collaring Venak hol would have killed him, like cutting the wings from a bird. Maybe Sparrow was an appropriate name, too, in its way. There was no way the Qun could demand that. She had firmly believed so then, and this much at least had not changed.
She was curious, though. "Why would you do that? He was not yours to look after. All I have seen of the people here leads me to believe that others would have killed him, or at least thrown him out. What makes you so different?" The question was clipped and blunt, but in this instance, it was something she could not help. The answer was important. If he gave a good one, she could breathe just a little more easily, knowing that her friend was at least being looked after, supported. Everyone needed that sometimes, even birds who wanted nothing more than to fly on their own.
Rilien was perhaps prepared for the question only because he had asked it of himself so many times. It had bothered him for nearly a year after he made the initial offer, because it seemed very much a rash, impulsive choice, and if there was anything he was not, it was rash and impulsive. He leveled a long stare at the Qunari, but she did not retract the question, so he answered it to her as he had to himself. "I did not know, at first. I still do not fully understand it. All I can say is that I was once in a situation where someone could have easily made life easier for himself by leaving me to die, and he chose not to. I had less to lose than he. I do not require extravagance. If someone could lose everything he cared about partially on my account, a few sovereigns was trivial. Perhaps I had simply known him too long. Now, she is my friend, and that is reason enough." He barely lifted one shoulder, then set about his work, a clear sign of dismissal.
Amalia took it for what it was and left without another word. For all the lack of certainty in the man's answer, she was satisfied with it, and knew now that Venak hol was well off here, perhaps moreso than he realized. Perhaps moreso than he had been with the Qun. That thought alone troubled her, but she banished it. Whether he knew it or not, Rilien was very much like a Qunari. She did not know what other person he spoke of, but perhaps she owed him her thanks, as well.