Post #2395015 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

The Lady De Launcet was clearly entranced with the story, and seemed disappointed when Ashton paused. “And zen, Messere? What ‘appened?” She was leaning forward in her chair, peering down the table at Ashton, clearly enthralled with the adventure. Nostariel wondered if it was an Orlesian thing. Was that wrong of her to think? But they had an entire institution of Bards, who in addition to being hired killers, had to know stories, epic poems, and songs, so maybe it wasn’t mistaken. Either way, she smiled a little to herself. Ash was clearly in his element, and she more than happy to just let him have at it.

"Well I died, obviously," Ashton said, chuckling to himself. Obviously not, unless he was a ghost and didn't know it. Still, the fact that he'd managed to hook someone in was more than enough to please his ego, which was rapidly rising as the story carried on. He felt he was playing their games perfectly, and that he was winning. "No, nothing so simple I'm afraid. Certainly felt like I did afterward though. See, I'm not in the mind of dying anywhere else besides my bed in the arms of a girl I love. Neither were my companions I feel," He said, glancing at Nostariel. "So we did the only thing we could do. We took our weapons and prepared for a war."

"And a war it was. The creature was huge, nearly sixteen foot tall. Turns out, all the dragons that are left are huge. Maybe due to less competition for food and such," He waved off. He wasn't a dragonkeeper after all, just a dragonslayer. "Don't get me wrong, I was terrified, but I'd be damned if I was going to die in a hole," Not completely the truth. He was more excited than anything, and was one of the three who initially charged the dragon, Rilien and Lucien being the other two. "My companions were terrified as if they faced something out of their nightmares, so it came down to me mostly to slay the beast."

"Once upon a time, I was perhaps the best hunter that Kirkwall had ever seen-- if you'll pardon my embellishment," He added with a wink. He was aiming for being affable, not a conceited jackass. There were plenty of those around. "So while terrified, I was excited at the prospect of hunting a dragon. So with that, a nocked my first arrow of many, and we began our dance." He had led them along long enough, now to get into the spectactular action bits. His words flew from his mouth as he "recounted" the tale, full of near misses and suspense-- as all good stories have. He wove a daring tale of both viciousness and of attrition, with him giving back as much as he took. His story finally wound down with him and the dragon both heavily injured, and facing each other.

"So there we were, staring each other down. I was down to one arrow, a specialized one that exploded on impact. I couldn't miss, to do so would have spelled disaster for me and my friends. I circled the beast, staring over the number of arrows decorating his hide, doing my best to ignore the racking pain in my bones and head. We had enough in us for one last attempt on each other's life. It was quiet for a second, our breaths in perfect unison. A moment felt like a year, and then all that broke when the dragon lunged and I released. The arrow struck the beast in the mouth, driving it's teeth into it's head. It did little against it's momentum though, so the beast crashed on top of me, it's claws raking my face... And that's how I got this scar." He said, tying a neat little bow on the tale.

After that, he shrugged. "The rest you should know. We found our treasure and we became even richer. I took a bone of the dragon and made it into a trophy, I do so love a happy ending, don't you all agree?"

Most of the nobles seemed at least somewhat floored by Ashton's story, but Miranda was apparently quite hard to please, and responding by a rather exaggerated raising of her eyebrows. She'd been about to respond when the Viscount spoke about behind the group, redirecting her attention away.

Sophia was relieved that the feast had concluded without incident, either of the violent kind or of the awkward kind with any of her allies, though she had taken notice of a small disturbance near where Ashton and Nostariel sat together. She would have preferred they split up to cover more ground among the nobles, but she could understand them being uncomfortable in what was undoubtedly an unkind environment to them.

She hadn't eaten all that much of her food, as her appetite had been rather small with all her nerves taken into account. The Viscount seemed to be enjoying himself, though, and had partaken in a good deal of wine, though he clearly still had his senses about him. Sophia had barely sipped at that, knowing the lack of food would cause it to hit her harder than usual, and definitely wanting to keep her own senses tonight.

Her father finally chose the necessary time to rise and call the group to some semblance of order. "Before I allow you all to descend into chaos, I do believe there are a number of gifts over there to be opened. Shall we, then? One at a time, please." Sophia reddened, and smiled despite herself. This was the ridiculous part of the night, when all of these nobles came forth with gifts that she could quite easily acquire herself, sometimes things that she already had acquired for herself. Wealth such as theirs made the act of giving gifts largely irrelevant unless you knew some way to make it meaningful. The majority of them knew her not very well on a personal level, and typically could only provide her with generic gifts. Before long, she already had several new lovely pairs of shoes, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, dresses, riding boots...

And then Amalia was next in line. It really hadn't occurred to her that Amalia would consider getting her a gift, but there she was. It had taken Sophia a moment to recognize her at all from the last time she'd seen her, and to be quite honest, she'd actually forgotten the Qunari woman was here. That probably meant she was doing her job quite well. In any case, Sophia found herself interested, and honestly a little nervous, to see what she would present. Some of the nobles were giving her slightly confused looks. None of the other musicians had brought the Viscount's daughter a gift.

Amalia was aware of the strange looks she was getting, but paid them about as much attention as she would the air. When it was her turn to approach Sophia, she did, a wooden box in hand. The thing itself was made of a fine, dark wood found only in the jungles of Par Vollen, though it might be hard to tell as much. It was polished to a lacquered shine and had once contained some of Amalia’s rarer ingredients, meaning it smelled faintly of incense and eucalyptus. Approaching the Viscount’s daughter, she inclined her head slightly and handed over the box, which was heavy enough to suggest that there was something inside.

The Qunari, however, took her leave with no more explanation than that. Inside the box was a finely-woven sash, thick and colored with bright red and purple dyes that the Ben-Hassrath had extracted from local flora. Several loops were clearly designed to hold small weapons or potion bottles, and each of these presently held the slender neck of a blown-glass vessel, the liquids inside all different colors. Each was labeled with something—Deathroot, Deep Mushroom, Nightshade, even one called Saa-qamek. The paper slip on top of the lot read simply Antidotes, not poisons. By the time she would have been able to read everything, though, the woman had slipped back into the crowd, fading from sight as though she’d never been there at all, and making her way back to the stage.

Well, leave it to the Qunari to have the first gift to surprise her, simply for its sheer practicality, though she supposed she should have expected that of the woman. Smiling, she closed the box again and set it on the table in front of her, though not before giving Lucien more than enough time to read what the message had said, so that he might know its use as well. When she looked up she was hardly surprised to see the Qunari gone, and after a few more of the nobles went, it was the Warden's turn, and Sophia gave her a warm smile as the one elf who wasn't a servant here made her way forward.

When it was Nostariel’s turn to approach, she did so almost warily. She’d seen some of the fine things that Sophia had received, and realistically, she couldn’t afford anything of the sort. The package in her hands was small and rectangular, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. There was a small note on it—which she rather thought gave everything away. To Sophia, Because the world should have a proper accounting of what you do for it. Warm regards, Nostariel. The package, she handed forward with a small smile, then stepped back a bit. With the exception of Amalia, most of the nobles had lingered, so she did too.

The wrapping fell away to reveal a thick book, the binding actually set in a mix of inlaid wood and enough leather for flexibility. The pattern of the inlay was in a swirling design resembling pale flowers scattered about, and she’d included a red-dyed feather quill and a bottle of deep blue ink, the good sort. She had a friend who knew of such things, so she’d managed to secure some without exorbitant fees. The pages were thick, cream-colored, and entirely blank, save the very first page, where the Warden’s note was repeated in lovely calligrapher’s handwriting. She’d learned not only her letters at the Circle, but how to write them elegantly as well. “It isn’t much,” she admitted, “But I find writing meditative, and I think perhaps Varric should not have sole authorship of stories about you. If you keep your own records, it may keep him honest.” The Warden smiled at the thought. Any attempt at keeping Varric Tethras ‘honest’ was probably a futile endeavor.

It was such a simple thing, and yet Sophia regarded it with a great deal of care, moreso than she gave anything else she'd received thus far. It... was actually something she had always meant to do, but never really got around to, for lack of time or lack of will or simply lack of energy, but she had always wanted to keep her own journal. Speaking her thoughts to Lucien had done a great deal to ease her mind, and while of course an empty book could not counsel her, any outlet for her thoughts was a way to prevent them from overwhelming her, wasn't it? That, and... she'd heard that her mother had been fond of writing as well, though she had never laid eyes on such works. There were some thing her father guarded very closely, even from her. She looked back up at the Warden and gave her a heartfelt smile.

"Thank you, Nostariel, really. This is very thoughtful of you." She didn't feel like she could thank her well enough at the moment, but hopefully her eyes spoke clearer words than she. She would make time for this.

“Oh, you’re absolutely welcome,” Nostariel returned warmly, echoing the smile. She’d been a little afraid it was too small a thing, or too plain, but Sophia seemed to really like it, and that was nice. She dipped a little curtsy and shuffled herself off to the side so the next person in line could step up.

Then it was Ashton's turn. With the same zeal he had presented for the entire night, he strode up to Sophia with a pair of gifts. Perhaps the second was the make up for the first's size. In fact, the first wrapped gift was a couple of inches in width and length with the other being a squarelike but long in length. Ashton didn't see the point in buying gifts when the best ones were made. That and he was miserly tight with his acquired wealth. He stooped low for Sophia to accept the top gift first to which he told her, "It's for that weapon of yours. Tie it off on the pommel and it'll bring you good luck."

Inside the package was a rabbits foot, attached to a lanyard of leather. It wasn't some hastily crafted artifact either. The fur was thick and fluffy of a white color with a black spot near the toes. The part where the rest of the rabbit had been cut off was capped off by finely smelted silver and engraved with Sophia's name. Even the lanyard was an extravagant affair, black and white leather strands braided to make one. It was the finest rabbit's foot ever witnessed. Next came the larger present. This too was homemade, though took considerably longer than the rabbits food. Under the sleeves of paper hid a carving of the Viscount's keep. Again, it displayed the craftsman ship Ashton had came to expect of himself. He was not a lazy man, and when he set his mind to it his hands could truly craft amazing pieces. The sculpture was a near identical match to the real one, with chiseled windows, the double doors leading into the keep and even the long flight of stairs leading up to it.

"Don't forget your friends when you own that, yeah?" Ashton said, winking.

Sophia laughed pleasantly upon seeing the rabbit's foot, imagining how it would look in battle tied around the pommel of Vesenia. Perhaps not as intimidating as could be, but Sophia had never thought herself a particularly intimidating foe, and being quite honest, a little luck now and then certainly couldn't hurt her. The second gift was cause for her to widen her eyes in shock. Now there was something very few, if any, of these nobles could do. They probably couldn't even buy something like this. The attention to detail was just...

"This is incredible," she said, finding the approximate location of her room and unable to remove the smile from her face. "Thank you, Ashton." A few more after him, and there was no one but Lucien remaining. Her escort was sadly forced to wait until the end, but Sophia had picked out which one was undoubtedly his by now, and found herself extremely interested to find out what it was. Also quite nervous, but in an entirely good way. It was getting a little difficult to remember why all of this was supposed to be a serious night.

Lucien thought his friends were acquitting themselves rather well in the gifts department, though none lost their distinctive character in doing so. It was something that at once warmed him and made him a little nervous. Amalia’s gift was consummately practical, but that she had given it at all said something, he thought. Nostariel’s was sweet and thoughtful, and of course Ashton’s was entirely Ashton—an interesting mix of humor and skill. His apprehension for the possible reception of his own gift did not show, but it was stirring.

Still, his turn came, last of all, and he walked to the table to retrieve it, a four-sided shape of about four feet in height and three in width, covered over with a large cloth. He set it down on the floor so that it was facing only Sophia and her family, aware that if it was ill-received, it would be better if others did not see. Wordlessly, he pulled aside the fabric and draped it over his arm, using his other to hold the object upright.

The cloth covering was, in fact, hiding from sight a large rectangle of canvas, but far from a blank one. Indeed, it had been covered in paint with painstaking expertise, the kind born of long hours of practice and the patient instructor of a master of the craft. For Lucien, the master had been his mother, and he thought that, perhaps, he may have done her proud with this effort. He’d spared no expense on the pigments themselves, and the colors were rich and vibrant, but it was what they depicted that truly caught the eye. The image was dynamic, vivacious, and almost seemed to be of a living being, frozen in time. The woman at the center was arrestingly-beautiful, her features—long, golden hair, striking blue eyes, and the proud carriage of her posture—very similar in kind to Sophia’s, in fact, though this figure was somewhat older and more seasoned-looking than the Viscount’s daughter. She stood proudly, bedecked in simple, but well-maintained armor, the only hint of her allegiance the symbol of the Aegis mercenary company, in the form of a white band around one arm, the crest on it replicated to exacting detail.

In one hand, she held the reins of a white destrier, the creature standing sideways behind her, its head turned forward and almost drawn even with hers. In her other hand was a naked sword, the gleaming steel, like the armor she wore, simple but elegantly so, with no doubt as to the deadliness of the implement. She and the beast alike both looked somewhere into the distance, but her observation was far from passive. Perhaps it was something in the cast of her face, or the lines of her posture, or perhaps simply the fire evident in her eyes, but it was easy to tell that this was a woman who put her heart into even the most basic of things. She had been described so to him, after all.

All in all, it wasn’t really a typical pose for portraiture, but then, he had been repeatedly assured that Vesenia Dumar had not been a typical woman. “I… had to take a few artistic liberties,” Lucien admitted, glancing down at his work with the ghost of a frown etched over his face, “But I thought… it was rather a shame that nobody had ever painted her. I suppose perhaps even I haven’t. I admit, it was much easier to paint what I thought you might be in a decade or so…” A few of the details were different, of course, but those were pure extrapolation, based on what he’d been able to discover about Vesenia’s personality. “I realize that this may be a little… untoward, and if you don’t like it, I do understand, and apologize.” Part of him definitely felt he’d overstepped some personal boundary here, but trying to find a gift for Sophia had proven impossible. There was nothing useful he could purchase her that she didn’t have more than enough funds to acquire on her own, and as far as craft went, he had only the one skill. Perhaps it would have been better to paint something else, but… this had been his first thought, and had survived though he’d discarded many others.

Sophia was entirely floored by Lucien's gift, but though she felt nothing but awe at his skill and the lengths to which he probably went to create this, she couldn't help but immediately think of her father, and her feelings turned to worry, over what his reaction would be to this gift. He made no immediate reaction at first, studying every inch of it as if searching for something in it, some imperfection perhaps. His brow began to furrow the longer he looked, and then eventually he began to blink rather rapidly, before standing slowly.

"If you'll excuse me..." he said shakily, before he turned and started to make his way from the ballroom. Sophia bit her lip as she watched him go, but decided against following him. She couldn't possibly know what he was feeling, but she was certain any sort of outside interference would not be welcome at the moment. It occurred to her for a moment that someone should follow him for his safety, given the threats, but he would have the guards with him if he went far enough, and they would have to do. Instead Sophia stood and went to Lucien, stopping close enough that they might speak without the others hearing. Lucien looked clearly torn at presenting the gift, but Sophia wouldn't have it. She put one hand against his chest.

"Lucien, it's beautiful, don't... I think he liked it, really, I just think he was surprised by it, is all. Really, I love it."

Lucien swallowed tightly and replaced the fabric over the canvas, then gently used his own hand to remove Sophia’s, smiling joylessly as he released it at her side. “Be that as it may, Sophia, I have clearly overstepped myself. I had no right to go digging in your family history, and I should have known better. I’m deeply sorry, and I shall not repeat the error.” The last few words had moved from a stricken murmur back into something approaching his usual polite courtesy, but it was hard to mistake the guilt still lingering there. He had never intended to cause anyone distress, and furthermore his actions had made their job here harder, by separating the potential targets. Fool—this was what he got for his sentimentality. He should have seen it coming; had Sophia not explicitly warned him that her mother was a sensitive subject for her father? He was a damned fool.

His face closed off, and he carefully set the covered painting against the table again. Though he was tempted to take it away, it was Sophia’s now, and she could do whatever she pleased with it. A few nearby people had noticed the strangely-quiet exchange, but none commented on it, in particular, unsure what exactly had caused their Viscount to react thus. Mercifully, most of the party simply continued on around them, and the mingling was soon to be back in full swing.

He was enough out of sorts that he did not notice Amalia duck behind the stage, flickering and disappearing from view to follow the Viscount. If he ran into trouble, she would be there to deal with it.

Sophia felt more than a little helpless, because he was probably right. His was the last of the gifts, and many of the guests had gone back to speaking amongst themselves once the Viscount had departed, a number of them whispering things that Sophia was very certain she didn't want to hear.

She huffed out a frustrated breath. She wouldn't have her father and Lucien crushed by this, but for the life of her, she didn't know what to say to fix it. She opened her mouth to say something to him, but the words just died in her throat.

Snippet #2395015

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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