Post #2494139 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

After everyone had had a chance to get a proper night’s rest—well, perhaps everyone save Lucien and his two old friends, who had been awake quite late into the night catching up, Violette had decided to spend the following morning about Kirkwall. She’d shed most of the identifiable Chevalier trappings, choosing instead to outfit herself in some spare, unmarked chainmail and a fair amount of ordinary-enough reddish leather. It allowed her to pass through most of the districts of town without too much notice, though any woman walking around with a large two-handed sword strapped to her back was bound to draw some attention, she supposed. Still, it wasn’t like she’d been accosted, though on some level, she might have preferred it.

Vi was not her sister, who could apparently just subsume all of her frustration beneath an exterior like a still pond. She needed to process actively, and given her present level of irritation with Lucien, a good confrontation might have been what was in order, her still-sore wounds from yesterday be damned. That healer friend of his was quite good at what she did, anyway. But truthfully, it was still a terrible idea to go looking for a fight right now, and she knew that.

So instead she wound her way up through Hightown, as it was called, seeking the place Lucien had told her about. The day was quite bright and sunny, bleaching the pale stone of many of the buildings almost white, and the Chevalier squinted against the glare, raising a mail-gloved hand to shade her face. In some ways, it all reminded her of a smaller, less-grand version of Val Royeaux, but there was considerably less artifice and a distinct lack of masked nobles, both of which she counted in its favor rather than against it. Still, from what she’d seen of Lowtown and the rotten-smelling passage to Darktown, it was far from a place without its own problems. Her friend’s initial decision to make this his destination made a lot of sense to her, having seen it for herself. She’d have thought he’d stay in Denerim, but then, that place was being cleaned up quite capably already, from what the rumor mills told.

After a bit of navigational mishap that planted her solidly in the merchants’ guild for a while, Violette finally found the particular storefront she was seeking. Trying the door, she found that it was open for business and stepped inside, almost to assume she had the wrong place again and perhaps hadn’t left the guild after all. The man immediately behind the nearest counter appeared to be a general merchant, and his height and stockiness indicated dwarf. The younger one behind the workbench was also a dwarf, though she noted that some of the counters were sized for someone taller. “Your pardon, serah,” she said politely but not absent a certain authority. “Might this be where I can find the enchanter called Ser Rilien?”

Bodahn, who’d been organizing his wares, glanced up, smiling amicably and bobbing his head in the affirmative. “Indeed so, milady. Master Rilien went to pick up some supplies. He should be back presently.” On the other side of the room, Sandal poked his head up over one of the taller workbenches and contributed a cheerful “Enchantment!” Bodahn nodded affectionately. “Just so. Bodahn Feddic, at your service, milady. This here’s my boy Sandal. We’re Master Rilien’s business partners.” He bowed at the waist in what he took to be a polite fashion, and gestured to the few chairs scattered about the workshop. It was impeccably organized, but the prior lack of seating had been Bodahn’s to remedy, as he believed it would assist with the perception of customer service, something the Tranquil was admittedly unconcerned with. “Please have a seat.”

Before there was much of an opportunity to take advantage of the offer, however, the shop door jingled quietly, and the enchanter himself stepped over the threshold, neatly sliding around the chevalier’s position without making contact and depositing several parcels on the lower counters. "Sandal,” he said simply, and the young dwarf set about opening the packages and filing away their contents in the proper places. After a few moments of this, he turned at last to face the shop’s guest. "Captain Routhier. Is there something you require?”

Though Violette’s mouth had ticked up into a smile at the dwarves, almost but not quite becoming a chuckle at the mostly-passable imitation of courtly manners, she was halted from returning the gesture by the appearance of just the one she’d asked after. She swung around to face him more on instinct than any well-thought-out decision, and even when he slipped past, her eyes tracked him carefully. It was hard not to—not when every lesson near-beaten into her as a child bid her be always wary in the presence of Bards, and certainly never present her back to one. That had been what got Lucien almost killed, and by this very elf, no less. Even so…

At the address, more formal than most of her men even usually bothered with, she tried to find the smile again, only to discover that she wasn’t quite sure where it went. She probably looked a fool, and that was something she was unaccustomed to being. “Please,” she said, then paused to clear her throat. “Just Violette is fine. My friends call me Vi, even, and any friend of Lucien’s is a friend of mine.” After another slightly-awkward pause, she unstrapped the sword from her back and laid it carefully out on the counter. It was somewhere between a true two-hander and a hand-and-a-half, more the former, just scaled for a smaller knight. Violette had not her sister’s elegant height; she was about as tall as Rilien, whereas Liliane was only a few shy of Lucien’s height.

The weapon, therefore, had been custom-made to her, when she took her commission as a captain in the chevalier order. Her style was hardy and stout, but too offensive for a shield, and it was to weapons like this that she’d always been most suited. The steel was excellent, but relatively plain. She wasn’t too fond of the extraneous details, but this was different, really. “I was… hoping you might be willing to enchant this for me, before I go. With fire, if that’s possible.”

Rilien slid the sword from the scabbard that held it, sighting down the blade of it before turning it to examine from the side. A flick of his fingers produced a gentle vibration in the steel, and he nodded slightly. He glanced back up at the woman for a moment, his eyes half-lidded in contemplation. There was something slightly off about her demeanor, and he did not know precisely what to make of it. The wariness, he was used to—it was well-established by this point that he had been and to some extent always would be a Bard, and as a rule, they were not trustworthy. He certainly would not be such a fool as to place his trust in any of them. But there was something beyond that, which apparently motivated her inclination to treat him as a friend would, and it made little sense to him.

Ordinarily, it would not have concerned him. But Rilien was always concerned with what he did not understand, and so for the moment, her behavior was a conundrum that he wished to answer. “I expect that this is possible, provided that you do not leave tomorrow,” he replied neutrally. Then: “Violette.” If she was going to invite him to use her given name, he was going to use it. He generally eschewed formality where it was not necessary, and had extended the use of title here only because of her association with the one man he called Ser. “Is there anything else you would have me add, or will the burning enchantment suffice?”

“Uh…” Vi swallowed a bit more thickly than was perhaps warranted by the situation, then remembered the question she was supposed to be answering and shook her head. “No. I mean… the fire should suffice, I think.” She wasn’t even sure she really should be doing this much; though there was no rule against having a weapon or shield enchanted, it was not commonly done, not even amongst those chevaliers that had the means. Perhaps it was nothing more than an innate distrust of magic, but they were not Templars, so it wasn’t like they generally cared any more than they had to whether or not someone slung fire from their hands. There was no organizational opinion on that, so… it was probably fine. Probably just some dumb pride thing about not needing help in battle. Morons. She’d take all the help she could get, if it would keep she and her people alive.

Lucien hadn’t learned that on his own, after all.

She was pretty sure this was the point in the conversation at which she was reasonably expected to leave, but she gathered her wits about her as well as she could manage under the circumstances and sat down instead. She could at least trust that he’d be direct enough to ask her to leave if she were bothering him. Could he be bothered? She didn’t really know. Violette had only ever met one other Tranquil, and that one had been nothing like Rilien. “So… how do you find Kirkwall, Rilien?”

He glanced over at the woman, blinking for a moment, but he didn’t refuse to answer. “It is as I suspect most Marcher cities are. Less grandiose than Val Royeaux, and also less treacherous. Most of the time, one’s enemies are inclined to the wearing of armor and the obvious wielding of weaponry.” It wasn’t as though they often came disguised as allies. “Or perhaps… the wearing of robes and the wielding of obvious blood magic.” There were quite a large number of apostates and maleficarum wandering about for a city of this size, which was doubly unusual when one considered how hard-line the Templars here appeared to be.

The Tranquil’s head tilted slightly to the side, and he considered the rest of his answer for a moment. “If Ser Lucien’s happiness is your concern, it is perhaps a matter to take up with him yourself. I am a poor judge of such matters. He does not seem to suffer from a lack of things to do, however.” Perhaps this explained her odd behavior—she did not seem used to seeking information in indirect ways, and perhaps she felt that asking him qualified as that kind of method. He was unsure why she would bother—if there was anyone who would be honest to a fault, it was Lucien.

“That’s not it,” Violette protested, pursing her lips. Of course, the she reconsidered her statement and sighed, shaking her head. It was little wonder she’d chosen the knighthood over court life, if she was this poor at conveying her meaning when she… raking a hand through her hair, she pulled a part a few tangles at the end of the red mass and amended. “His happiness does concern me, of course. But you’re right; for the most part, I’d be best served asking him about that. I asked because…” she struggled for the right words for a moment, then gave that up as a lost cause. Let her be misinterpreted if she must; it seemed a fate she was ever condemned to, at least with respect to some people. “I asked because I’d rather hoped that you might be happy here, also.”

Of course, now he probably thought she’d missed the glaringly-obvious. “I know it’s… different for you than it is for other people, but… Lucien’s right about you. You’re not like other Tranquil, and you’re not like other Bards. I don’t think… it seems to me that he might be the only one who ever thanked you, for what you did for him, and that’s just wrong. You deserved to be thanked, and you deserve to be honored for what you did. So… thank you.”

He truly hadn’t been expecting anything like that, and for a moment, Rilien didn’t reply, processing the words. Most of it was sentiment, of course, but it was a very similar kind of sentiment as the sort Ser Lucien was given to, and if nothing else, he’d found a certain… respect for that, over the years he’d known the fellow. He’d known the choice he made was the wrong one when he’d made it, in the sense that he’d likely be killed for it, but in some way he could not explain, it had always seemed right as well, like perhaps if there was a reason to die other than the natural end of a life, something like that might be it. This feeling had always puzzled him, even as faint as it was, but of late, he’d felt that little sliver of himself which was prone to such errant fancies growing larger. If Violette was to be believed, it was something to be honored. He disagreed, but… that didn’t mean he failed to understand it, just a little.

“It is,” he said mildly. “But it is not so different as I once believed.” A pause, and he set down the sword for a moment, folding his hands into his sleeves. He had not expected himself to say that out loud, and perhaps, in front of the others, he would not have been able to, though he could not say what the difference was. Perhaps it was because they were more or less strangers. He had once heard someone, perhaps it was the Warden, remark that some things were easier to say to strangers than they were to friends. Rilien had never had difficulty saying what he wanted to in front of anyone, but perhaps it was simply that it made more sense to say this to a stranger, who would not expect anything different of him for it. Anything he still could not give. He might understand some things a little more than he had, but he was still far from anything approaching normalcy in his emotional range. He was still Tranquil, just… not as much of one as he had been.

“There is no need to thank me. Either I did it from self interest or perhaps because I recognized that the kind of person he is happens to be the kind that deserves such things. Either way, what I did was only logical.”

“If you say so,” Violette replied, but she couldn’t help the small smile that lifted her mouth. “But you know, Rilien… recognizing that isn’t something that most people do. So perhaps you deserve to be thanked for it anyway. Whatever your reasons, you helped my friend, and I’ll always be grateful.” Standing, she bowed formally and decided to leave him to his work.

Snippet #2494139

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

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Characters Present

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