Dragonage - Lumeneire/Elemental Son

[Lumeneire]

A private Roleplay between Elemental Son and Lumeneire.

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[Lumeneire]

Areavin L'narthuile

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Areavin crouched on the edge of her bed like a bird on it's perch. A hefty tome balanced on her knee and her eye's dashed from left to right as she drank in the words. It felt as if she had travelled to a new world entirely and every piece of information had to be absorbed as quickly as her mind would allow. She chanted some of the scripture silently through her soft lips and as she did so, a spark of fire ignited at her fingertips. Being a mage, she could of course eventually learn to manipulate all of the elements to her will, but being cooped up amongst the Dalish for the entirety of her life meant her power wasn't able to grow. Of course, if she hadn't been travelling amongst the Eleven clans, she would have been found and forced to serve in a circle and that to her, was a prison. She was like a lithe beast that needed to spread her wings and fly freely, even if that meant she had to hide her power from the outside world and practice in secrecy; but at least that was her choice and in a way, freedom was even more important to her than knowledge.


The dancing embers fizzled into tendrils of smoke as she laughed cheerfully to herself. Her entire life, she had been able to manipulate water and ice as if it was a very part of her existence but nothing else came easy to her. Even though any other mage would have laughed at her small accomplishment that day, it meant more than all of the gold in the world to her. As the grey smoke dissipated into the air, her stomach rumbled and a wave of nausea rushed over her. She had been trying to summon the element all afternoon and her energy was spent. In the eyes of her kin, she was young and as she slipped silently from the bed and onto her feet, she could understand why the elders had begged her not to leave. Even though she was naturally gifted with magic and alchemy, Areavin lacked the wisdom and patience of her people. It would no doubt get her into trouble on her travels, but it was a risk she was willing to take in order to pursue her passion.


She picked up her emerald green cloak and slung in over her shoulders. She flung the hood over her long, obsidian black hair and hid her jade green eyes in shadow. Her pointed ears sat nicely under the cascading waterfall of hair and the heavy fabric of the cloak covered the pointed ends. It would be dangerous to admit she was an Elf around these parts. Travelling Elves were always met with wondrous questions from wide eyed and curious people, and those sort of people always talked. News of her presence would spread quickly and before she knew it, she would be pursued by the wrong sort and eventually be revealed as a mage, an apostate. Her eyes darted to the expertly crafted staff resting against the wardrobe but turned her gaze away reluctantly. If she took that down into the tavern, it would no doubt draw too much attention, especially in the day. On the other hand, if she left it behind and was attacked, she would be almost defenseless, except for her armour. She weighed the options in her head, but her stomach chose for her. She left the staff behind and made her way from her rented room, down into the tavern.


As she quietly crept down the steps, she was met with the delicious smell of warm bread and exotic cheeses. Saliva gathered in her mouth and she swallowed hard, trying to satiate her cravings. As she down from the last step, her heart stopped and she stood still for several seconds before moving. She was afraid someone would turn and stare, but no one did. The few men that were in the room were concentrating on downing their ale and scoffing fistfuls of meat into their face. Areavin let a sly smile creep from her own stupidity and paranoia. She pulled her hood further over her eyes as she elegantly waltzed over to the bar and waited with her head down until someone approached.


The kindly gentleman that had taken her money and given her the comfiest room in the building waddled over and threw her a smile. She could barely see his mouth underneath the gruff grey of his beard and moustache, but the light in his eyes and the plump roundness of his cheeks gave away his happy expression. He was shorter than Areavin and three times as round, but she knew not to judge others by their appearances. His customers seemed to love him and he was kind enough to her, so who was she to judge? His voice was rough and common; at first she hadn't been able to understand what he was trying to say to her, but after a few days of the same conversation, she had begun to find his accent rather charming. "Well, good evening Ma'am. What a pleasure it is t'see you again. Would you like the same meal as yesterday?" Areavin nodded her head and felt the saliva building in her mouth again. "Are you sure you just want t'eat salad again or would you like me to throw in a little something extra today?" She gave into the delicious smell that was tugging away at her nostrils and her innocent voice replied with uncertainty. "Perhaps a slice of that bread and cheese I keep smelling as well please." The barkeep boomed with laughter and and called out the order to the chef slaving away behind the barrels of mead and ale. He turned back to her and slammed his hand on the bartop heartily. "See, I told you that you would give in and try the good stuff. Take a seat and I'll bring it over."


Areavin spun on her heal and dashed to the table in the corner she had become accustomed to. It sat right beneath a circular window that allowed streams of light to break through. She liked to stare at the dust particles floating in the beams, imagining they were stars of perfect little pieces of magic floating on air. She leaned back so that her body would be cast in shadow and kept her head low like an animal on the prowl. Nothing of her could be seen in the dark other than her jade green eyes. Eyes that were constantly shifting back and forth across the room, nervous, untrusting.

 

[Elemental Son]

The problem with being on the run, was that when you finally ran out of the coin you’d pulled from your father’s estate coffers, it was damnably hard to find enough to replace them. Arios Devellin wandered into another tavern, in another no-name little town, looking to remedy that particular shortfall. He had few enough options here, however. Gambling was probably out – the people in this town, so far as he could tell, were boringly devout. That severely limited his potential for making decent coin. There was monster hunting, which was always dangerous, but satisfied his wanderlust, or theft, which was risky, but always gratifying when it went to plan. In either case, it meant trouble.


Arios had an incredible propensity for getting into trouble, one way or another. It had started as soon as he was old enough to talk, and he seemed to only grow more into it as he became older. Finally it had progressed to a level where it had chased him from a comfortable life in Denerim, and it was still chasing him now, some two years later. Those months had been revolutionary, however – he had grown gregarious and sly, cunning and confident. Despite the relative poverty, the freedom to be as wicked as he chose, day by day, was endlessly refreshing.


He surveyed the occupants of the room – all oak and pine, hand-carved and well loved- before him. Candlelight made up for the dark of the late hour, and gave the place a warm glow. The smell of strong alcohol was pungent; no doubt a local brew. Overtones of bread, meat and cheese blended with it, masking the tavern in an enticing aroma. Arios flicked his dark hair out of his eyes, looking the few people inside, over.


The group were mostly men – probably those who worked as lumberjacks and huntsmen in the woods that endlessly encircled the village. The barman was an enormously broad little man with a pleasant demeanor, and a glint of intelligence in his eyes. If there were rumors about, he would know them.


The sole unidentifiable occupant was in the corner, with his or herself shielded by shadows from Arios. With the eyes of a thief, he examined the person. From the amount of space between the table and the wall, he guessed she was female – the nook was slight, and even a young man would have struggled to fill the space comfortably. As he weighed up the pros and cons of attempting to pick her pockets if and when she left the tavern, Arios wandered up to the bar himself. As always, the utter inaudibility of his leather boots on the floorboards made him smile. It had been a difficult steal, getting those, but they had proven their worth a thousand times over.


Arios had been in town less than a day, but he had no intention of staying long term. A quick pickpocket job could be enough to get him out of here and back on the road. Flicking his dark hair out of his eyes, he looked forward towards the barman, and reconsidered his options. Withdrawing some of the precious few coins he had remaining, Arios flagged the enormous man down, paying for bread and a bowl of the meaty stew he had been able to smell from the doorway. Now the art in play was conversation. Arios was fortunate in that the barman was curious enough to start the dance.


“Lot ‘ta newcomers been wandering through lately. Wha ‘tis it that brings you through this neck of the woods, Messere?”


Arios considered the question. What sort of thing would play on the minds of folk out here enough that his involvement would be a recommendation in itself? The wolf head mounted above the bar, lips frozen in an eternal snarl, gave him the inspiration he needed.


Lathering the bread with the contents of the bowl pushed towards him, and pausing to take an appreciative bite, Arios answered simply.


“Hunting werewolves.”


A hush fell over the tavern, and internally, Arios cursed. He didn’t know what it was, but that bite of instinct that had followed him since childhood was letting him know – loudly- that he had just crossed a line. The barman paused, grubby cloth grasped in his enormous hand, still against the hardwood surface of the bar where he’d been wiping it down. With a coldness that seemed foreign in the little tavern, he asked a completely unexpected question.


“And what, Messere, d’you have against werewolves?”


Arios blinked. Trust his bloody luck.

 

[Lumeneire]

Areavin had been sat waiting for her food for far too long and frustration was setting in. Any other person would have gone up to the barkeep and complained, but she had no desire to draw attention to herself and instead, would have to sit and moan quietly to herself. She had tried to occupy her mind by counting the dust particles floating down in dancing tendrils across the table and humming along to the bard casually playing his musical instrument in the corner. She hadn't heard of the song before, but from what she could gather from the words, it was a tale of the Chantry and it's unwavering desire to serve Andraste. Areavin had her own gods, there were many weaved into legends of old and she just couldn't comprehend how the people of Ferelden could only believe there was one true God, one being who could create all that was in the world. She found humanity to be ignorant and arrogant. It was one of the reasons her Kin feared for her when she chose to travel, but she knew there was more to the kingdoms than just men. There were Qunari, Dragons, lost souls, wild beasts and enchanting mages to meet.


Speaking of men, her attention was drawn as the haunting melody of the bard abruptly broke into silence. Areavin tore her gaze from the dancing light and scoured across the faces of the tavern. All of them had ceased in their activities. No-body spoke, no one raised their glasses and not a single person held a cheerful expression on their face. Actually, from what she could tell, they all looked incredibly furious and disgusted. She swallowed the lump that had caught in her throat and dared to glance in the direction the angered crowd had turned towards. At the bar, stood a man draped in a cloak. She could tell it was a human from the way he held himself. Even the most elegant of their kind looked awkward in comparison to the elegance of the elves. The way his feet stood slightly apart, his shoulders squared under his cloak made and his back straightened out with surety made her certain it wasn't a woman.


Areavin was fully aware that the kind barkeep who had been looking after her didn't have his usual approachable demeanor and this made her feel very uncomfortable. She was now curious of the stranger but afraid as well. She could feel the tension in the room sparking like electricity. The charged molecules in the air tickled at the hair on the back of her neck and enticed goosebumps out of her skin. Her stomach no longer grumbled and she wished nothing more than to be hidden in her room, surrounded by her tomes and Staff. Everyones attention was so focused on the stranger than she thought she would have a chance to rise silently from her seat and dash to the stairs, hidden in the shadows. Being in that room, at that moment, made her feel unsafe. She couldn't quite place why, but in her gut, she had a terrible feeling. Her instincts were usually right and she wasn't one to ignore her own advice, not now, not when she had worked so hard to learn how to manipulate fire.


Areavin pushed her chair away from the nook in the corner she had hidden herself in and grimaced as the heavy wooden legs scraped along the floor. The sound was unbearably loud amongst the quiet tension and a few of the heads whipped around to her direction. She daren't move a muscle. The voice in her head was screaming at her, disgusted at her for being so clumsy and frustrated that she wasn't moving faster. Areavin felt like a deer caught in the path of a hunter; there was only a split second to act as the predator and the prey locked eyes, only a moment to attempt to outrun the fast flying arrow or be stricken down and claimed as a prize.

 

[Elemental Son]

There was a blessing in being quick of wit that was both more tangible and more useful than any the Chantry had ever bestowed upon him. In the moment between the barman’s question and his own eyes re-opening from their momentary closure, Arios had come up with a plan.


He reasoned that – from the fact he was clearly alone, that every person in the bar had gone still at his statement, from the deep isolation of this town and the sudden hostility in it – that if he answered incorrectly, he could well wake up dead tomorrow. For whatever reason, the people here felt that they could openly, aggressively, be defensive of werewolves. That was unusual, but enough to pique his interest – if he could survive their response. Thankfully, Arios was a skilled liar, and if there was one thing he was better at than getting himself into trouble, it was talking his way into trouble of a different kind.


A chair towards his rear left skidded backwards on the floor boards, the scrape of it deafening in the heady silence. His mind supplied ‘the woman’, but the level of threat in the room prompted his answer more quickly than he would otherwise have given it. For all he knew, she could have been in on it.


Arios paused for just the right amount of time, eyes widening slightly, surprise painted across his face. With bated breath, he answered, voice hushed. “You mean – this is the town? It’s safe to talk about them?” Guile came to him as easily as breathing, and he resisted the impulse to smirk with satisfaction as the barman slowly resumed dragging the cloth across the bar’s wood-top. His lie had been swallowed without a hitch.


The barman nodded at him to sit, and impliedly, resume his meal, as he began to speak. The dull roar of tired men talking in the background slowly picked back up as Arios did so. Whatever insanity was at play in this place, at least it was interesting. If he played it right, it might even lead to gold.


“You’ve heard of us, then. Th’ local coven here has a pact – sheep and the odd head of cattle, an’ they protect us from far worse. ‘S been a long enough arrangement that we’re…fond of one another.” The barman explained, his hostility reserved once more. Arios ate and listened, appreciating the meal and processing the information. It made sense – none of the men he’d seen here had the gait or cant of warriors, and a place this deep in the wilds had to be rampant with threats.


“Wha ‘tis it that makes you look for them, Messere?”


Now that was a tricky question. Swallowing, Arios considered. If he claimed to be one of them, that could be awkward – if werewolves were anything like their smaller canine cousins, territorial disputes could get him killed. Eventually, he settled on something a step more removed.


“A very close friend of mine was bitten when he was younger – I’ve always known, and never had an issue with it.” Arios continued eating, using it as a cover to pay attention to the shift in attitudes around him. A lilt in the voices behind him. A sympathetic breath from the barman. Positive reactions. By the Maker these folks were weird. “But he’s become sick, and it’s no human ailment, and I can’t exactly appeal to the Chantry for aid.” The anguish in Arios’s voice was indistinguishable from the real thing, the pain of the plight of his fictional friend evident. “I was hoping… well. If anyone might know about such things, it would be your people.” That would do, he thought – layering it on any more heavily would be suspicious.


As it turned out, it was more than enough. The barman clapped him on the shoulder, a genuine empathy on his face. “I don’ know too much ‘bout their sicknesses, but if they can help you, I’d be willing t’ bet they would. ‘S a matter of fact, we need t’ send them some livestock t’morrow. Why don’t you take them up? Could be a good introduction, and all.”


Arios smiled gratefully, all the while his mind yelling at him over the blatant insanity of agreeing to walk into a den of werewolves. Chances were, in these woods, he wouldn’t make it there, let alone back. Too many things out here would be desperate for a meal of flesh, be it animal or human. Still, necessity meant he now had a part to play. “Thank you – I’d be more than willing. Although, as I’m new in these parts, I’m not sure I should make the trip alone.”


With that, Arios turned his attention to the rest of the tavern – who had, no doubt, been listening – and put the question to an open field. Just before he spoke, the cloaked woman to his – now – right, caught his eye. Standing had put her – only just – within the halo of light cascading down from the candelabra mounted to the rafters above. ‘Striking eyes. And trouble, by the look.’


He shook off the momentary distraction, turning his most charismatic smile on the crowd, expression open and trustworthy. “I’m willing to do it, but I’d be grateful, Sers, if one of the more adventurous among you would be an accomplice.” With a moment’s hesitation, instinct prompting him, he gave a sly grin to the woman to his side, adding, “Or you, M’lady, if you’ve a mind to showing your mettle.”


With that, Arios let the chips fall where they may.

 

[Lumeneire]

Areavin hissed under her breath without realising. The ignorant male had unnecessarily drawn attention to her. She locked onto his stare for a brief second and in that moment, she gazed into his soul. Her stomach tightened and her chest heaved as her mind reeled over his being. It was a trick the Dalish used to understand the true nature of a stranger without having to speak to them. Many who had stared back into the eyes of her kin had become lost for eternity, trapped within the mind of another, without the skill to escape or the mental capacity to understand what was happening. Areavin was naturally gifted at soul gazing, her affinity to magic gave her a natural advantage into feeling the emotions and understanding the intentions of other living creatures. As she stared into the strangers eyes, from far across the room, she felt a sense of sadness, eagerness and most of all, bad luck. Even if the man stood at the bar was the kindest soul to ever walk this earth, his presence was tainted with a wrong feeling. Areavin knew that if she made contact with this man, nothing but misfortune would follow in her wake.


She tore her eyes from his and wrapped her cloak tightly around herself as she silently fled from the table. She kept her head low and her focus towards the stairs. The other people in the room were no longer silent and had continued to casually talk amongst themselves. She was free to weave herself through the tables and hide her body from the shadows of burly men. She paid no more heed to the stranger and scurried to the steps leading up to her room. Areavin was fast, faster than any of the regular folk in the tavern and her cloak billowed around her ankles as she ran, she must have looked as if she flew across the floor.


"Young Miss! What about your food?" The rounded barman called behind her as she skipped up the steps one by one. She took a brief moment to reply, not wanting to seem rude and dared to glance in his direction. "Don't worry about it, I've lost my appetite." Without meaning to, she found herself scowling at the stranger and had to force her feet to move further up the stairs. Her heart was racing now and the soft skin of her palms were sweating profusely. She had never felt so uncomfortable before, it was an odd feeling. On her journey, she had felt scared, lost, overwhelmed, excited, curious, tired, hungry, hurt, happy and lonely, but never had she felt as terrified and furious as she did right then.


She reached her room at the top of the stairs, slammed open the door and almost threw herself into the cosy space. Her instincts were trying to tell her something, but it was all so confusing. She was still exhausted from her trying day attempting to master the element of fire and now she felt too much attention had been drawn to her. Reluctantly, she started to pack her belongings. In the satchel down by the side of the bed, she stuffed in her ancient tome and her small purse of Dalish gold. Neatly folded inside were random pieces of clothing and a few packets of freshly packed herbs. Anything else she needed she could acquire on the road and all she kept on her were either emergency supplies, or personal affects with sentimental meaning. To be polite, she made the bed as neatly as she could and stared at it longingly. Often on the road, she had had to sleep amongst leaves and branches but she was used to of course. The Elves, especially the Dlish chose to be one with nature and it was normal to lay on the floor of the forest or sleep amongst the rocks on the edge of a road. She had, however, guiltily revelled in the luxury of a real bed. It was a sore loss to leave behind such a comfortable reminder of how far she'd come, but no doubt, after a few more days of travelling, she would come across a new town and a new tavern to hide out in.


With her satchel slung over her shoulder, her cloak and hair covering her ears enough to hide her identity and her ancient dragon staff in her hand, she was ready to leave. She glanced at the door and then at the window above her bed. The stranger could still possibly be down stairs and thats who she was trying to avoid. So, without a second thought, she leapt onto the bed and unhooked the latch of the window. The sky outside was beginning to darken and she was glad that the night could disguise her. She poked her head out into the cool breeze of the evening and looked down at the street below. Not many people were present and the few that she could see were hurrying in all different directions with haste. It was suppertime and all of the workers were probably rushing home to be greeted by their wives and a steaming hot meal. Luckily, the window sat at the back of the tavern, so as she made her escape, it would be almost impossible to be seen.


Areavin tenderly crouched onto the ledge and stayed there for a few seconds, soaking up the cool air with her obsidian hair whipping across her face. She squinted her eyes like a hawk scouring the ground for it's prey then dropped, as if gravity didn't exist to her. Her slender form landed on the ground with a silent thump and her cloak billowed around her as it sailed on the wind to break her fall. She used her staff to push herself up and quickly glanced at her surroundings. There was no one to be seen and as quickly as a bird, she dashed along the dirt road, keeping to the dark shadows.

 

[Elemental Son]

Her gaze caught his eyes, and Arios felt – impossibly, immistakeably – something scouring his soul. She was in his head, treading on sacred ground, the only space wherein no one was allowed. His secrets, his sorrows, his pride, his guilt. The only possessions he had which were never to be stolen; never to be touched. Without request or reprisal, she had violated his thoughts, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.


Arios hated her for it.


She withdrew as quickly as she’d invaded, seemingly fleeing from him in the same manner he wished he could from her. For the first time in over two years, white hot rage hit his veins, blood afire, the desire to kill overwhelming. It would amuse him, later – he’d thought only one person could draw that particular fury from within him. It seemed this stranger, in an instant, had expanded the membership of that particular, bitter entourage.


But Arios was nothing if not a master at keeping up a façade. For a moment, he appeared as startled as the rest of the room when she turned to run up the stairs, disregarding her meal. A quick, subtle breath, and he was firmly back within the bounds of his self-control, offering up a contrite laugh to his audience. His blood stilled, his demeanour eased, and no witness in the room was any the wiser.


“I suppose I’ll have to take that as a ‘no’, then, hm? Honestly, women rarely reject me so vehemently.”


That drew guffaws from the men in the tavern – they appreciated a man who could be so openly self-deprecating. It was doing wonders to soothe over his former threat to hunt their beastly friends, if nothing else. His mind was still calculating the best way to work the current scenario so that he could both profit and move on swiftly. If he could pull off some entertaining scheme or plot concurrently, so much the better.


The simplest solution, he thought, turning back to enjoy his meal, would be to just make off with the livestock and sell it elsewhere. But that would be foolish in the extreme; it would slow him down and make him a target, not to mention the risk of a bounty which could be enforced by the werewolves themselves. No, if he were to play this properly, it was likely now that he would have to meet with them, and describe some fictitious illness. ‘Irritating. But better than being knifed in my sleep, all things considered.’


Scraping a portion of bread through another wave of stew, and chewing down slowly, he wondered at what the woman from earlier had actually done to him. It was like nothing he had ever experienced, although the moment it happened, he had understood she was where she ought not to be. Although he had zero desire to ever see her again – not even to kill; he truly was too fickle in his ambitions for vengeance when it came to most people – she had awakened his endless sense of curiosity. Who was she, to wield so effortlessly a power so dangerous?


Recalling the events since he had walked in, it seemed that at least she and the barman were on speaking terms. But she was trouble – of the kind he did not like, and that was enough to keep him silent. It was a war between his insatiable curiosity, and his instinctual avoidance of all things unnecessarily unpleasant. Arios was essentially hedonistic, but loathed with a passion anyone who could look further into his psyche and understand some of his true depth.


Resolving, at last, to ignore the experience and hope that it would never be repeated, he finished his meal. Really, there was something to be said for the pleasantry of small-town tavern fare. It was always generous in portion, and usually excellent in taste. It filled one of the holes inside, which was better than the alternative.


None of the tavern’s patrons had volunteered to escort him the next day, but, suddenly, his affability was at its limit. All Arios wanted at present was time away from prying eyes. With that, he opted to display a tiredness which, in truth, he did not have to feign. His yawning was enough to catch the barman’s eye.


“Looks like y’ could use some rest, Messere. As you’ve agreed to a favour for us t’morrow, I can offer y’ a room for free.”


Arios smiled gratefully, feeling that at least this fool’s errand would conserve some of his precious little coin. Still, he knew how to play the game.


“I can’t accept such generosity, Ser – not before I’ve performed my end of our accord.”


Predictably, the barman insisted. Provincial courtesy was such a pleasant experience, after the cutthroat etiquette of Denerim’s social elite. He passed Arios a key of heavy brass, and gave him directions to lodgings on the second floor. Hauling himself to his feet and offering a jaunty salute to the now soused men at the other tables, Arios carried himself, feet ever light, up the oaken stairs. It was not lost on him that she could still be up here; he simply chose to ignore the fact. He would have to be considerably more damned than he already considered himself to be, before he would yield his creature comforts to any kind of intimidation.


As he reached the second landing, he paused. One of the doors was open. It stood ajar, conspicuous compared to the others of its kind. His instinct ushered him in, and he looked it over.


The room was deserted, the window open. To most, it would likely appear as if it were simply being aired out, ready and fresh for the next guest. But his eyes were those of a practiced thief, and they picked up details which others would miss. Like the twin imprints on the bed, angled to suggest even downwards weight. Someone had stood there.


Arios looked at them, and then out the window, mind making the connection. She was lithe, and agile, but there was scattered earth below. She must have jumped, and hurried away, not bothering to conceal her tracks – probably because the winds would erase them by morning. She truly had had the same desire to flee as he had, if not stronger. Immediately, a smile was on his face, his mind at ease. She was gone, and the threat to his inner peace removed. With that, he began a thorough search of the room. If he was very fortunate, she might have left something valuable behind. That would be more than revenge enough for her trespass, if it got him where he wanted to go.

 

[Lumeneire]

Areavin barely even stopped to breath as she flitted along the dirt road. It wasn't until she reached the outskirts of the town that she had a nagging feeling tugging at the back of her mind. As she stood amongst the allotments of carrots and cabbages, she frantically searched her memory to find the source of the ill feeling. The night sky began to darken and stars spread across the vast expanse like a blanket full of diamonds. Areavin raised her head and stared longingly into the sky, wishing she was up amongst the clouds, rather than stood in the mud, surrounded by vegetation. She knew that during that night, she would walk as far as her legs would carry her, then inevitably find an underbrush to crawl into and fall to sleep. Sleep! Sleep out in the open and that's when her memory clicked.


In her haste to leave the tavern, she had mistakenly left her charm behind. A small oval amethyst that sat in the palm of ones hand. Intricate silver scripture was etched along the surface, only readable by those with the knowledge of ancient Elven languages. Inside the unclouded gem, if you looked closely enough, it appeared as though a storm swirled inside and in part, it was true. A powerful enchantment lay upon the stone, granting any who held it safety from harmful spirits. She had found it many years ago, in the same temple she had found her dragon headed staff. They both were both tainted with ancient and powerful magic, dangerous to wield in the wrong hands. She had only stumbled upon them by chance and at first, the elders of her troupe had confiscated them from her grasp. However, as she grew older and her natural affinity to magic began to present itself, her kin gifted upon her the treasures she had found and explicitly forbade that anyone else should use them.


Areavin had found that stone, earned the power to wield it and kept it with her at all times. It allowed her to travel safely through perilous forests and granted safe passage through the realm of dreams. It once even stopped her from being trapped inside the fade, when she had been lured to the mystical place during a nightmare. She trusted it's ominous power to watch over and protect her whilst she slept, and although it had only ever done good for her, she feared for what could be unleashed if the wrong person claimed their will over it.


She thought back to where she had hidden it last and bit down on her lip in frustration. A very clear image of the purple stone, under her pillow, crawled it's way to the forefront of her mind. Her left hand tensed into a fist and the blood in her veins began to sizzle with charged energy. It was that stranger. The fear that man had stricken in her had managed to make her forget her most important possession. Areavin had never forgotten to slip her little gem into her satchel before, but neither had she ever been so shaken by a soul gaze either. Now, the pit in her stomach, the way fear broiled over her like an overheating pot of stew, the way in which her hair stood on end all began to make sense. The event her gaze was trying to warn her about was the very one she had just caused, by running away and forgetting her stone. It was ridiculously paradoxical.


She tried to reason as to what her soul was trying to communicate to her, of what lesson it had tried to teach her. Perhaps it was a lesson about haste and how she should always think of what she does before she does it, especially with her magic and the fear of being reprimanded as an apostate. Maybe it was to teach her not to give into her fears, that if she had simply remained seated and not fled the scene, nothing would have come of the situation. Areavin could not ponder such difficult and impossible thoughts any longer, her body was wary from the day and now she had to rectify her own dangerous mistake. Without another thought, she turned on her heel and ran as fast as she could back towards the Tavern. In actuality, no one should have even thought of entering her room until the morning. She had slipped away silently and unknowingly through the window and so, she could easily make her way back to the room, with none being the wiser. In fact, as she dashed along the road, with clouds of dust billowing in her wake, she was wondering why she was even so worried at all. Nothing would happen, everything would be fine.

 

[Elemental Son]

When it came to valuable things, Arios considered himself something of a makeshift expert. Whether it was the years as a boy spent watching trade whilst hiding in marketplaces, trying to be anyone else, or the years as a young man spent passing precious, stolen things between various sets of illicit hands, he knew what was worth taking, and what was worth passing up. A particular talent of his was in relation to precious stones; Arios loved them. Lightweight, silent to move (unless one was particularly careless), and, excepting where magic was involved, completely and utterly useless for any practical purpose. That, and they had the handy fringe benefit of making their purveyors a large amount of wealth in a short amount of time. So upon initially finding what looked to be a superb naturally embossed amethyst under the unknown woman’s pillow, he was delighted.


As he was in no particular hurry, he removed a device he carried with him from a belt pouch, in order to better examine the stone. The device was a curious thing; a small, elongated, pentagonal mahogany case, which, when opened, revealed dozens of shards of mirrors, sewn and glued into white velvet. They jutted out at opposing angles, reflecting upon each other ad infintum. It was an object which, when exposed to even the smallest amount of light – even starlight would do – would naturally enhance the brightness to beyond that of a room well lit by candles, by bouncing the light endlessly off each shard onto another. It was something he’d designed himself, after witnessing a Carta contact using a non-portable version of something not wildly dissimilar. He called it his coffin light – able to turn deathly darkness to near day. A name as macabre and jovial as its creator. It was the perfect tool for examining the character and karat of any valuable stone, simply because, if the stone was placed on the small, flat mirror piece in the centre, it would be shot through with light at every angle, magnifying any flaw. It also had the benefit of saving him the inconvenience and conspicuousness of having to light a candle in a supposedly abandoned room.


He reached for the stone, and for the second time that night, instinct bit down. He paused. Like the flicker of hesitation which had often saved him from springing a trap before a haul, something was not right. He had already scoured the room for the usual snares; wires, hairs acting as a warning signal across an opening, pressure plates, hidden needles or barbs tipped with poison. Nothing of that kind had become evident in his search, and he was confident enough in his abilities, and his assessment of the scenario that he believed she had set none before fleeing. That suggested the amethyst had been left behind by mistake. So why did every fibre of his being scream out an internal warning?


‘Stop. Think. Do the breathing exercise, and assess.’ Some years before, after a drunken episode in a soldiers’ barracks, Arios had picked up a trick they used to control their fear and sharpen their minds in the haze of battle – inhale strongly through the nose for three counts; hold for one; release the breath slowly through your mouth. Repeat as needed. It was simple – the quick influx of oxygen, and slow release, forced one’s blood to oxygenate more quickly, and, as a result, short circuited any emotional impasse blocking one’s rational thinking. It worked as well for soldiers as for thieves, and he counted it among the greater lessons his home had afforded him. Well, that and the other things he’d picked up from those soldiers – but now was not the time for a trip down memory lane.


As his body fell into the habitual state of focus which that breath control mandated, he took a light, cautious step closer, and leaned in to inspect the stone. It was then he first saw the incredibly fine, light etchings in silver. A sheen that had seemed to be upon first glance a natural emboss, had in fact been deliberately engraved on the piece. It looked Elvish in style, but he could not tell whether it was literature or mere decoration; his knowledge of Elven was little, knowing only a few choice curse words he’d picked up in one of the seedier drinking dens in Denerim, and none of the accompanying script.


The wealth connoisseur in his mind noted that this could be a problem and a benefit both; many potential buyers would refuse it on principle if the markings were Elven, but concurrently, a select few – those with a predilection for the fair folk – would pay a great deal more. But despite his concentration on the object, his sense of unease had not decreased. He had learned – for better or worse – to trust his instinct implicitly, and so instead of picking the piece up, he crouched to eye level with it. Opening the small coffin light device, he placed it ajar around the stone, creating a concave hollow around it. What he saw within caught his eyes and breath within him at once. The stone held magic without a doubt; a tempest swam within. With the coffin light around it, a spectacular, almost astral light display danced before him. Arios knew well enough that it could be a trap within its own right, but even with the danger, appreciated the beauty within.


It was with regret that he stood, retrieving his device and stepping back silently, not touching the stone at all. Given his rathers, he would have rather stayed and watched ‘til time immemorial. As it was, however, while his eyes had been transfixed, his ears had not, and they had picked up the immistakeable sound of hurried footfall outside on the dirt below. As if she’d known - or perhaps, remembered? – with a step too light to be male, he could hear what he would stake his life upon being her, moving at breakneck speed. It seemed providence had decided Arios had overstayed his welcome. She was close; too close. He might make his escape, but if she climbed as fast as she ran – presuming her entrance was to mirror her initial escape – she would see him as he walked out. If he moved faster, she would hear. Given the odds of disappearing smoothly were so low, Arios chose another option. He replaced the pillow and took a few paces right, opting instead to lounge coolly against a cabinet against the wall. He acted as if his presence was a Gods’ gifted right, and schooled his countenance to one of bored idleness, forcing down the resurgence of loathing which the thought of her tempted. He would not be intimidated, nor caught with his back to what was, beyond doubt, not a friend.

 

[Lumeneire]

She stared at the orb sitting atop her staff and peered into the depths of magic that lay inside. She focused her mind on one element, air, and allowed it to manifest into a swirling storm of wind, bouncing against the tinted green crystal ball, screaming to be let out. She took a deep breath in to gather her focus and as she breathed out, the power surged from the orb, down through the solid black staff and shivered inside every bone it passed through. The element imploded at the base of her feet and expanded into a cool pillow of gushing air. Ever so gently, the element lifted Areavin off of the ground and pushed her upwards. She crouched low, allowing the pockets of air to gather underneath her cloak and used it as a bird would with their wings, by gliding along the breeze and sailing ever upwards.


With one last flurry and a push, she was gently thrown into the room she had not long ran away from and skidded elegantly on to the bed. The cool rush of wind dissipated and the electricity of magic faded. Before she had even managed to take a breath, her hand had slid under her pillow, where it grasped around the warm and familiar feeling of her stone. She pulled it out from it's hiding place and cradled it in the palm of her delicate hand, careful to admire every flouncing symbol on the surface, before stowing it away inside her satchel. She looked like a magpie hoarding away little shining trinkets, ready to bestow upon her nest whence she returned home.


Areavin stepped off of the bed and patted down the newly formed creases and indents in the sheets. Her hands lingered for a moment too long, savouring the rich cotton of the bedding, with an ache that bore down into her soul. One day, she would find a home, away from the woods and the way she had been brought up, somewhere she could feel safe and truly call her own. Being a mage made that dream impossible and it sickened her to even think of considering trading her powers away for the sake of a bed. Her hands quickly recoiled from the sheets now, as if she was burned and turned away from them, from her silly dreams.


As she turned, she came face to face with the man she had been in a rush to escape from. He leaned casually against the wardrobe as if he simply belonged there. Areavins heart began to hammer in her chest, as fast as a hummingbird's wings and as hard as a woodpeckers knock. How long had he been watching her? What was he doing there? What did he want?


Without realising, out of reflex, Areavin had lifted her staff so that the sharply sculpted dragon was thrust into the base of the strangers throat. She hissed through her teeth and scowled with venomous intent. It was then, she realised her folly. She had tried so desperately to hide her magic as she travelled, in constant fear of being captured and taken to a circle. By day, she would stuff it uncomfortably under her cloak and would only dare to bring it out in the cover of night. Now, the stranger she had locked eyes with and shared in a horrific soul gaze was not only trespassing on her rented property, but was being held up against the wooden wardrobe with a staff that was clearly used for magical purposes. After she found out who the man was, she would have no choice but to try and dispose of him. It was either kill, or be killed.


"Why are you following me and what do you want?" Even though her temperament was angered, her floating Elvish voice sounded musical, a true juxtaposition to her scowling face.

 

[Elemental Son]

Over the past several months, Arios had seen a remarkable collection of astounding things. Now, thanks to this stranger, he could cross ‘seeing an Elven apostate float up to a second story tavern window’ off the list: how fortunate he was. Near unconscious to her surroundings, Arios watched with interest, as with panicked greed, she seized and pocketed the gem. It made him all the more assured of his decision not to touch the blighted thing – magic could be ever so troublesome, and she had already used it upon their first meeting to cause him significant discomfort. Once again, his instinct had proven itself benevolent, and he felt a very real gratitude to it.


The stranger brushed down the linen upon which she’d landed – this time, taking the moment required to hide her movements, as she’d failed to do previously. It was strange, how providence worked like that – had she done it the first time, he very reasonably could have walked into this room assuming it to be his own, rather than one she’d just vacated. As it were, she had returned, and when at last she noticed his presence, that seemed to be more akin to a curse than a boon.


Her face shifted, like the contours of a storm, from a delicate appreciation of comfort – the first and only gesture of hers to which he himself could relate – to obvious shock, fear and rage. He saw her step closer. She was unusually agile, and he had not the time to move away – but still, distance granted him time enough to take some self-preservatory measures in the interim. His hand had found one of his particularly nasty toys, bound inconspicuously to his belt. He would make it evident when the opportunity presented itself. She had moved, rather than spoken, and nary an occasion was there in which that lead to discourse before threats of death. This proved to be true in his current circumstance; in all of a moment, a magical – and moreover, bloody uncomfortable – carved staff head was embedded lightly into the skin at his throat.


Comparatively gentle as the placement of it was, he knew from being held in similar states before that that could change within an instant. As it was, he could feel the furor pouring off her, the intent to kill barely masked by adrenaline. Charming.


Before he could respond to the initial assault, she demanded information. Unfortunately – and he felt that perhaps she knew it – they were not at such an imbalance of power at the moment that he could not answer at his leisure, when and how he chose. After all, more of her secrets were out in the open at present than his own.


“Now now, lass. In common parlance, we’d call that impolite.” Very slowly, so she was aware of his lack of combative intent – for now – he gripped the staff just below the carved head, and lowered it to rest not on his neck, but on his collarbones, making speech a modicum more unimpeded. That done, with the same hand, he drew back his cloak slowly, to reveal the grenade clutched at his waist. It was a particularly dangerous kind. Arios had seduced the recipe from a Tal-Vashoth he’d met on the road. It never ceased to amuse him how many people could be manipulated by a clever tongue and a sympathetic ear – a Qunari traitor was no different. The explosive was a curious one, activated by air rather than fire. All he would need to do, was pull the wick stoppering it, and he, the stranger, and most probably the tavern entire, would be engulfed in white hot flames in an instant. Even if she could not know the precise operation of the device, the class of weapon he held should be enough to give her pause from inflicting a killing blow.


“ While your vitriol is lovely, I’ve little interest in destroying beautiful things, so perhaps it’s best we start our machinations afresh, hm?” The qasi-threat was said with a voice of gentle gravel; audible only to them, with none of the fear his situation would suggest. When speaking of beauty, whether he referred to her, the stone, or even himself, was anyone’s guess.


“As I have you at something of an information disparity – as you’re clearly Elven and an apostate, and you know little of me, I’ll do you the courtesy of answering more useful questions than the ones you’ve asked.” He said both words – Elven, apostate - without the hatred or suspicion usually concomitant to their context; he truly did not care. The world was full of fools, and if some of them had tipped ears or juggled fireballs, who was he to reprimand them their brand of chaos? He knew himself to be fool enough that trying to censure her for either of those traits would be effort wasted.


Arios had not moved from against the cabinet, not pushed further against the restraint she’d applied to him, nor removed his grip from the explosive he held. Even so, he studied her face as he spoke. To his knowledge, there was no Alienage within a hundred miles of where they stood, so the likelihood was she was Dalish, even if she lacked the painted skin which their kind usually embraced. She had a wildness to her features absent in the elves he’d grown up around which supported his theory.


“I could tell you the easy lie; that I was offered a room at this establishment, and upon seeing the door ajar, I assumed this room to be my own, thus explaining my presence here. As it is, the truth is more akin to the fact I’m an exceptionally capable thief, and upon having figured out you’d left, sought to revenge myself for whatever it was you pulled on me downstairs, by looting anything you’d left behind.” The lie would probably have been easily bought – after all, the most simple explanation was usually the truthful one. Still, she was clearly feeling threatened, and an offer of solidarity – even if unspoken, even if only implied, in that they were both outcasts who would be gutted by the general public if given the chance – might just aid in saving his neck. But if that were the approach with which fortune had decided to run, he felt the need to add one more piece of information.


“Oh – not your stone though. Had a look at it, and I wouldn’t touch it if you paid me.” He gave a sly grin before adding: “Well – maybe if you paid me a lot.” Cracking his neck side to side, releasing some of the pressure she’d applied to it, and simultaneously demonstrating his probably unnerving level of comfort with the current scenario, he continued. “So – from that, if you’re bright, you can deduce that I’ve no interest in following you, or truly in you at all – I’m looking for wealth, and your presence is disappointing that particular quest. So if you wouldn’t mind terribly, retract your dragon, I’ll release my grip on this grenade, and the two of us can part as amiably as we did the first time.”


His explanations done, all that was left now was to see what she would choose to do.

 

[Lumeneire]

“Now now, lass. In common parlance, we’d call that impolite.”


Who did he think he was, the king of ferelden? Areavin kept her steady gaze as the self righteous human tried to wiggle his way out of the situation with fanciful words. In all fairness, most of the humanfolk she had encountered on her journey showed very little intelligence and manners in comparison to her hostage. A part of her was mildly intrigued by his quick wit and smart mouth, but most of her was still on edge, ready to strike at any wrong movement. As his hand slowly fiddled around with the hem of his cloak, Areavins entire body tensed. Every muscle and fibre of her being solidified, ready to withstand a surge of magical energy that she would draw from the beyond, ready to strike against the man's foolish defense.


In his hands, he seemed to hold a device she had not yet come across. At first, she wasn't sure of what it could be, a small trinket, a clever little distraction to trick her perhaps? However, the look in his eyes suggested that he knew more than he was letting on, and that he had indeed somehow grasped the upper hand. She dared not strike and stifled the electric flow of magic sizzling in her veins.


His next words confirmed her suspicions and solidified her hatred for the simple fiend. His voice was low, only loud enough for her to hear. The tone in which he spoke seemed gentle and calming, but the words that he uttered had a completely different meaning. His intention was to hurt her if she didn't step back but she wasn't so easily wavered. She licked her lips, her eyes flicking between the trinket in his hand and the cheeky face of the man that was testing her patience. A pain began to settle and throb at the back of her mind, drawing away her full attention from the situation.


" ...as you’re clearly Elven and an apostate..." She focused her mind on his words and hissed under her breath. She was disgusted at herself for giving away her identity and the man was foolish enough to rub that in her face. But something was different, the way in which he rolled the words off of his tongue showed no malice, no lingering hatred for her race or talents, in fact; he seemed not to care about it at all. Areavin dared to let out a little sigh from her chest, finally realising that perhaps not all who roamed the land were opposed to her way of life. However, the pain at the back of her head began to sting and prod, she knew now that she was starting to lose control of the situation. That even if this man was not an immediate threat from her own judgement, he may yet still have to be disposed of.


Inside the orb at the tip of her staff, just millimetres from the soft skin of the strangers neck, the inside began to glow. Of course, only she could see it. Ever since she had found the mysterious item inside the ruins she had stumbled upon, it had somehow imprinted on her and communicated in strange ways. At first, there were merely flashes of lights and swirling movement like that of her amethyst charm, but then the voices came. She had always assumed that everyone could hear them, but once the elders of her clan had realised the influence and madness that the staff could inflict upon Areavin, they had confiscated it from her. Even though the items had been buried away, the magic that had flowed through them somehow entwined with Areavin's being and enhanced her natural abilities. That is why the Elders decided to reward her with the gifts when she was of a wise enough age. They allowed her not only to travel forth and develop her magical talents, but commanded her to find the origins of her mysterious artifacts. They feared the power that lived inside the orb and it terrified them how the voices had chosen to communicate only with Areavin.





"He's going to kill you."


"Kill him, he know's what you are."


"You felt his evil through the soulgaze."


"Kill him."


"Kill you."


"Listen to what he's saying."


"Listen."





Areavin had completely tuned out of the situation in the room and her eyes were glaring wildly at the orb. The green storm inside whirled only for her and the onslaught of hissing voices spoke over one another like a chorus of madness. She did as they commanded and desperately tried to focus on the strangers words, only managing to capture a few at a time before the mysterious voices would nudge their way in and cry over the top.


"...the truth..."


"See, he fears you, he's admitting the truth!"


"...Extremely capable thief..."


"A thief! He want's to steal from you."


"He will kill to take it!"


"...sought revenge, you..."


His words were being twisted, corrupted, erased and tweaked. She of course didn't know the fact and believed what the voices were telling her. All they had ever done was try to protect, they would never harm her, why would she doubt? Her eyes now flickered between the fluctuating orb and the slow moving mouth of the man pinned against the wardrobe. Time itself seemed to slow, beads of sweat dripped from her forehead, her heart raced faster than the speed of light. Her gentle hands trembled as they clenched harder onto the solid black staff and she chewed on her lips, nostrils flaring. She looked like a woman on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Areavin could feel the magic surging around her body like an electrical storm. Outside the tavern, the air stood still. Up above, clouds began to gather and brushed past the path of the moon. No more natural light shined down onto the quaint little village. Rolls of thunder echoed across the vast expanse of land. The hair on the back of Areavins neck stood on end, even the tiny little feathery ones of her arms surged upwards, up towards to heavens that were building up to an impossible storm.


The silence of the night was broken by the echoing cries of birds. They cawed and screeched, sang and laughed. Dozens upon dozens flocked across the sky, low beneath the gathering clouds and swooped chaotically in all directions. Birds were intelligent, they understood when rain was on it's way and would fly away in the opposite direction into safety. But this storm was created by tempered feelings and dark magics. The strange elements that surged and collided in the air threw the animals instincts out of balance, they did not know where to fly to or what to do. A few crows and ravens soared towards the tavern, to the eye of the storm where the two strangers confronted each other in a standstill.


"Oh, your stone..."


"He want's your charm!"


"He plotted this from the beginning."


"...look at it..."


"He looked, he saw your magic!"


"He knows you."


"Knows who you are."


"Knows us."


"Kill us."


"...touch it..."


" He touched the stone!"


" He'll kill us."


"Kill you."


"Kill him!"





A few of the crying birds sat on the window ledge, cocking their heads and gazing at the scene with curiosity. The clouds outside imploded with one last thunderous boom and an onslaught of rain clambered down, striking at the roof of the tavern, at the few people running along the street. Lightning flashed like explosives outside, illuminating the darkened scene in the room. The cawing crows on the ledge looked like ominous shadows against the mesmerising light of the night. Their beady eyes calculated, judging if they would have a new corpse to peck at. Areavin thrust the sharp points of the dragon staff further towards the man now, completely unaware of the weapon that he held in his hand. It was a fact that had been forgotten long ago, erased by the voices calling to her from the orb. She twisted the staff ever so slightly so that the jagged tip of one of the dragons wings pierced the skin of his throat. It was only a nick, but enough for fat beads of blood to trickle down his skin. She smiled greedily, the power and lust obvious in her eyes. She was no longer in control, no longer listening to what the man had said.


In the depths of her mind, she concentrated on the element of water. It was her specialty and it came as easily to her as the instinct to breath. She held the thought in the throbbing recesses of the base of her skull and imagined what the threatening stranger would look like, frozen solid in ice, impaled by her staff. She let the electric energy in her bones build and channeled it into the shaft of her staff. Areavin licked her lips savagely and smiled as the voices egged her on.





"Do it!"


"Do it Areavin, before he does you."


"Kill or be killed."


"He tried to trick you, don't let him get away."


"Kill you."


" Kill him!"





The stone in her satchel began to hum with a warm glow. The silver scripture lit up like veins of starlight and seeped through the opening of the bag. The magic inside whipped out in frosty tendrils of silver smoke and licked at the base of her skull. The voices in her head screamed in agony and then ceased to exist. For the first time in what had felt like forever, the fear and pain that had gripped so desperately at Areavin's bones dissipated. Her eyes zoomed in on the cut she had inflicted upon the stranger, the trinket in his hand, the magical energy that was visible as crackling sparks at her fingertips and she screamed out in defiance.


"Thats enough!"


The staff in her hand dropped to the floor with a thud. The birds that had been cawing on the window ledge stood in silence, just like the rest of the room. The air no longer held the intense ferocity it had moments ago and Areavin breathed heavily, her chest heaved violently as if she had been drowning underwater. Her eyes were scared now, searching all around, looking for clues as to what had just happened. The sweat on her brow had spread across her entire body, leaving any exposed section of skin shining from perspiration. She tried to steady herself but her hands shook uncontrollably.


"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She muttered with her eyes cast low to the ground, unable to face the man she had almost murdered in a gruesome and painful way. Areavin shuffled backwards and plonked herself on the edge of the bed, no longer able to trust the solidity of her trembling legs. "I don't know what came over me. You should run, before it happens again."

 

[Elemental Son]

Visual cues were the most important factor, oft times, to surviving dire circumstances. However, had he here relied upon them alone, the both of them would have perished the moment her body tensed. It was a classic precursor to battle, and only his experience in reading people keep him from executing a fatal movement. As she stiffened, an almost palpable electricity seized the air; his ears sensed pressure, his skin taut. ‘Curious. If we both shall live, I’ll have to ask about that. It’s rare enough that I have the chance to be around magic before it’s thrown at me.’


Her eyes moved from the explosive he held and his face and back; classic indecision. The fact she did not scramble backwards as most would, told him one of three things: she was disciplined, she was strategically clever, or she simply did not know quite what it was. In any case, at least it was apparent she understood the threat. That was what mattered at the moment – the others, he may be able to ascertain later.


Fear and hatred in a hiss; a release of tension in a breath. What a stunningly contradictory creature she was turning out to be. It was logical, but she moved between emotional states faster than most people he’d met. Perhaps it was an Elven thing?


And then, something changed.


Arios could not tell what it was, but it was of clear significance. Her focus shifted; her breathing changed. Her eyes had gone glassy, staring at the staff rather than him. There was a tangible feeling of wrongness in the air; like the whisper of a curse or the touch of the undead, something had changed, and it was in neither of their favour. He could not say how, or what had prompted such, but it seemed that his accoster was no longer completely in control. Like the volatility of a grenade, in these circumstances, it was possible that alone could kill them both.


It had been an unforeseen variable. The woman was skittish, then cold, but he hadn’t picked her as mad. He’d spent several weeks in the vicinity of a man who was most probably insane, once – the poor fellow had an unfortunate penchant for skinning people, crying wildly to the heavens as he’d done so – it had been educational, but the lack of control that man had had was fundamentally different to this. His had been intrinsic – all shaking hands and unbreakable ritual. He would always begin the same way, spending days in the local Chantry, trying to stave if off, but ultimately surrendering to unconquerable urges. The memory would, ordinarily, have made Arios a little sad. Today however, his mind was recalling it in an attempt to predict her pattern of behaviour, and in the depth of tactical analysis, emotion was given short shrift.


Her change was, if he had to pick it, external. It had been foisted upon her, rather than come simply from within. That was unpredictable, and outside of his experience. Excepting demons – could she be possessed? - magic or malice that ensnared the mind at random was frighteningly, excitingly new. Still, there would be no room to explore it if he was forced to follow through with his initial threat. Arios was fond of living, but not so much so that he could not act as he’d claimed. If it was the end of his run of luck, so be it.


She was sweating, now – beads of perspiration cascading gently down her pointed features. Her hands shook as she grappled with something – a presumed enemy – that he could not see. The sense of pressure and tension was building, and the natural light from outside grew dim. Birds screamed, and the sky roared in distant protest. ‘Either I’m being dragged into this madness too, or whatever it is that has her is powerful indeed.’ As she became more rigid, his fingers tightened on the threaded wick of the grenade. Perhaps this was it, after all? Accepting calmly that these could be his last moments, even as he spoke to her, in the back of his mind, an old bitterness surged. All this time on his own, learning, stealing, worse where needs be – and he would be forced to leave the point of it all, undone. The person he owed a debt of pain to would go unpunished. Time would march ever on, uncaring, under its wrathful Maker and pitiful supplicants. Blight take them all – all the world, and whatever was left of him as well. Of him and this stranger, locked in a memory of an eternal impasse in their deaths.


Arios gripped the thread and pulled sharply. There was an almighty boom – the walls and floors shook, the pressure in the air seemed to explode, and all at once… nothing happened. It had started raining heavily outside, and as the adrenaline ebbed its grip off his mind, Arios was distantly aware of the fact he was still breathing. He became more so as the lithe woman before him extended her reach, and the staff she held pierced his neck, small rivets of blood running free from the confines of his skin.


By the time he had focused back on her, still somewhat confused as to why he was still alive, the look on her face had become more akin to beast than Elven; even in the dark, strange and harsh edges caught ridges and rises under her skin, casting a ghastly pallor over her. He had not become cognisant enough of his continued state of existence for his mind to truly allow him to fear – and, in any case, had he been, his impenetrable arrogance would have shielded him from it, as it always had – but there was the very real sense that perhaps death had merely been delayed, rather than defied. Visible magic danced over her hands, her eyes became those of a carnivore – a hunter of men. She was the embroiled essence of pain and fear and rage and power, seething against unseen bonds with every part of her apparently fixated on the kill.


And then, quite suddenly, she withdrew. She screamed at herself, then caved, the staff which had doubtless been not the greatest threat to him all along striking the floor as she apologised, and again before falling back onto the bed, visibly shaken. She sat there, telling him to run, clearly at odds with her own scenario more than the part he had played in it. There was a haggardness to her now, a soul-deep tiredness. She had gone from predator to the prey which had given up the fight.


Standing stock still, even now, Arios realized he finally had license to move. He looked down at the grenade, and fought back the urge to laugh, the desire affected by relief rather than humour. The Tal-Vashoth had not lied when he’d said it would be difficult to ignite the explosive within, without clear intent. Despite his movements, the wick stayed firmly embedded in the trigger mechanism of the device, keeping the both of them safe from explosive harm. Arios had underestimated the required force – probably because this was a Qunari device, and the difference between their physical strength was gargantuan – and it had saved his life. He would have to modify the device, he realised, if he were to ever be able to trigger it. It was simply dumb luck that he had neither tried, nor reasoned this, prior to this evening’s engagement. That alone was enough to draw from him a secretive smile, which was probably out of place in the circumstances. It seemed Lady Luck had not given up her favour of him just yet, and no matter what the scenario, that would always give him something to smile about.


Now remained the question of his target-turned-attacker, seemingly exhausted by her efforts, sitting shaken mere feet away. Releasing his grip on the grenade and touching the base of his neck, examining it by feel for damage, Arios tsk’d upon finding blood. His tone far more casual than perhaps it should be, he responded at last to her recommendation he flee. As cavalier as ever, he had zero intention to do so. Living when one expected to do the opposite was a wondrous boost for morale.


“You’re fortunate a Rivaini pirate stole my favourite shirt a month ago, else I’d be very upset with you for having me bleed on it.”


From an inner pocket of his cloak, Arios drew two cloths – kerchiefs, washed elfroot, which would provide mild healing and mild soothing. He was not medically trained, but a master of picking up tricks on the road, and one so simple as this had saved him a world of unpleasantness. Advancing towards her – slowly, without threat – he pressed one to his neck to stem the flow of blood, and offered her the other.


“For your brow – it won’t do for one so elegant as yourself to look so flustered, hm? Mark you, though – if this scars, you’re going to have to tell me how dangerous and charming it makes me look before I’ll forgive you the injury.” His tone was playful, now – he’d had more than his fair share of nicks and cuts on the road, and wasn’t particularly bothered. Besides, she could have driven her staff clean through him, and hadn’t. Despite his considerable misgivings against her, that fact alone endeared her to him somewhat. He was aware his reaction was probably unusual at best, but he’d always been that. Besides, she was interesting – and psychological stimulation was one of the only things he lived for.


“So – I’m wagering upon a guess, here – but I’d suppose that was not how you expected your evening to turn out, either.” Arios had always had a knack for understating the bloody obvious. He offered her a smile, light and guileful, curios to see now, what she would do.

 

[Lumeneire]

Areavin was exhausted. There was no way to describe exactly how tired her body had become. Every inch of her bones ached, her head throbbed and her eyes struggled to stay open. It felt as if she had run hundreds of miles, swam through vast oceans and fought against an army singlehandedly. She had never felt so destroyed in her entire life. She reached up and pushed the hood of the cloak away from her head and shook her hair out like a dog. Heat had swelled to the surface of her skin and her forehead flamed like a furnace. She took the handkerchief the stranger had handed her without a word and wiped away the sweat that poured profusely down her skin.


"Thank you." She managed to say as her shoulders slumped with defeat. Even though she looked as if she hadn't slept for a month, being an Elf would still make her appear more elegant than most. Areavin no longer held the anger or the will to fight the stranger in any capacity and for once, she just had to forget about her gut feeling and try to instill an ounce of trust in another being. She couldn't help but laugh at his joke about the pirate and a pang of regret washed over her as she saw the small cut at his throat. She just could not believe that she had harmed the man with brute force rather than magic. She didn't understand why she had attempted to kill the man in the first place, the entire memory was foggy at best. Her instincts always taught her to run and only fight if there was no other choice. Apparently, whatever the stranger had said to her had come across as deadly. However, as she looked into his face now, whilst he jabbered on about possibly having a scar, she saw kindness written all over him like the pages of a tome. Her soul gaze had either misled her, or something else entirely was hiding behind the scenes of the situation. Perhaps she had taken the feelings she had encountered too literally? Maybe the perilous and gut wrenching sensations she had felt when looking into his eyes were merely a window into the events that surrounded his life, rather than the mans own intentions.


She was curious now. Her drive for magic and adventure was being drowned out by the enigma that was the stranger. He was an intricate puzzle that cried out to her to be solved. Not only had he made her forget her charm, he also apparently threatened her to the point of needing to blindly kill him in retaliation and now, he was sat next to her like an old friend, offering comfort. It was all so very confusing and her exhausted mind couldn't even comprehend grasping onto those different pieces and fitting them into the right place. She would have to remain at the Tavern for the night to rest her body and soul, only then would she have the strength to figure him out.


"What makes you assume that? Perhaps this evening is turning out exactly like I planned. Maybe you're playing right into my diabolical hands and at any moment, you will see through my tiresome rouse and the fight will commence. Or maybe, I was drawn to you when we locked eyes downstairs and I desperately needed to find a way to lure you to my room so I could have my way with you. You are a handsome man afterall." At this, she turned slightly so that they could talk face to face. A cheeky little twinkle sat in her eyes and she couldn't help but smile through her forced frown. "Of course, we both know the latter wouldn't end well. It would never work out. You would fall in love with my elegant beauty and I would reciprocate for a time, but I am a wild spirit. You wouldn't be able to tame me and eventually you would resent that. I would run away and you would find me and then we'd be back to the first scenario."


She thrust the used handkerchief out towards his chest and held it steady for him to take it, all the while making sure not to break eye contact. "My name is Areavin, but you may call me Raven, it seems to sit easier on men's tongues. I am sorry I tried to kill you, but you were trespassing so perhaps you deserved it. Who are you and why do you you instill fear in me?"

 

[Elemental Son]

Arios watched, as at first his companion appeared defeated, and by turns, as he charmed laughter out of her. It was a talent he had, and he abused it regularly. She looked shaken, and he ploughed on with his witty repertoire, deliberately unguarded as her eyes studied him. As she searched, it was apparent her own curiosity was soaring; exhaustion slowly crept from her eyes, a mouse darting into its hole to hide until it was safer than now to re-emerge.


Then, showing a taste for the theatrical which held the promise to rival his own, she answered his baiting in kind, taunting him with speculative scenarios of wicked and coercive varieties. Needless to say, Arios approved. It was rare enough to find someone who could keep up with his cavorting, let alone join in the dance themselves.


The small cut at his throat had begun to heal over, the elfroot working its wonders, soothing the minor hurt without difficulty. Really, when it wasn’t in the process of attempting to kill him, magic was so terribly convenient.


Arios smiled as she prophesized a failed romance between them – and truthfully, it did sound like one - or more, it was so hard to keep track – of the dalliances he’d had with former paramours. He had a taste for the evasive, and by her own reckoning, his attacker fit that to a tee. They would have to see, if he did not take the opportunity to escape into the night and off on the wings of memory, which so clearly had presented itself at her demand. Chances are, he would; he could be flighty in his own right, a consequence of caring too little about anything, but being far too clever to write life off in its entirety.


She presented his kerchief, the picture of a rejected token, fitting so neatly with her story. Ever gracious, even in pseudo-denial, he bowed, the noble young courtier, effortlessly corralling her questioning into the bounds of proper etiquette. How he’d hated that, back on the estate where it had truly mattered. Here it was a tool of pleasure – it gave him a cunning with which he could manipulate the simple, and endear himself to the complex. There it had been a chain, pressing in tighter on his liberty for all that it was nominal, and gilded.


The elf fought to keep eye contact with him, and Arios obliged, despite his knowledge of the risk a shared glance with her held; he had not forgotten – nor would he ever – the scouring she had subjected him to a short time earlier. His open, reciprocated stare now, was defiance, a challenge, and perhaps, an olive branch offering all in the one. The layers of nuanced meaning he could place on a single gesture differentiated him from most men, and he knew its value. Still, he had been prepared to kill her over the initial assault; even now, dapper and companionable, he would not hesitate to do the same, if necessity asked it of him.


Completing the act, he kissed the back of her hand lightly as he retrieved the used cloth, disappearing it into the cloak from whence he had produced it. She told him her name, and he smiled like he had discovered a secret. Perhaps he had.


“Areavin.” Despite her courtesy in offering him an easier option, he rolled the name around in his mouth, testing it, repeating it phonetically as she’d first pronounced it. Excellence in mimicking accents was a courtly virtue – one of the few he’d been a master at. He would call her by her proper name, even if only to infuriate her; it suited his disposition far better.


“No need to apologize; I certainly deserved it.” This he added without mocking; most thieves were executed, and he was entirely comfortable with the veiled suggestion that he might have received just punishment. It did not bother him in the slightest; what fear had a man of death, for whom life was simply a way to pass the time? Still, if he were to continue to play nice – and for now, that was the plan – he should at least indulge her curiosity to the same point she had done so for his.


“I am Arios; your fear is probably the result of instinct – after all, I very nearly did kill us both moments ago. Failing that, if you refer – as I suspect you do – to our unfortunate crossing of paths and minds earlier this evening, perhaps because I have a great many secrets worth keeping, most of them unpleasant. They’re certainly enough to scare me off my own trail. Perhaps you’re equally as sensible, hm?” Arios had answered without answering; it told her what she needed to know, but not by divulging anything he could not afford to hold other than close.


Then, he sighed. Their brief pleasantries would have to end, sooner or later. Really, he had overstayed his intent, let alone his welcome.


“Well, while it has been an utter pleasure, I really should abscond. Unless you’re of a mind to attempt to kill me again, I have a contract of what rather strikes me as insanity to prepare for, come morning, and I’d best get to it.” Really, what sane person asked werewolves for assistance that they did not need? “Unless you’re reconsidering your refusal of the offer to join me, of course.”


Perhaps, after all they’d done to one another in the time intervening, she really was the best option for an accomplice. He would have to see.