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yesyouhave
New Member
I would like to be the clockwork girl.
"Hey..." He heard a voice, calling as if from far away. He pulled the rough woollen blanket up around his ears.
"Hey..." The voice was closer now. Gruff, masculine, it was a voice made to command, and used to being obeyed. He rolled over onto his stomach, the frame of the cot creaking from the shift of his weight.
"Hey!" this time the voice was accompanied with a kick. He awoke with a jolt as his body tumbled from the cot onto the cold ground of the tent floor. There were quite a few disgruntled grumblings as he helped himself to his feet.
"You were supposed to be up a half-hour ago. What happened?" he recognized the voice now, it belonged to Captain Garrick.
"Must've drank just a bit too much." he mused, rubbing his eyes. The world was too bright, even inside the tent. His head was pounding, and his stomach was threatening to remind him of just how much he had drank the night before.
"And why's that?" the Captain asked, his voice empty of anything even remotely resembling sympathy.
"Saw a whole mess o' Templars and Mages killed by some explosion that ripped a hole in the sky... Seemed the appropriate response." he said, setting his cot upright and folding his blanket up. The Captain sighed and shook his head. He was a Fereldan man, born and raised. He'd fought alongside the Wardens during the Blight, though had never met any of them directly. He had a squat, powerful build for a human, with thick brown hair that was graying at the temples. He had a bearing the made him seem more substantial than most men, as if he had not been born in the natural way, but carved out of something harder than flesh. Indeed his expression led most to believe he had been middle-aged his entire life, and was growing rather tired of the whole ordeal. He'd lost his left eye during the Blight, and wore a thick leather patch to cover the ruined flesh.
"Yeah, hard to argue with that." the Captain sighed again, putting his hands on his hips. He was wearing chainmail and a vest bearing the company colors. It was the closest thing to a uniform that they had. Apparently he'd been up to some kind of official business this morning.
"C'mon, get dressed." the Captain said, prodding him with his foot.
"We movin' out?" he asked, putting on a loose pair of breeches and a short-sleeved overshirt.
"Hardly. We've got a new contract." the Captain said.
"Oh yeah? With who?" he asked. He dug into his rucksack at the foot of his cot, pulling out a belt attached to a pair of suspenders. He put the straps over his shoulders and clipped the belt at the waist, then attached a simple utility knife to the belt. They were still in camp, he wouldn't need much, but walking around unarmed was foolish.
"The Inquisition." the Captain said as he stepped out of the tent.
"The what?" he asked the empty air as he struggled to put his boots on. He pulled the canvas flap aside and stepped out of his tent, the chill morning wind rushing to greet him. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, and his senses took in the sounds and smells of the camp. A vegetable soup was being cooked over a fire, no one had planned on staying here long, so meat was a luxury. Despite the early hour the clang and crash of metal swords and shields indicated many were already training hard. He knew why. Everyone knew why. That hole torn in the sky, hanging over the mountain and shining with green malevolence. It had everyone on edge, though most refused to talk about it in more than a whisper.
"Ah! The sleeper wakes!" he heard another voice say. This one was cheerful to the point of being aggravating, and thick with an Orlesian accent.
"Yep. Made it through the night despite your best efforts." he said, turning to face the man.
"Artem, my friend! You wound me. How could you think I had anything but the best of intentions for you?" the man asked. Artem sighed and held up his hand, preparing a list in his head.
"Well there was that time with the Banner men, that time with the Avvars, that time in the Alienage, that time in Ostagar, that time in Antiva..." Artem counted a finger for each incident, and was prepared to continue but his companion had clearly had enough.
"Tragic misunderstandings, all." he said with a dismissive wave of his arm.
"Artem! Renaud!" it was the Captain, calling from the end of their row of tents. Snow crunched under their boots as the two men ran over to join him. The other mercenaries had already gathered around the Captain, who continued the speech he had been giving.
"So that's how it is. Whatever that thing is, it ain't something we can just walk away from. These folks here this 'Inquisition'-" he made a face as if the word somehow tasted foreign, "-thinks they can do something about it. But they don't have the manpower to do it alone."
"Boss, I don't think anyone has the power to do anything about that -- thing, whether that power comes from magic or from man." one of the mercenaries said.
"I thought the same, but they've got someone. Someone special who seems like they can actually do something about it. Our mission now is to give them the support they need so they can focus saving the world... For a hefty fee of course." the Captain said. There was a shuffling of feet and murmured words of acceptance as the mercenaries thought it over. None of them were excited about this, but none of them really disagreed with the Captain's sentiments either.
"Yeah, yeah I know." the Captain nodded, "Now grab your gear! We've got some work to do." Artem spun on his heel and was about to head back to his tent when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He didn't have to look to know it was the Captain.
"Not you lad, you've got a special assignment." the Captain said.
"Oh. Crap." Artem said as his shoulders sank.
_____________________________________
Artem stepped into the Singing Maiden. It was a tavern, though not much of one. There was no singing or drinking going on this early in the day, though there was a warm hearth fire and the barkeep was busy taking stock of her meager inventory. Artem had put on his chainmail and hooded field jacket. A small sword and dagger hung from the left side of his belt. He had a quiver of arrows strapped to his back, and carried a simple bow in his left hand. Artem was a little over six feet tall, with a youthful face and weary hazel eyes. He had oblong features, and a lean, almost gaunt build suited to a mercenary who spent most of his time traveling. His head and face had at one point been cleanly shaven down to the skin, but now both showed an even layer of ruddy stubble. He had a small star-shaped scar above his right eyebrow, just beneath his hairline. He moved to a table and sat down.
"Welp, here I am." he said to no one in particular. The Captain had simply said to go to the tavern, where he'd be meeting with a group of people and get more details from someone higher up in the Inquisition.
"Hey..." The voice was closer now. Gruff, masculine, it was a voice made to command, and used to being obeyed. He rolled over onto his stomach, the frame of the cot creaking from the shift of his weight.
"Hey!" this time the voice was accompanied with a kick. He awoke with a jolt as his body tumbled from the cot onto the cold ground of the tent floor. There were quite a few disgruntled grumblings as he helped himself to his feet.
"You were supposed to be up a half-hour ago. What happened?" he recognized the voice now, it belonged to Captain Garrick.
"Must've drank just a bit too much." he mused, rubbing his eyes. The world was too bright, even inside the tent. His head was pounding, and his stomach was threatening to remind him of just how much he had drank the night before.
"And why's that?" the Captain asked, his voice empty of anything even remotely resembling sympathy.
"Saw a whole mess o' Templars and Mages killed by some explosion that ripped a hole in the sky... Seemed the appropriate response." he said, setting his cot upright and folding his blanket up. The Captain sighed and shook his head. He was a Fereldan man, born and raised. He'd fought alongside the Wardens during the Blight, though had never met any of them directly. He had a squat, powerful build for a human, with thick brown hair that was graying at the temples. He had a bearing the made him seem more substantial than most men, as if he had not been born in the natural way, but carved out of something harder than flesh. Indeed his expression led most to believe he had been middle-aged his entire life, and was growing rather tired of the whole ordeal. He'd lost his left eye during the Blight, and wore a thick leather patch to cover the ruined flesh.
"Yeah, hard to argue with that." the Captain sighed again, putting his hands on his hips. He was wearing chainmail and a vest bearing the company colors. It was the closest thing to a uniform that they had. Apparently he'd been up to some kind of official business this morning.
"C'mon, get dressed." the Captain said, prodding him with his foot.
"We movin' out?" he asked, putting on a loose pair of breeches and a short-sleeved overshirt.
"Hardly. We've got a new contract." the Captain said.
"Oh yeah? With who?" he asked. He dug into his rucksack at the foot of his cot, pulling out a belt attached to a pair of suspenders. He put the straps over his shoulders and clipped the belt at the waist, then attached a simple utility knife to the belt. They were still in camp, he wouldn't need much, but walking around unarmed was foolish.
"The Inquisition." the Captain said as he stepped out of the tent.
"The what?" he asked the empty air as he struggled to put his boots on. He pulled the canvas flap aside and stepped out of his tent, the chill morning wind rushing to greet him. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, and his senses took in the sounds and smells of the camp. A vegetable soup was being cooked over a fire, no one had planned on staying here long, so meat was a luxury. Despite the early hour the clang and crash of metal swords and shields indicated many were already training hard. He knew why. Everyone knew why. That hole torn in the sky, hanging over the mountain and shining with green malevolence. It had everyone on edge, though most refused to talk about it in more than a whisper.
"Ah! The sleeper wakes!" he heard another voice say. This one was cheerful to the point of being aggravating, and thick with an Orlesian accent.
"Yep. Made it through the night despite your best efforts." he said, turning to face the man.
"Artem, my friend! You wound me. How could you think I had anything but the best of intentions for you?" the man asked. Artem sighed and held up his hand, preparing a list in his head.
"Well there was that time with the Banner men, that time with the Avvars, that time in the Alienage, that time in Ostagar, that time in Antiva..." Artem counted a finger for each incident, and was prepared to continue but his companion had clearly had enough.
"Tragic misunderstandings, all." he said with a dismissive wave of his arm.
"Artem! Renaud!" it was the Captain, calling from the end of their row of tents. Snow crunched under their boots as the two men ran over to join him. The other mercenaries had already gathered around the Captain, who continued the speech he had been giving.
"So that's how it is. Whatever that thing is, it ain't something we can just walk away from. These folks here this 'Inquisition'-" he made a face as if the word somehow tasted foreign, "-thinks they can do something about it. But they don't have the manpower to do it alone."
"Boss, I don't think anyone has the power to do anything about that -- thing, whether that power comes from magic or from man." one of the mercenaries said.
"I thought the same, but they've got someone. Someone special who seems like they can actually do something about it. Our mission now is to give them the support they need so they can focus saving the world... For a hefty fee of course." the Captain said. There was a shuffling of feet and murmured words of acceptance as the mercenaries thought it over. None of them were excited about this, but none of them really disagreed with the Captain's sentiments either.
"Yeah, yeah I know." the Captain nodded, "Now grab your gear! We've got some work to do." Artem spun on his heel and was about to head back to his tent when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He didn't have to look to know it was the Captain.
"Not you lad, you've got a special assignment." the Captain said.
"Oh. Crap." Artem said as his shoulders sank.
_____________________________________
Artem stepped into the Singing Maiden. It was a tavern, though not much of one. There was no singing or drinking going on this early in the day, though there was a warm hearth fire and the barkeep was busy taking stock of her meager inventory. Artem had put on his chainmail and hooded field jacket. A small sword and dagger hung from the left side of his belt. He had a quiver of arrows strapped to his back, and carried a simple bow in his left hand. Artem was a little over six feet tall, with a youthful face and weary hazel eyes. He had oblong features, and a lean, almost gaunt build suited to a mercenary who spent most of his time traveling. His head and face had at one point been cleanly shaven down to the skin, but now both showed an even layer of ruddy stubble. He had a small star-shaped scar above his right eyebrow, just beneath his hairline. He moved to a table and sat down.
"Welp, here I am." he said to no one in particular. The Captain had simply said to go to the tavern, where he'd be meeting with a group of people and get more details from someone higher up in the Inquisition.
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clockwork girl
memento mori
Morning came in the form of Rian flying straight into her forehead. Merle let out a groan, promptly rolling over and yanking the covers over her head to protect herself from her avian companion. “Go away, it's a sin to be awake this early,” she hissed, but the blackbird didn't seem to have much patience for her antics. Rian went ahead and let out his annoying, shrill alarm calls instead of his usual melodic tunes until, with a great huff, the girl threw off the blanket and glowered up at the bird sitting in the rafters. “Stupid bird, I should roast you for breakfast,” she grumbled, dragging a fist across her eyes.
The morning light was leaking through the thin slats that were supposed to be windows, and the young woman squinted her eyes. She was not fond of mornings, often complaining about the sun hurting her sensitive eyes. “It's fine to show up late, it's just a meeting at the tavern...” she muttered aloud, languidly pulling her clothes on. Well, to be fair, it wasn't just a meeting, but being punctual had never been a strength of hers. She washed her face in the basin that was situated in the corner of the cramped room, and her distorted reflection could be seen in the rippling water: blue-black hair that almost seemed to have a mind of its own, and the palest grey eyes sitting atop of high cheekbones.
Breakfast was a wrinkled apple, and a crust of bread with some of the tubers she had dried before. Sure, the tubers had been for potions and the like, but that hardly mattered when her stomach growled. She offered some bread to Rian, who pecked at the crumbs eagerly. He would no doubt hunt for insects once they were out and about, but it was terrible manners not to share, no?
Finished with her simple fare, the dark haired woman strolled to the pile of her belongings, slinging on her belt and checking for all the little pouches and coin purses. A dull clink sounded as she tied the small coin purse into the belt—her last few coppers resting inside. Well, it was about time she took on a job, and this all seemed to be timely. Last of all, she grasped her staff, and leisurely walked out of the room, Rian flapping out after her.
She waved cheerily at the plump innkeeper as she exited the inn, stepping out into the brisk chill of the morning air. “Mmmm...” she mused as she looked up at the sky. “Yep, still there,” she remarked nonchalantly to...no one? Rian? It was difficult to tell with her. “Well, I guess that's good news for my purse...” With a quick shrug, she went along her way, her destination a certain tavern in town. There were few people out on the streets, but those who did see her walk by gave her a few strange glances. It was a bit off-setting, after all, to see someone so...nonchalantly cheery after the disaster that had occurred because of the rift in the sky. Everyone was feeling uneasy, but it didn't seem to reach the lass.
The Singing Maiden was a smaller tavern than most, but it was a fine meeting place nonetheless. “Do tell me you're still serving at this hour,” she sang as she strode into the building. A rush of warmth greeted her, courtesy of the hearth, and she appreciatively brushed back the hood of her blue cloak. Rian chirped as he settled on her shoulder, and she continued in and glanced around with a half-smile. She approached a burly man with thick, bushy and hair and tilted her head. “My good man, might you be here for a meeting?” she asked lightly, the same strange smile crooked on her lips. The man gave her a weird look, which she interpreted as a no. Turning on her heel, she spotted another person, a young man that was armed and dressed like a mercenary.
“And you, good ser?” she inquired, cocking her head the other way this time. “I've decided to be punctual this once, and it'd be nice to meet the people I'm actually here to meet.”
The morning light was leaking through the thin slats that were supposed to be windows, and the young woman squinted her eyes. She was not fond of mornings, often complaining about the sun hurting her sensitive eyes. “It's fine to show up late, it's just a meeting at the tavern...” she muttered aloud, languidly pulling her clothes on. Well, to be fair, it wasn't just a meeting, but being punctual had never been a strength of hers. She washed her face in the basin that was situated in the corner of the cramped room, and her distorted reflection could be seen in the rippling water: blue-black hair that almost seemed to have a mind of its own, and the palest grey eyes sitting atop of high cheekbones.
Breakfast was a wrinkled apple, and a crust of bread with some of the tubers she had dried before. Sure, the tubers had been for potions and the like, but that hardly mattered when her stomach growled. She offered some bread to Rian, who pecked at the crumbs eagerly. He would no doubt hunt for insects once they were out and about, but it was terrible manners not to share, no?
Finished with her simple fare, the dark haired woman strolled to the pile of her belongings, slinging on her belt and checking for all the little pouches and coin purses. A dull clink sounded as she tied the small coin purse into the belt—her last few coppers resting inside. Well, it was about time she took on a job, and this all seemed to be timely. Last of all, she grasped her staff, and leisurely walked out of the room, Rian flapping out after her.
She waved cheerily at the plump innkeeper as she exited the inn, stepping out into the brisk chill of the morning air. “Mmmm...” she mused as she looked up at the sky. “Yep, still there,” she remarked nonchalantly to...no one? Rian? It was difficult to tell with her. “Well, I guess that's good news for my purse...” With a quick shrug, she went along her way, her destination a certain tavern in town. There were few people out on the streets, but those who did see her walk by gave her a few strange glances. It was a bit off-setting, after all, to see someone so...nonchalantly cheery after the disaster that had occurred because of the rift in the sky. Everyone was feeling uneasy, but it didn't seem to reach the lass.
The Singing Maiden was a smaller tavern than most, but it was a fine meeting place nonetheless. “Do tell me you're still serving at this hour,” she sang as she strode into the building. A rush of warmth greeted her, courtesy of the hearth, and she appreciatively brushed back the hood of her blue cloak. Rian chirped as he settled on her shoulder, and she continued in and glanced around with a half-smile. She approached a burly man with thick, bushy and hair and tilted her head. “My good man, might you be here for a meeting?” she asked lightly, the same strange smile crooked on her lips. The man gave her a weird look, which she interpreted as a no. Turning on her heel, she spotted another person, a young man that was armed and dressed like a mercenary.
“And you, good ser?” she inquired, cocking her head the other way this time. “I've decided to be punctual this once, and it'd be nice to meet the people I'm actually here to meet.”
“And you, good ser?” she inquired, cocking her head the other way this time. “I've decided to be punctual this once, and it'd be nice to meet the people I'm actually here to meet.”
He turned his head to look up at her, his arms crossed at his chest. The dark circles under his eyes, which normally indicated a lack of sleep, seemed a permanent part of his face. He'd heard her come in, accompanied by the fluttering wings of some bird. That's just what he needed, some hedge mage or worse, a Witch of the Wilds. He knew the tales, knew to give such women a wide berth. He had no desire to work with one. He wrinkled his nose as he sniffed the air. She smelled vaguely of spices, the kinds used to dry or preserve goods. Her dark hair was wild, and looked like spilled ink in the firelight. Her grey eyes were unnervingly bright. He chose not to look at them, he'd heard witches could steal your soul through your eyes after all, instead looking at her nose. He hated being called 'ser' but he chose to ignore that for now.
"S'pose I must be." he said after a moment, his voice a soft tenor. When he wasn't speaking his lips were pressed into a thin line. Least she's not an elf, he thought. He moved his chair back, giving her space to sit. The door opened again, the sunlight pouring in and overwhelming the meager light from the hearthfire. Artem pulled his shoulders up to his ears, attempting to stave off the chilly outside air. The door closed, allowing the warm dark to once again spread out through the tavern. Artem shivered, shaking out some of the tension.
"This way Leon." Artem turned to look at the new arrivals. Two men in heavy armor, both human. One was fair-skinned, blonde, handsome, with a set jaw and furrowed brow that showed he was growing used to the authority thrust upon him. Artem had heard of this man. His name was Cullen, and apparently he was some kind of military commander in this 'Inquisition'. Still no idea what an Inquisition even is, he mused. Cullen was dressed in all the finery accorded to his station, deep red robes with gold embroidery and a mane of fur wrapped around his full plate armor. Cullen's left hand naturally came to rest at the sword hilt at his waist. His boots clicked softly against the hardwood floor as he strode towards the table. Stepping out of Cullen's shadow was a younger man. Artem guessed they were about the same age, though this man might have been a bit younger. This man, Leon, wore a simple breastplate with the regular Templar insignia of a flaming sword etched into it. Chainmail sleeves went from the breastplate down to his gauntlet covered hands. His loose trousers were tucked into his armored boots. A one-handed hammer hung from a leather strap at his waist, a simple round shield with no mark or insignia was strapped to his back. His long hair was a rich shade of brown, braided on one side of his head, and pulled back into a low pony tail. He was a bit shorter than Artem, though much more broad across the chest and shoulders. He had a round face with brown eyes that seemed accustomed to laughter, which might explain why his dour expression looked so out of place. For some reason he reminded Artem of a brand new sword, something that had been forged and tested, but had yet to experience real use.
"Alright, if you'll both be seated then we can begin." Cullen said. He remained standing as Leon pulled his shield off to sit down.
"Well... I suppose the first thing I should say is 'Welcome to the Inquisition.' Would that we had time we could give you the proper induction ceremony, but for the sake of brevity," his eyes flicked towards the window, indicating the tear in the Veil, "we'll keep things informal. Merle, Leon, Artem, welcome to the Inquisition." he said looking at each of them in turn.
"Now then, the Inquisition's coffers are -- well, to call them 'empty' would not be much of an exaggeration. To fix that we need teams like you to go out and perform tasks in our name. Perform well, help the Inquisition's reputation grow, and pull in some coin. This is not simple errand work. The countryside is in turmoil, there are brigands about, and worse now with these 'Rifts' popping up. Your goal will be to help those in trouble, while collecting a modest fee in exchange." Cullen grimaced at the thought. Artem knew why, taking advantage of people's poor situations was a regular part of mercenary work.
"An army needs money, right? Armor needs to be fitted, weapons maintained, horses shod, rations, tents, all that stuff, right?" Artem said, rubbing his thumb over the scar on his forehead.
"Quite. We've received word from a local lord, his family is returning from the capital and will be coming through the Hinterlands by carriage to join him at his estate. He'd like some extra personnel to supplement his family's escort. This map shows where you're to meet them, be there before noon. Questions?" he asked, though judging by his tone he had little time to answer anything that they might ask.
He turned his head to look up at her, his arms crossed at his chest. The dark circles under his eyes, which normally indicated a lack of sleep, seemed a permanent part of his face. He'd heard her come in, accompanied by the fluttering wings of some bird. That's just what he needed, some hedge mage or worse, a Witch of the Wilds. He knew the tales, knew to give such women a wide berth. He had no desire to work with one. He wrinkled his nose as he sniffed the air. She smelled vaguely of spices, the kinds used to dry or preserve goods. Her dark hair was wild, and looked like spilled ink in the firelight. Her grey eyes were unnervingly bright. He chose not to look at them, he'd heard witches could steal your soul through your eyes after all, instead looking at her nose. He hated being called 'ser' but he chose to ignore that for now.
"S'pose I must be." he said after a moment, his voice a soft tenor. When he wasn't speaking his lips were pressed into a thin line. Least she's not an elf, he thought. He moved his chair back, giving her space to sit. The door opened again, the sunlight pouring in and overwhelming the meager light from the hearthfire. Artem pulled his shoulders up to his ears, attempting to stave off the chilly outside air. The door closed, allowing the warm dark to once again spread out through the tavern. Artem shivered, shaking out some of the tension.
"This way Leon." Artem turned to look at the new arrivals. Two men in heavy armor, both human. One was fair-skinned, blonde, handsome, with a set jaw and furrowed brow that showed he was growing used to the authority thrust upon him. Artem had heard of this man. His name was Cullen, and apparently he was some kind of military commander in this 'Inquisition'. Still no idea what an Inquisition even is, he mused. Cullen was dressed in all the finery accorded to his station, deep red robes with gold embroidery and a mane of fur wrapped around his full plate armor. Cullen's left hand naturally came to rest at the sword hilt at his waist. His boots clicked softly against the hardwood floor as he strode towards the table. Stepping out of Cullen's shadow was a younger man. Artem guessed they were about the same age, though this man might have been a bit younger. This man, Leon, wore a simple breastplate with the regular Templar insignia of a flaming sword etched into it. Chainmail sleeves went from the breastplate down to his gauntlet covered hands. His loose trousers were tucked into his armored boots. A one-handed hammer hung from a leather strap at his waist, a simple round shield with no mark or insignia was strapped to his back. His long hair was a rich shade of brown, braided on one side of his head, and pulled back into a low pony tail. He was a bit shorter than Artem, though much more broad across the chest and shoulders. He had a round face with brown eyes that seemed accustomed to laughter, which might explain why his dour expression looked so out of place. For some reason he reminded Artem of a brand new sword, something that had been forged and tested, but had yet to experience real use.
"Alright, if you'll both be seated then we can begin." Cullen said. He remained standing as Leon pulled his shield off to sit down.
"Well... I suppose the first thing I should say is 'Welcome to the Inquisition.' Would that we had time we could give you the proper induction ceremony, but for the sake of brevity," his eyes flicked towards the window, indicating the tear in the Veil, "we'll keep things informal. Merle, Leon, Artem, welcome to the Inquisition." he said looking at each of them in turn.
"Now then, the Inquisition's coffers are -- well, to call them 'empty' would not be much of an exaggeration. To fix that we need teams like you to go out and perform tasks in our name. Perform well, help the Inquisition's reputation grow, and pull in some coin. This is not simple errand work. The countryside is in turmoil, there are brigands about, and worse now with these 'Rifts' popping up. Your goal will be to help those in trouble, while collecting a modest fee in exchange." Cullen grimaced at the thought. Artem knew why, taking advantage of people's poor situations was a regular part of mercenary work.
"An army needs money, right? Armor needs to be fitted, weapons maintained, horses shod, rations, tents, all that stuff, right?" Artem said, rubbing his thumb over the scar on his forehead.
"Quite. We've received word from a local lord, his family is returning from the capital and will be coming through the Hinterlands by carriage to join him at his estate. He'd like some extra personnel to supplement his family's escort. This map shows where you're to meet them, be there before noon. Questions?" he asked, though judging by his tone he had little time to answer anything that they might ask.
clockwork girl
memento mori
"Very good," the young woman hummed, seating herself abruptly without as much as a 'may I?'. The way he had looked at her did not bother her. One grew used to such things in time, and a slightly off-put expression wasn’t going to get under her skin. Rian looked at the mercenary curiously, cocking his head in a manner near identical to his mistress’s.
She turned towards the barmaid and waved her over, tossing her the last few coppers she had to her. “Your famous ale and nut bread, please,” she told her rather cheerily for someone who was spending the last bit of coin they had on them. Just when she had turned back around and folded her hands on top of the table, the door opened and in blew in the cold air and two men. Ah, surely those were the remaining members of their little business meeting.
Sure enough, the two armored men headed towards them. Such shiny armor, Merle noted distractedly. And that one had a furred cape! And my oh my, a Templar. She did not show any sort of alarm, looking as relaxed as she had been before. Rian gave a little hop on her shoulder, taking in the newcomers with his black, beady eyes. Merle herself barely slid a glance at the Templar as he sat down—he probably had yet to realize her identity, though it could come sooner or later. It didn’t really concern her—not much did.
The furry cape man initiated a short welcome to them, and Merle offered him a lighthearted smile when he looked to her. ‘The Inquisition.’ What a fancy name. Did it mean the lot of them were all perpetually inquisitive? That would explain why they cared so much about those cracks in the sky.
The Inquisition’s coffers were empty—not quite unlike her own situation, she noted to herself. Well, as long as they could pay her in the end, she supposed it didn’t matter much. She nodded along to the stern man’s words, though she could feel herself drifting away in thought as he went on about their importance. Not just an errand, yes yes, collect funds, of course…
The word army caught her attention and looked pointedly at the mercenary who had said it before returning to her contemplations. An army? She wasn’t so sure about being part of an army…. After all, she didn’t stay in a group for long. She wandered—she was a wanderer! And if it hadn’t been obvious before, she hardly lived or took orders like a soldier would. Well, as long as they didn’t ask her to act like a soldier…she supposed it was alright for a few jobs. Steady income wasn’t something she was too familiar with, but what could be the worst outcome of that?
Then their current job was explained, and Merle did listen carefully this time, making sure she got the details. Details like that were important—practical facts that weighed the difference between success and failure. She didn’t care for long descriptions of ideology; why something was important and all that stuff, but the facts of a situation were crucial. As long as she knew what her role was exactly, the rest hardly mattered to her.
The furrowed-brow-man looked like he was willing to entertain questions, but unfortunately Merle had none. She shrugged nonchalantly, and confirmed her lack of questions. “I don’t see a need for any questions,” she told him. The barmaid came back with her ale and bread, and she happily began to eat, keeping her completely casual demeanor. The Singing Maiden made an excellent nut bread, in her opinion—better than the town baker.
She turned towards the barmaid and waved her over, tossing her the last few coppers she had to her. “Your famous ale and nut bread, please,” she told her rather cheerily for someone who was spending the last bit of coin they had on them. Just when she had turned back around and folded her hands on top of the table, the door opened and in blew in the cold air and two men. Ah, surely those were the remaining members of their little business meeting.
Sure enough, the two armored men headed towards them. Such shiny armor, Merle noted distractedly. And that one had a furred cape! And my oh my, a Templar. She did not show any sort of alarm, looking as relaxed as she had been before. Rian gave a little hop on her shoulder, taking in the newcomers with his black, beady eyes. Merle herself barely slid a glance at the Templar as he sat down—he probably had yet to realize her identity, though it could come sooner or later. It didn’t really concern her—not much did.
The furry cape man initiated a short welcome to them, and Merle offered him a lighthearted smile when he looked to her. ‘The Inquisition.’ What a fancy name. Did it mean the lot of them were all perpetually inquisitive? That would explain why they cared so much about those cracks in the sky.
The Inquisition’s coffers were empty—not quite unlike her own situation, she noted to herself. Well, as long as they could pay her in the end, she supposed it didn’t matter much. She nodded along to the stern man’s words, though she could feel herself drifting away in thought as he went on about their importance. Not just an errand, yes yes, collect funds, of course…
The word army caught her attention and looked pointedly at the mercenary who had said it before returning to her contemplations. An army? She wasn’t so sure about being part of an army…. After all, she didn’t stay in a group for long. She wandered—she was a wanderer! And if it hadn’t been obvious before, she hardly lived or took orders like a soldier would. Well, as long as they didn’t ask her to act like a soldier…she supposed it was alright for a few jobs. Steady income wasn’t something she was too familiar with, but what could be the worst outcome of that?
Then their current job was explained, and Merle did listen carefully this time, making sure she got the details. Details like that were important—practical facts that weighed the difference between success and failure. She didn’t care for long descriptions of ideology; why something was important and all that stuff, but the facts of a situation were crucial. As long as she knew what her role was exactly, the rest hardly mattered to her.
The furrowed-brow-man looked like he was willing to entertain questions, but unfortunately Merle had none. She shrugged nonchalantly, and confirmed her lack of questions. “I don’t see a need for any questions,” she told him. The barmaid came back with her ale and bread, and she happily began to eat, keeping her completely casual demeanor. The Singing Maiden made an excellent nut bread, in her opinion—better than the town baker.
“I don’t see a need for any questions,” she told him.
Cullen looked to the others. His eyes flicked to the mercenary first, who simply shrugged.
"No questions, sir." said the other Templar when Cullen looked at him.
"Very well. Best of luck." Cullen said. He turned on his heel and walked out of the tavern, the cold wafting in as the door opened, another Templar waiting to meet Cullen as soon as he got outside. Artem and Leon stared for a moment, until the door closed.
Well... thought Artem.
Shit... thought Leon. Leon scooted his chair back before picking up his shield and standing up. He looked at his new companions, tried to smile to hide his nerves. When he realized how silly it must have looked he bit his lip and shook his head.
"So! Shall we be off then?" he asked. He glanced at the mage's ale and bread. He did not want to be rude, but time was one of the many luxuries they did not have. Artem shrugged and stood up as well. He picked up his bow, placing his fingers on the string to give it a few pulls and warm up the wood.
"Sounds good to me. Artem." the mercenary said.
"I'm sorry?" the Templar gave him a quizzical look.
"My name. Artem." the mercenary repeated.
"I see. My name is Leon." the Templar extended an armor-clad hand. Artem looked at it for just a moment, as if the limb might bite him, before grasping it and giving it exactly one shake. Just enough to follow common courtesy. Leon did his best to ignore it, instead turning his attention to the mage.
"And you, fair Lady, ready to come with us?" Leon asked.
Cullen looked to the others. His eyes flicked to the mercenary first, who simply shrugged.
"No questions, sir." said the other Templar when Cullen looked at him.
"Very well. Best of luck." Cullen said. He turned on his heel and walked out of the tavern, the cold wafting in as the door opened, another Templar waiting to meet Cullen as soon as he got outside. Artem and Leon stared for a moment, until the door closed.
Well... thought Artem.
Shit... thought Leon. Leon scooted his chair back before picking up his shield and standing up. He looked at his new companions, tried to smile to hide his nerves. When he realized how silly it must have looked he bit his lip and shook his head.
"So! Shall we be off then?" he asked. He glanced at the mage's ale and bread. He did not want to be rude, but time was one of the many luxuries they did not have. Artem shrugged and stood up as well. He picked up his bow, placing his fingers on the string to give it a few pulls and warm up the wood.
"Sounds good to me. Artem." the mercenary said.
"I'm sorry?" the Templar gave him a quizzical look.
"My name. Artem." the mercenary repeated.
"I see. My name is Leon." the Templar extended an armor-clad hand. Artem looked at it for just a moment, as if the limb might bite him, before grasping it and giving it exactly one shake. Just enough to follow common courtesy. Leon did his best to ignore it, instead turning his attention to the mage.
"And you, fair Lady, ready to come with us?" Leon asked.
clockwork girl
memento mori
By the Maker, why couldn't they all just take a breath and take things as they came? Merle let out a flippant sigh, emptying the ale into a flask. She would have to eat as they traveled. Oh well. She was the last to stand from the wooden table, wrapping a kerchief around her nut bread. The templar and mercenary were introducing themselves to each other, shaking hands as it were. Then the templar--Leon, was it?--turned to her.
"Oh, Rian's a male blackbird. He won't like being called a lady, however fair," she replied seriously. "Rian, say hello." The bird hopped from foot to foot on her shoulder and let out a few chirps. The mage seemed satisfied with the 'greeting,' but then after a moment, caught on to what the Templar had actually meant. She blinked her grey eyes before letting out an amused burst of laughter. "'Fair lady!'" she exclaimed to herself, as if he had told her the punchline to a hilarious jest. "That's new." She'd been called a lot of things, but never that. "Well, you may call me whatever you wish. Makes no difference, I suppose." Still chuckling, she pulled her hood over her head, walking to the door to stand next to her new...'comrades' (and she used the word lightly).
Merle waved at the barmaid as she exited the Singing Maiden, nut bread in hand. It was still cold, but hopefully the sun would warm the air soon. "So," she started, only to take a bite of her bread, "The Hinterlands. How far will that be?"
"Oh, Rian's a male blackbird. He won't like being called a lady, however fair," she replied seriously. "Rian, say hello." The bird hopped from foot to foot on her shoulder and let out a few chirps. The mage seemed satisfied with the 'greeting,' but then after a moment, caught on to what the Templar had actually meant. She blinked her grey eyes before letting out an amused burst of laughter. "'Fair lady!'" she exclaimed to herself, as if he had told her the punchline to a hilarious jest. "That's new." She'd been called a lot of things, but never that. "Well, you may call me whatever you wish. Makes no difference, I suppose." Still chuckling, she pulled her hood over her head, walking to the door to stand next to her new...'comrades' (and she used the word lightly).
Merle waved at the barmaid as she exited the Singing Maiden, nut bread in hand. It was still cold, but hopefully the sun would warm the air soon. "So," she started, only to take a bite of her bread, "The Hinterlands. How far will that be?"
Leon was unsure what exactly was so funny. She was a lady, she wasn't entirely unattractive, and he didn't know her name. What exactly was he supposed to call her. He thought his choice a far sight more polite than 'witch' or any other words he could have said. Words he was beginning to think he should have used.
"So," she started, only to take a bite of her bread, "The Hinterlands. How far will that be?"
"From here? Not so far. We can reach it in a matter of hours if we walk at a decent pace." Artem said as he stepped off, indifferent as to whether or not the other two moved with him. He'd been given a mission, he'd see it through. Hopefully these other two wouldn't get him killed in the process.
__________________
They made their way down from the mountains and into the Hinterlands. The sun had climbed up near to its highest point, shining down on them now from where it perched. The air was still cool, but lacked the biting chill of snow in every breeze. There were trees and hills and grassy knolls all about, criss-crossed by well-worn footpaths. Artem guessed that the multiple broken arrow shafts in the trees and in the dirt were more recent additions. He could see saplings and young trees had been cut down or uprooted to clear the way for hasty bandit camps that had apparently been abandoned just as quickly as they were put up. The chaos from the Sanctuary disaster was spreading through the countryside. He could see dried spots of blood on the grass and the forest floor, lines and holes punched in the dirt that could only be caused by errant sword strokes and hammer blows. He could smell the stale ozone of magic, spells cast as recently as this morning. What could drive a man to willingly bring his family through such chaos?
"See anything?" Leon asked, from a ways behind Artem. Despite the sweat beading on his forehead, the Templar had kept pace well enough.
"Nothing I wasn't expecting." Artem said quietly.
"What was that?" Leon asked again.
" 'Said 'No!'" Artem turned his head to yell over his shoulder, hating that he had to make so much noise to communicate with these two.
"I see. Well the crossroads where we're to meet the carriage should be just up ahead. Shall we?" Leon asked. Artem just continued to walk forward, wishing the Templar wouldn't be so damned polite all the time.
"So," she started, only to take a bite of her bread, "The Hinterlands. How far will that be?"
"From here? Not so far. We can reach it in a matter of hours if we walk at a decent pace." Artem said as he stepped off, indifferent as to whether or not the other two moved with him. He'd been given a mission, he'd see it through. Hopefully these other two wouldn't get him killed in the process.
__________________
They made their way down from the mountains and into the Hinterlands. The sun had climbed up near to its highest point, shining down on them now from where it perched. The air was still cool, but lacked the biting chill of snow in every breeze. There were trees and hills and grassy knolls all about, criss-crossed by well-worn footpaths. Artem guessed that the multiple broken arrow shafts in the trees and in the dirt were more recent additions. He could see saplings and young trees had been cut down or uprooted to clear the way for hasty bandit camps that had apparently been abandoned just as quickly as they were put up. The chaos from the Sanctuary disaster was spreading through the countryside. He could see dried spots of blood on the grass and the forest floor, lines and holes punched in the dirt that could only be caused by errant sword strokes and hammer blows. He could smell the stale ozone of magic, spells cast as recently as this morning. What could drive a man to willingly bring his family through such chaos?
"See anything?" Leon asked, from a ways behind Artem. Despite the sweat beading on his forehead, the Templar had kept pace well enough.
"Nothing I wasn't expecting." Artem said quietly.
"What was that?" Leon asked again.
" 'Said 'No!'" Artem turned his head to yell over his shoulder, hating that he had to make so much noise to communicate with these two.
"I see. Well the crossroads where we're to meet the carriage should be just up ahead. Shall we?" Leon asked. Artem just continued to walk forward, wishing the Templar wouldn't be so damned polite all the time.
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