A demure smile adorned Rhosyn’s featured as he’d leant upon the terrace on the sea-facing balcony of his temporary quarters, nostrils flaring as he’d momentarily relished the distinct aroma of the sea’s spray. Truly, it was a welcomed reprieve from his recent travels with an armed caravan, his passage paid for in full by his services as a healer. The elves’ expression visibly soured as he’d recalled the numerous undesired encounters with the Darkspawn and other manner of creature. Blasted beasts, they were adamant that I am not permitted to focus on my research – I still have a headache from overtaxing my reserves so routinely.
Alas, it is over, the caravan was fortune enough to suffer no loss of life. I am certain they are more than displeased with some of the damage suffered to their wares. Rhosyn sardonically mused to himself, withdrawing back into his quarters, inspecting the small crude tub that was now thoroughly encrusted with a tangible layer of sediment – a testament to the arduous nature of their travels. When will we meet with the scholar from the article? I have many questions you must asked… Eros’ voice resonated Rhosyn’s psyche, its’ tone velvety and smooth, a stark contrast to the sense of urgency it imposed upon him.
Hush Eros, I am certain I will have an answer for you in due time, not all possess a near inexhaustible amount of energy… Rhosyn teased, drowning out the barbed retort he’d likely received. His focused turned to the bulging pack seated at the foot of his bed, a well-aged staff propped against it – a memento from his father at the conclusion of his initial apprenticeship with the Clan. His lips inched downwards, a scowl momentarily taking refuge upon his features as a brief glimpse of his mother’s final moments resurfaced – a bulwark against the Darkspawn, summoning down Andraste’s wraith from the heavens.
His dusky verdant gaze reluctantly shifted towards the mirror, inspecting his own reflection. His unruly tresses were contained by a simple bronzed circlet with a piece of moonstone anchored by a trio of prongs, his well-worn and borderline threadbare robes were traded out for cobalt blue tunic and trousers, his thick leather boots were traded out for what amounted to soled slippers. His calloused hands sought a small sachet that sat upon the bed, its’ contents were his coin, the article from the Orlais university that had brought him here.
Rhosyn refrained from bringing his staff along with him, uncertain, if it would garner undesired attention as he’d explored the wharf. He used the iron key provided by the innkeeper to lock his door, tucking it into one of his pockets as he made his way towards the wharfs, pleased to see a myriad of ships that were docked, a myriad of workers bustling back and forth unloading and loading wares. He’d pressed himself flush against the alleyway to make way as two seafarers passed by with a comically large picture frame. Hmm, well at least the ocean isn’t the only pleasant view.” Rhosyn intoned with a smirk as he’d admired the retreating, sweat-slickened muscles.
It is oddly calming… not unlike the depths of the forest… Rhosyn remarked, a sun-kissed digit creeping upwards to tuck a misplaced strand of hair behind his pointed ears, absentmindedly nudging one of several tear-drop inspired earrings.
Lucien strode down the cobblestone path toward the docks, the air filled with the briny scent of the sea and the sounds of bustling activity. His scholarly attire—a tailored jacket, waistcoat, and crisp shirt—seemed out of place among the rugged sailors and workers, but he moved with an air of confident purpose. Today, he wasn't just an art history professor; he was here to check over some art that had been rescued from the areas overrun by darkspawn. The oafish things destroyed everything in their wake, not caring one iota about art.
As he passed by a group of workers struggling with an enormous painting, he couldn't help but wince. It was a scene of beautiful simplicity, a landscape of Thedas in the autumn; the leaves ablaze with oranges and reds, the sky a clear, crystal blue. However, the edges of the canvas were already fraying, the result of its rough handling. Lucien sighed, knowing he had a long day ahead.
Taking a moment to steel himself, he adjusted his glasses and pressed on. He knew the importance of preserving these works and he was determined to do everything within his power to save as much of the art as possible. Just then some people struggled with a crate, it’s contents spilling out, various paintings, vases and such. He sighed, of course, things couldn’t just go fucking smoothly. He glanced at the workers, none of them trained in how to handle precious art. He turned towards a stranger.
You there, mind giving us a hand? If I leave it up to these oafs there won’t be a spot of art left unbroken or unblemished in the entire kingdom. He spoke frustratedly, not caring that he didn’t know the man he was speaking to.
For a time, Rhosyn’s attention remained trained upon the horizon, relishing in the grandeur of merchant vessels – a stark contrast to the crude fishermen boats he’d witnessed dotting rivers across Thedas. Lucien’s query served to draw his focus elsewhere, confusion blossoming upon his features, cemented by the slight rightward inclination of his head. Rhosyn, where are you daft, where are your manners, he is most certainly addressing you… Eros chastised his contract, his ethereal voice resonating through his psyche, punctuated by an audible click of its’ tongue against some part of its’ anamorphic anatomy.
How can you be so certain of that Eros? It could be anyone of these seafarers… Rhosyn murmured beneath his breath, knowing the spirit made a valid point, one lent weight by the fact Lucien’s gaze was trained in his general direction. A series of calloused sun-kissed digits would come to rest briefly upon one of the courier’s shoulders, a quiet yet polite apology offered as he’d maneuvered himself through their ranks.
“You were addressing me, correct? Rhosyn inquired to confirm. I doubt I’d prove any more effective than them, my craft requires coordination of a different sorts… Rhosyn confessed, it was a half-hearted excuse at best, he was an adept herbalist and by some measure alchemist, and a gifted healer – both holistically and in the arcane sense. Aside from transporting a non-ambulatory patient or a dozen reagents and compounds – his job did not typically involve lifting physically heavy objects.
Is the port always so busy? Rhosyn inquired lightly, uncertain what manner of reaction he might get. That question alone made it abundantly clear that Rhosyn was not a native of Val Royeaux proper. By now, some of Rhosyn’s nervous ticks began to rear their ugly head, it was the routine maneuvering of his calloused digits against one another idly by his side, periodically a faintly audible click registering as his thumb nail picked at his index finger.
Why am I more comfortably tending to the dying than interacting with a stranger in normal conversation… Rhosyn pondered, perhaps, it was the nerves of being in a foreign environment surrounded by nothing but strangers – knowledge that unlike within Arhaltan, he was truly alone in a sense. He could only pray when, he discovered the scholar who penned the study in his bag that he could articulate himself with some semblance of intelligence. “You best be able to – I have so many questions, I wish you to ask of them Eros intoned, touching upon the surface level of Rhosyn’s internal thoughts – an act that caused his brows to furrow ever so.
Lucien's gaze remained steady, a glint of amusement and curiosity in his eyes as he watched Rhosyn navigate through the throng of people. He could see the confusion and hesitation in the man's demeanor, a contrast to the bustling energy of the port around them. When Rhosyn finally reached him and confirmed that he was indeed the one being addressed, Lucien's smile widened slightly.
Yes, I was addressing you, Lucien replied, his tone friendly and reassuring. I didn't mean to cause any confusion. Just, you seemed like a man that might at least respect the art being moved, compared to these oafs.
He listened as Rhosyn explained his skills and the nature of his work, nodding thoughtfully. Coordination of a different sort, you say? What is it you do? He asked curiously, momentarily forgetting the shipment of rescued art.
Lucien glanced around the busy port, the activity a constant background hum of voices, footsteps, and the creaking of ships. The port is always busy, especially at this time of year, but even more so of late, with things going on like they are on land, sea tends to be the safer method of travel.
I assure you, the apology was wholeheartedly unnecessary. You caught me a bit flatfooted. Rhosyn confessed timidly, the corner of his lips curved upwards ever-so – heralding his characteristic jovial smirk. A wry chuckle was wretched from between his lips in response to Lucien’s assessment of his character. When your clan is particularly nomadic, it is hard to harbor fondness for most of the finer arts. Rhosyn added-on, his dusky verdant gaze momentarily turned upon an extravagant “self” portrait of a man and woman in decadent what he’d presumed were silks.
It was a stark contrast to most of the artifacts maintained by the Dalish, their preference seemed to be eschewed heavily in favor of tales of their ancestors, the maintained written records of their successes, their trials and tribulations, and even their failures. From his own perspective, it was why those anointed as a Keeper were submitted to herculean burdens – the maintenance of the lands they preoccupied and called their own and serving as the adhesive that held the collective whole together.
By vocation? I am a healer – both in the traditional holistic sense as well as the arcane. However, I tend to dabble in the alchemic realms as well – some potions and tinctures are infinitely more sophisticated than poultices and cruder potions. Rhosyn explained, the edge of his voice gained a palpable sense of excitement. Yet there was a subtle undertone, the unspoken understanding that Rhosyn’s knowledge extended in the opposite direction as well – poisons and irritants brewed to aid in Hunts or serve as an impromptu defense.
But in the heat of it all, I believe few care for coordination and grace. What matters most is my ability to get them out of the thick of combat and stabilized. Most would pardon a few extra bumps or bruises. A harsh truth, not ever healer operated in a controlled environment. Plus, in some instances, brute strength and tenacity worked just as effectively as a honed mind. Enough about me, I’d venture a guess – a collector or a merchant of sorts?
Rhosyn punctuated that sentence with a discreet wave of his hand, gesturing to the numerous pieces of art that seemed to be passing them by. Lucien spoke the truth though, his own travels with the merchant caravan that had arrived hours prior lent weight to that. The surrounding areas were flooded with all manner of monstrosity – demons and darkspawn alike. Quite… the caravan I traveled with seemed to be burdened by an unusual number of Darkspawn…
Lucien nodded as Rhosyn spoke, his brain evoking mental images at all the words that Rhosyn was speaking, as he was a very visual person. When he said nomadic, Lucien made a mental note that Rhosyn was probably Dalish then, not that he could know that with full certainty, but knowing the Dalish were notoriously nomadic, it felt like at least a relatively safe supposition to make.
Ah, a fellow mage then! I myself am fairly limited at what I can do. My family paid off certain officials to keep me out of the Circles when I was younger and kept me hidden. I learned enough to keep from accidentally blowing anything up as a child, but now as an adult my only specialty really is mind magic, but I also learned rogue engineering, which interested me far more than magic did. He admitted, it felt right to respond in kind to the man standing before him about their skills.
Art history professor actually. Though I do have a bit of a collection myself at home, but in general I prefer to see art in the hands of the city or kingdom in question. Art belongs to the people, and shouldn’t be hidden away behind close doors! He explained, his eyes kept watch on what the unpackers were doing and also held his attention on Rhosyn.
[q]To be honest I was holding out hope that once the Ferelden blight ended the Grey Wardens might send aid here, but so far that hasn’t happened. Which considering the historical issues between our kingdoms, I fear even the Grey Wardens autonomy from the Kingdoms political strife and their usually impartial stances, was not beyond the bitterness that Ferelden felt towards Orlais.
Rhosyn understood Lucien’s plight on a fundamental level, he’d skirted the confines of the Circle by virtue of the nomadic nature of his Clan. A wide berth of his knowledge was gleamed from the depths of his deceased mother’s leatherbound journals, the next sizable contributor was his father, whereas the rest could be attributed to the remainder of the Clan. It’d failed to escape his notice how he tended to exist at the outer rim of the social circles, ostracized because of the reciprocal nature of his contract with Eros.
The spirit of Curiosity, it was more than a catalyst for the Arcane, it’d grown to be a familiar companion and even a steadfast friend – someone that showed him kindness that the rest of the world could not afford. Self-taught then? That is always commendable – the Arcane is such a volatile construct, is it not. He’d witnessed the recoil of an interrupted spell firsthand more than once; he’d been on the receiving end as well – ironic that curative magick could cause such fiery agony when channeled improperly.
I was fortunate, my mother detailed a great deal of her craft within her journals, the rest of my knowledge came from my father, the clan and Eros. Mind magic was an effective branch, that was without argument. However, it was often viewed with measured skepticism, unvoiced concerns of its’ intrusion on one’s psyche often the centered argument. But that wasn’t to say it was corrupt, the ability to induce tranquility and peace in those bereft of it – a welcomed reprieve within the battlefield and its’ aftermath.
My alchemical pursuits seemed to be more volatile than my magic… Downside to not having some of the nicer equipment, letting your quarters air out… But Lucien was a passionate man it appeared as he’d spoke at length of his indulgence to the arts, citing that it was better for it to be on display than sequester away for the select few to gaze upon. True, I don’t believe there has even been a war waged over art – lest not one bred from anything more than greed…
Rhosyn continued to listen as Lucien detailed the tribulations faced presently because of the Grey Wardens absence – citing their longstanding distain and bitterness as a plausible factor. Hopefully that is not the case, and they are merely preoccupied with clearing yet another pestilence. But Rhosyn could not speak of their affairs with any semblance of intelligence, he new scarcely more than what he’d heard in hushed whispers. For what it is worth, the city itself seems to be holding its’ own, the citizenry appear content, is that not so?
As for being self-taught, well, not entirely, he began, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. My parents were quite protective. They hired a tutor to teach me in secret, someone they could trust and who was willing to be discreet. They used their money and influence to ensure my safety and education. But the tutor couldn't stay forever; he had other obligations and could only teach me so much before he had to leave.
Lucien sighed, his gaze momentarily distant as he recalled those early lessons. So, I suppose you could say I'm partly self-taught. I had a good foundation thanks to my tutor, but much of what I know now came from my own experimentation and study. Rogue engineering, for instance, was something I picked up out of sheer fascination more than necessity.
He looked back at Rhosyn, his expression softening. It's always a bit of a gamble, isn't it? The arcane arts. One mistake, one misstep, and it can all go horribly wrong. But that's also what makes it so rewarding when you get it right.
Lucien listened intently as Rhosyn spoke of his own experiences, nodding in understanding. Your mother and the clan sound like they provided you with a wealth of knowledge. He chuckled at Rhosyn's mention of alchemical pursuits. Ah, yes, the joys of alchemy. I've had my fair share of mishaps in that area as well. There's nothing quite like the smell of a failed experiment lingering in your quarters.
Lucien's expression grew more serious as Rhosyn spoke of the Grey Wardens and the current state of the city. Yes, you're right. The city does seem to be holding its own, and the citizenry are resilient. But there's always this underlying sense of unease. We can only hope that things will improve in time.
He glanced around the port once more, his eyes settling on a particularly large crate being unloaded. In any case, there's work to be done. If you're willing to lend a hand, I'd appreciate it, and perhaps after we can grab a drink on me and discuss more alchemy. If not, I understand. Either way, it's been a pleasure meeting you, Rhosyn.
The corner of Rhosyn’s lips twitched preemptively, heralding a downward decline, which permitted a transient frown to adorn his features as Lucien detailed the secrecy associated with his education. It came as no surprise as those possessing an affinity for the Arcane existed in a state of flux – their role within society dictated by archaic rules and antiquated mindsets. His own clan had continuously regarded him with a measure of caution as his bond with Eros deepened; the quiet whispers and candid nature of their conversations hinted at a measure of intimate familiarity.
Lucien’s circumstances encapsulated the paranoia that burdened their kind – the fear of being made Tranquil naught but a hairs width in their history. You are fortunate, their caution speaks volume of their love for you. Rhoysn commented off-hand, the transient frown replaced by a demure smile – one that failed to reach his eyes. For me it was the opposite – I learned Alchemy to supplement my abilities. Despite what we tell ourselves, there is always a limit imposed by curative magics. Be it the severity of the wound itself or the depths of our mental reservoirs. [q]
How many a life slipped from the tending hands of a healer into the calloused embrace of Death? [q] It is always a calculated risk, sadly it was why many a fledgling Mage find themselves at ends with backlash – they do not have the experience or knowledge of their own limits. At the mention of his parents, his smile remained, he was cognizant of the lengths that they’d collective taken to provide him with his education.
They did indeed, though the former I will concede to be off necessity. One can never have enough healers when venturing the wilderness… A soft pause as Eros’ voice resonated softly in his ear, Mankind, they fear the unknown do they not? Why is that so Eros’ question prompted Rhosyn’s head to crane in in its’ direction, the faintest hint of an outline visible to others. We fear what we do not know or understand because we do not know what dangers it poses, Eros.
Satisfied with the answer, its’ outline faded back into nothingness. “Certainly, if it isn’t too much trouble, I would also accept a tour of the city – I only arrived earlier this morning. Rhosyn countered as he’d followed the man’s gaze to a particularly large crate that was being offloaded. Dare I ask what is in that?
Lucien observed Rhosyn's reaction, noting the subtle shifts in his expression. He appreciated the understanding in Rhosyn's words.
Yes, their caution did show their care, Lucien agreed thoughtfully. Alchemy to supplement your abilities? That's quite insightful. You’re right, the limits of curative magic can be frustratingly finite. It's always a calculated risk, one that inexperienced mages often struggle with. One reason I’ve never felt inclined to pursue healing magic.
Lucien followed Rhosyn's gaze to the large crate being offloaded. Ah, that, he said with a chuckle. It's a collection of rare alchemical supplies and some tomes from Ancient Tevinter. Essential for my experiments and tinkering. I’d be happy to give you a tour of the city. There's much to see and learn.
His eyes twinkled with a hint of excitement. It's always fascinating to share our knowledge and experiences. The city has its hidden gems and secrets, much like the arcane arts we both cherish. Let's start with the market square; it's bustling with activity and filled with vendors selling all kinds of mystical and mundane wares. From there, we can visit the Grand Library, a treasure trove of ancient texts and scrolls that even the most seasoned mage would find enlightening.
Lucien began to lead the way, his steps filled with purpose and enthusiasm. The market square is always a good place to start, he continued. It's not just about the goods they sell, but the stories they tell. Each vendor has something unique to offer, from enchanted trinkets to exotic ingredients. You'll find it a veritable feast for the senses.
He glanced back at Rhosyn, a smile playing on his lips. And the Grand Library, well, that's a place of endless discovery. Even I find new texts there that challenge and expand my understanding of the arcane. It's a place where the past and present converge, where knowledge is preserved and shared. I worry what will happen to it if the Darkspawn breach the city.
