Avorra walked through the bustling streets on Minrathaus. It was her first time in Tevinter, and she was likely to be here for a while. Ever since her magic started to hunger again, she went searching for more shards. Her first hunt failed, but it wouldn't be the last. She'd heard rumors of one in the now-open Tevinter since the barrier had fallen. This place was entirely foreign to her, and likely much of Thedas. She'd have to keep her wits about her if she was to survive. Luckily, Tevinter seemed to adore mages, and just as it so happens, she loves flaunting her magic. There was no one here to accuse her of forbidden magic, no one here to call Templars or the gods-forbidden Ben-Hassrath on her apostacy.
She went looking for an inn, or a local tavern, anywhere to trace the rumors to their source. She needed to find this shard, and soon, lest her magic consume her. The last time she experienced these pangs, she played host to a Pride Demon. Only by finding that Shard of Zazikel did her magic stop. Of course, it had only ceased from eating her, but only temporarily. Now the time had come - her magic was overactive again, and as much as she enjoyed the new influx of powers, if she didn't find a way to tame it soon, it was going to kill her - or worse.
Zazikel was still silent as ever since she failed her last hunt. The times he does talk is brief - warnings. He was no longer the guide he once was. Was it her failure that caused him to turn a cold shoulder? The shame? There were days she missed him. With or without him, however, she was determined to find the next shard.
There was no question about it. Tiberius was slumming it. The Second Veil was a bar for tourists in a city that had never had many of those – especially lately. The magister sat by himself at a small table, reading the gossip rags and sipping a slightly noxious lemon spirit from a tiny glass. The light, tinted blue and full of smoke, was awful for this task.
That was alright. His thoughts kept wandering, following one useless tail or another. It wasn’t fair what had happened to House Pavus while House Tilani still enjoyed a place of prominence. They’d both endorsed a dozen votes against the status quo. Of course, no Tilani had traipsed across the countryside with an elven minion of the southern chantry.
Poor Enzo – to be reduced to more or less the same status that Tiberius had enjoyed all his life. He still wasn’t sure how to rekindle that connection or even if he should. Dimly, he was aware of a new patron entering somewhere behind him.
Then, not so dimly. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, his heart hammered painfully in his chest. Despair was riled, the arched back of an angry cat. A presence not unlike Cecilia Bellefleur’s – but not quite the same and somehow lesser. He swung his legs out and looked.
A tall, colorless woman. Perhaps a genuine tourist after all? She did not have the look of a native. An agent of Cici’s? Then she would be looking for him. Tiberius stood and smiled at the stranger, motioning to the seat across from him.
”You look lost and thirsty. Why don’t you join me, friend?”
The inn was full of life - and obnoxiously loud. The cacophony of voices was enough to make Avorra shake her head in distaste. She was just getting ready to leave when a man stood from his seat and offered a seat across the table. She raised an eyebrow at the man, but he was the first person to properly talk to her since she'd entered the city. She lowered her eyebrow and turned her neutral lips into a smirk. She sat down across from the man, and a waiter showed to take her order. She started with her favorite, raspberry tea served cold. It'd been her favorite since she discovered it in Orlais. The sweetness of it was delightful to her tastebuds. As she stirred her straw in the tea, she looked across the table, peering into the man's eyes. She could smell the magic seeping off of him, so tantalizing, but she needed to calm her urges. This was no place to consume a fellow mage. At least, not yet.
There was something peculiar about this mage. His magic smelled... rotten. The Keen Insight from her own hedge witchery told her that it was a variety of magic that he possessed. Umbramancy was the most primed, the shadows from the candlelight danced and flickered around him, as if compelled to obey. Yet there was more. Deeper, she sensed some form of necromancy, much like her own. Was that where that rotten smell was coming from? No... there was more. Entropy, Hydromancy. Rather basic skillsets in regard to magic. And then, underneath all of that: Blood Magic. They shared much in common with their magic, but she wondered if he could know that. She was Saarebas to the Qunari, and a Hedge Witch to the rest of Thedas. Her powers were foreign to all but those like her.
The smell hit her nose again. It was indeed coming from him, but then she realized it wasn't his magic. No, something lived deeper inside of him. Something hidden. A spirit? No, the smell was putrid, filled with malice. He was possessed by a demon, but of what type, she could not discern. Perhaps his future actions would tell her what inhabited his soul. He'd give away something, sooner or later.
To whom do I have the pleasure of dining with? The Pale Witch finally spoke after a long, palpable silence.
Tiberius downed the rest of his drink and changed his order to black coffee and an appetizer of rice-and-herb stuffed grape leaves. Whatever this was, he’d need his wits much more than uninhibited charm. He bore the stranger’s long examination with a slight furrow forming between his brows, slowly folding up the broadsheet he’d been reading and tucking it into his jacket. She was doing something magical, though he couldn’t tell exactly how it worked on first sight. It was clearly not an art his tutors ever bothered with – nor one practiced by his new fiancee.
”Well. That’s not very nice. Shall I undress for you as well?” He touched his left wrist, threatening to unbutton one cuff before stopping and breaking into a grin. If she’d been sent by Cici, she wouldn’t have needed to ask his name. Especially after all that magical arse-sniffing.
”Tiberius of House Umbra, very pleased to meet you.” It wasn’t, exactly, just etiquette speaking. If she was not Cecilia’s creature but instead something distantly like her — then this was an opportunity. A dangerous one, to be sure. But that rarely stopped him. He leaned back in his chair, regarding the stranger over the steam rising from the cup cradled in his hands. She wasn’t entirely colorless after all. Her eyes were kind of purple, not gray like he’d first thought.
”Only a low House, I’m afraid, but you will not find a better guide to the city. What brings you to Minrathous, Miss? …”
Avorra. The Pale Witch said, slowly, dryly. You misunderstand my intentions. I do not wish to invade your privacy, it is simply your scent. She took another sip of her raspberry tea, ensuring to stir with the straw afterwards. As the waiter approached her to take the rest of her order, she put in for an vegetable appetizer. She would forgo meat for today, she just wasn't feeling it. As she waited for the waiter's ears to disappear, she looked back at Tiberius seated before her. All mages have a... stench about them. It allows me to understand who they really are. What they show the world... and what they hide. Avorra flashed a smile at Tiberius.
You will forgive me if I wish to know whether or not the man seated before me has ill intentions. It would not be the first time I have dined with a knife held to my throat. Avorra continued to smile, before taking another sip of her tea. Just as she was about to speak again, the waiter came back with her order. She slowly picked at her vegetables - lettuce, asparagus, some broccoli. All favorites of hers. It was a delicious, succulent meal for her to take in. Now, onto your question. You have been very polite with me so far and I dine to do the same. I am here seeking something important, to cure an ailment that has bothered me for time immemorial. She was being dramatic. She'd only been dealing with this for three decades, it hasn't been that long in the grand scheme of things.
You say you are a guide? Would you care to bring me up to date with the city and its culture? This place is unbearably foreign to me; I would love to indulge in the wealth of hidden knowledge that lays dormant here. For example, these 'Houses' you speak of - what are they? She took another sip of her tea as she awaited an answer.
“What a useful trick. Though, it is generally considered very rude to tell people that they stink.” If he had to liken his art to any other sensory experience, what would he pick? Music or color, he thought. Something that could be beautiful or ugly — as scent could also be, he had to admit. Tiberius watched the food arrive, wondering if Avorra had somehow guessed his dietary preferences as well. Bizarre.
“Ah. Well, no. Please consider me self-interested and entirely reactive.” That was as honest as he was likely to get with a stranger. Paradoxically, it was more open than he was with most other people.
Time immemorial, though? She looked easily young enough to be his daughter without any sort of suspect technicalities. Wasn’t that a terrible thought?
“Sorry to hear you have a mysterious ailment. I could certainly help you find a healer.” Not Lyric, though. Whatever sort of monster this woman hosted, he knew better than to take it home. Just about. Now, Avorra didn’t necessarily look sick beyond her extreme pallor and white hair. He’d taken that as more of a presentation choice, at first. Now he looked closer, manipulating the light to see if it birthed hollows in her cheeks, or turned the thin skin around her eyes bruise-dark.
Results were inconclusive. Tiberius knew enough to scab over a wound or brace a bone with a cast of blood. For less obviously things, diagnosis was not his strong suit.
“A house is, well … It’s kind of like a sort of burrow for humans.” He spoke with a straight face, just about. Then shook his head, losing that composure immediately. When he spoke again, it was low and quiet.
“You’re not here legally, are you?” He couldn’t imagine anyone getting through a border checkpoint without learning at least that much about Tevinter. Without being told who to watch out for. Ah, well. Anyone without specific business was probably turned away, to be honest. If her sort of magic was unknown to him, maybe it was strange or rare enough that no one had been watching for it. Maybe she came in over the mountains or some trackless bit of coast. The whole city would be secretly desperate for smugglers now, to bring in delicacies from out of the country. Many might overlook a bit of strangeness.
“When we say House, we mean something between family and political affiliation. Guild, perhaps, as well. All three, really.”
Forgive me, I didn't mean to say that you stink, per se. It is simply who you are. Avorra began looking around the inn. She spotted a mage who was in deep conversation with a woman seated before her. For example, that one smells of fire and ash. A potent pyromancer. Just as the words escaped her lips, the mage did a trick of lighting the top of her alcohol with a brief flame. She looked for another mage. That one, She cut her eyes to a mage in a far corner. smells like a wet dog, a dank cave of insects, and some type of rodent. A Zromancer with a knack for shifting. Avorra turned her eyes back towards Tiberius. And then there is the hefty stench of iron throughout this place. I hear Blood Magic is common in Tevinter. You, on the other hand, have a different type of smell about you. Rotten to the core. It is not your magic, however. Something lives inside of you. That, however, I cannot discern what exactly it is. Avorra had never been so honest with someone, least of all a stranger, but there was a calming aura about this one. Something told her to trust him, but she wasn't sure why. Perhaps by being so honest, the stranger would come to trust her?
No healer in this land will fix my problem. I have been honest so far, but that is an issue I am not willing to delve into just yet. Believe me, it is a lot more complicated than you think. I am certain I know of a cure, I just need to find where it is hidden. Avorra asked for a refill of her raspberry tea as the Magister made a play on words about the Houses. Avorra looked the Magister dead in the eyes with the straightest face she could muster, but once the Magister lost composure, so did she. First, a smirk. Then a laugh disguised as a cough. I- Before Avorra could get the words out, she broke out into a fit of laughter. She couldn't hold it in any longer. By the Gods, she hadn't had a genuine laugh for a long, long time. Minus her brief frenzies of mania. Alright, I will give you that one. That was good. Avorra procured a genuine smile. Was she feeling happiness?
I have to admit, I was not quite expecting to get along with a stranger so well. Then came the question of legality. I could be here legally. And I could not. Does it truly matter? She lacked her usual snap. The question was a genuine one. Ah, I see. A House is your lineage, basically? Interesting. I suppose, in your cultures terms, I do not belong to a House. I roam rather freely. The place I hail from is far, far away from here. Bastards, the lot of them. It is no place I wish to return to.
Avorra pondered for a moment. Say, I have an offer for you. I have made many connections throughout Thedas, and while I am doubtful that they will be of help here, perhaps I can make some new connections here. If you help me find what I am seeking, perhaps I can help you and your House? You say your House is lower, so I take it you wish for its status to be raised? If you need rivals eliminated, or nobles persuaded, consider me your aide. I have just the skillset for political machinations.
She was right about one thing. Blood magic was common in Minrathous. Still, it was rather taboo to talk about with anyone outside your immediate family. Tiberius glanced at the people Avorra pointed out, wondering where they kept their scars. Or if they had any at all – blood magic wasn’t picky about the sacrifice, so long as one was made. Tiberius preferred to only spill his own blood, but who could say if he’d change his mind once pressed?
“You must be sensing my demon.” He shrugged one shoulder, looking back at the young woman. Had she lived that much of a life of solitude? Since the loss of the Veil, spirits and demons were thick on the ground. “It’s been with me for years now. I wonder if it might have become something quite different, if my own circumstances had been better?
“I was stuck in Orlais, convinced I’d never see my home again. Despair crept in and never left.” He’d sensed other demons through Despair’s eyes, thriving among the Tevinter houses. Envy and pride, mostly. A spirit of Hope in his bride to be. A weak shade in the wasted body of his grandfather.
Tiberius ate, considering Avorra’s complicated issue from a distance. The offer she made was surprising, frightening even. If someone as memorable as she were to get involved in House business, the secret police would take notice. If they didn’t, they’d be proved terribly incompetent. He finished his coffee and poured a second cup from the pot.
“That’s very generous. I could be amenable, Avorra. But I don’t need anyone killed.” He folded his empty hands before him, watching her carefully. Forced Despair to look, too, invisible gnashing rows of teeth and ice forming on his coffee. “You see, I met someone a little bit like you in Orlais. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.
“I’ll help you – for information on your passenger or others like it. But only of my own free will. I do not intend to swear another pact.”
Tiberius revealed more than Avorra was expecting. A despair demon? That was an interesting bit of information. She vaulted it in the back of her mind for later reference. I once played host to a Demon of Pride, so the sentiment is mutual. As to what inhabits me now, I would rather reveal in private. Too many ears are about this place. Avorra said, eyeballing a nearby mage that had taken more than one look at her in the past five minutes. I do not intend to force you into a pact, if that is what you are suggesting. You have my word that your will is your own.
A pity you do not need any mysterious disappearances. Though, you say you met someone like me in Orlais? Do tell. What, exactly, am I like? Avorra said, raising an eyebrow. I happen to be very fond of the Great Game, and I tend to visit Orlais almost as often as Rivain. She snickered. It was true, Orlais was a beauty of a place for someone like Avorra. The politics were cutthroat, everyone scheming against each other, the bards and minstrels most of all. Some would say that the troubadours were more like assassins than entertainers.
Hmm. Perhaps we should take our conversation elsewhere? Avorra said, sipping from her raspberry tea as she stared down the adjacent mage once more. Then, you can tell me all about your little Despair Demon and your adventures in Orlais, yes?
And how much was a stranger’s oath worth? Tiberius would not presume to guess at this time. He sent the chunk of ice in his drink bobbing with his finger, then cleaned his hands on the linen napkin by his plate.
“Only a little like you, as I said. Fear is, I think, quite an unnatural feeling for Despair to experience.” Despair being a philosophical neighbor of sloth, an utter absence of hope. It was not the sort of demon to tempt one to dizzying emotional highs like rage or pride, terror or desire. His mind found its way to those unaided – but Despair was always there to ambush him in the gray valleys between.
“When it feels … Unlike itself, that’s when I try to pay attention.” Tiberius drew a few coins from his inner jacket, setting them down by his coffee cup in a tidy little stack. Enough to cover both their food and drinks, plus a gratuity that was utterly unexceptional in either direction. All the better to not be remembered by.
“As you like.” His lips curved into a wry smile, wondering why he was being slighted now. Little demon and all that. Perhaps only that he’d turned down the price she’d wanted to pay – perhaps not work at all for her? – and asked for a different coin altogether. “Stay close.”
Tiberius led her out of the Second Veil and into the quiet night. They entered an alley and he motioned for her to come close enough to touch before drawing a cloak of invisibility around them both. Some blocks later he found the place he was looking for: Picatrix, a bookshop full of grimoires owned by one of Umbra’s client families. Empty at this hour, the wards opening at his touch.
He knew there to be a comfortable reading room in the back, and let himself in.
“Now, what of my adventures? I can’t imagine they would be of much use to your search.”
