Ailwin leaned back in the worn leather chair, the scent of old parchment and pipe smoke clinging to the wood-paneled walls of what was now his office. The Forsaken's new hideout in Starkhaven had once belonged to a merchant who either fled or died when the city changed hands. Either way, his loss, Ailwin's gain.
The desk before him was a sturdy thing, though scratched and scarred with the marks of a past life. Ailwin traced one particularly deep gouge with a gloved finger before shaking his head. Sentimentality was a waste of time, but it crept in when he wasn't looking. Orlais had fallen to the Blight, and there was nothing left for him there. He had no time for ghosts.
Still, the city’s absence gnawed at him. The opulence, the streets that hummed with scheming and elegance in equal measure—it had been home, in its own cruel way. Now, Starkhaven stood before him, raw and unpolished. A city with potential, if one knew how to mold it.
He pushed himself upright and exhaled sharply. Enough dwelling. They had work to do. The Forsaken had planted roots here, and while charity wasn’t in his nature, he wasn’t blind to opportunity. The city elves needed protection. The nobility would sooner see them starve or disappear, which meant there was power in offering what the highborn wouldn’t. Protection. Security. A fairer cut—if they were willing to earn it. And, of course, it would be good for the Forsaken’s coffers.
Ailwin smirked to himself, rolling a coin between his fingers before flicking it into the air and catching it with practiced ease. He turned his gaze to the window, the city beyond bathed in twilight. The work ahead wouldn’t be easy, but then, nothing worth keeping ever was.
He tapped a knuckle against the desk, letting the weight of the moment settle before muttering under his breath.
The desk before him was a sturdy thing, though scratched and scarred with the marks of a past life. Ailwin traced one particularly deep gouge with a gloved finger before shaking his head. Sentimentality was a waste of time, but it crept in when he wasn't looking. Orlais had fallen to the Blight, and there was nothing left for him there. He had no time for ghosts.
Still, the city’s absence gnawed at him. The opulence, the streets that hummed with scheming and elegance in equal measure—it had been home, in its own cruel way. Now, Starkhaven stood before him, raw and unpolished. A city with potential, if one knew how to mold it.
He pushed himself upright and exhaled sharply. Enough dwelling. They had work to do. The Forsaken had planted roots here, and while charity wasn’t in his nature, he wasn’t blind to opportunity. The city elves needed protection. The nobility would sooner see them starve or disappear, which meant there was power in offering what the highborn wouldn’t. Protection. Security. A fairer cut—if they were willing to earn it. And, of course, it would be good for the Forsaken’s coffers.
Ailwin smirked to himself, rolling a coin between his fingers before flicking it into the air and catching it with practiced ease. He turned his gaze to the window, the city beyond bathed in twilight. The work ahead wouldn’t be easy, but then, nothing worth keeping ever was.
He tapped a knuckle against the desk, letting the weight of the moment settle before muttering under his breath.
Let’s get to it, then.
03-22-2025, 06:06 PM
