As the evening laid claim to Val Royeaux proper, its’ marketplace illuminated by the baleful crescent moon and a myriad of flickering flames housed within lanterns. It came as no surprise, to spite the late hour, it still housed a waning undulating sea of patrons. Meanwhile, within his personal quarters, Rhosyn began to stir, lulled from his peaceful slumber by the insipid whisperings of Eros. Do you intend to sleep the days away? You’ve yet to find the scholar who published that article that fascinated you so, nor have you truly explored the marketplace beyond the wharfs… I do not understand your fascination with the more masculine sex, does your not kind procreate with the opposite sex?
The elven mage groggily let his dusky verdant-hued orbs flutter open, his gaze blankly affixed upon the ceiling as he’d mentally repeated those words and tried to process them in their entirety. Soon his cheeks were stained scarlet, his calloused digits formed a vice-like grip on his pillow as he’d shifted it over his face to hide his transient shame. Eros… We’ve discussed this many a time before. I do not share the same inclinations, nor am I certain that I desire children. Rhosyn murmured into the pillow, certain that his explanation was likely to prompt a series of questions.
Reluctantly he’d slackened his grip and extracted himself from the cotton cocoon he’d encapsulated himself within, digits soon preoccupied with smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his cobalt tunic and pants. His feet grazed the tepid stone, ignoring the slight pain that radiated through the mostly healed blisters. A soft muttering of an incantation established his connection to the Fade, tendrils of amaranthine oozed from his fingertips only to graze those same tender areas, accelerating the healing process immensely to the point that only slightly discolored skin remained. He’d forgotten to tend to such injuries before he’d ventured down to the wharf in the morning – the excitement served as a poultice to the pain.
His digits ran through his unruly tresses, temporarily taming them before he’d adorned the simple bronzed moon-stone circlet they kept them somewhat secured. A calloused digit trucking a few stray tresses behind his pointed ears. The next few minutes were spent gathering a satchel that housed a pouch of several seeds – instrumental tools in his spell craft if no plant life was readily available. Beyond that it’d contained a small coin patch and several smaller pouches that contained miscellaneous reagents he’d harvested during his caravan-bound travels.
Once more he forsook his staff, sparring it a passing glance as he’d secured his room with the iron wrought key that hung from his neck. It was a short five-minute walk from his refuge to the marketplace proper, his eyes drawn in by the allure of the light that radiated from the interior of several shops, the fragrance of harvested herbs that had dried beneath the sun throughout the day. Without further ado, he’d begun his clockwise inspection, pausing periodically to inspect stalls and ask queries, periodically pausing to inquire about if any of them knew about the scholastic author he sought.
I wonder if they ever received any of the missives I’d sent. Truly it was fascinating, how they have begun a systematic approach to scaling potion production to factor in the size of the individual – a grown adult is not the same as a child, nor is it the same as beasts of burden… Rhosyn murmured to himself as he’d inspected something on display within a storefront.
She was returning to Tevinter in the morning and Ophelia had at least ten more stops to make along the way to her day. A whirlwind of last minute things that either needed to be dropped off, or picked up, or bought -- even if Luce had assured her that they'd have no need to worry about the trip there. She had talked her younger brother into making the trip North with her this time, the empty house would be too much for him to bear alone, and taking him along meant that she wouldn't feel quite so anxious the entire way in the carriage. Rene had gone with her last time, having been invited to the Capital as a visiting academic as well, so she had her other brother with her to help quell the agoraphobia that seemed to strike when she least expected it.
Luce may have been the one who had been kidnapped, but she had lived that entire time worried he was dead and eventually someone would accuse her of being in kahoots with the La Rue's. Thankfully, her brother had never suspected her in the slighted, no, they had only really recently discovered their shared blood, and why she had never been turned out of the house, had been taught along side Luce. She wished, now, that she had known then, that the man she called Sir, she should have been calling Father, wished she could have known him as more than just a memory, known that the bond she and Luce had shared their entire lives had been more than just friendship, that their blood ran true to one another.
It was the thoughts of making sure that she brought no humiliation to the Beauvais name, even if she continued to use her surname of Jolfy, that had her dipping into the millinery to purchase new ribbons for her hair. Deep green, like the green she had worn the night she had spent on a grand adventure in the Archon's Palace. Deep green for her red hair, so that her friend, the old soldier, could find her in a crowd always. Deep green because if she wore the same glaucous color of her soldier's eyes, she was certain someone would figure her out, and even as a spinstress, she was a little too old to be harboring such a childish thing as an infatuation.
And infatuation that she was rapidly coming to believe was felt just as keenly by her companion. And so she paid for her ribbons, various hues of greens that would set off her coloring, and a black one, on a whim, as for dinner one night, she had been requested to bring formal wear. So black it would be, even if the ends she had requested be capped in gold thread -- at home, she should add a small golden rose to one side in tiny careful stitches herself. She was about to head towards the next shop on her agenda -- since she hadn't once had a panic attack on her trip -- when she heard mention of her work...
The veterinarian aspects are still assumed, I won't test on animals on principle, since most of them display a capability to at least understand a limited vocabulary and some even dream. Ophelia Jolfy, you're making reference to my work? She held out a hand to the young man, wondering if he was a student at the University, since her mail was woefully stacked in a messy pile at the University, a casualty of her absent mindedness. Are you one of my brother's students? She automatically assumed there was no way someone would want to talk to such a useless person as herself, honestly, she couldn't even remember to feed herself every day, let alone imagine someone being interested in her work.
One storefront within Val Royeaux’s waning market square effectively managed to the hold the wayward elven mages’ attention, its’ interior dotted with several aged tomes encased within “shrines” of polished glass. But a mere instance later, Rhosyn’s focus was drawn towards Ophelia, his dusky verdant-hued orbs widening in genuine surprise as she’d chimed in on his whimsical musings. With each word uttered, his excitement intensified, the corner of his lips twitched as they spread outwards into a mirthful grin – had he truly found the author of the scholastic article? Of course, his brain whirled into a state of frenzy, reverberating the words she’d spoken several times in rapid succession as it’d knit together the sentiments in its’ entirety.
An admirable principal to uphold, too often does the scholastic mind blur the lines of morality in pursuit of knowledge – a definitive answer. How often were atrocities committed with the guise of betterment? Was it not one of the reasons that the arcana remained enshrouded with controversy? A fear of spirit and demon-alike? A lack of understanding of the nuances of “forbidden magic”. That was not to say such fears were invalid, however, the arcana and its’ effects were at their fundamental core neutral, it was the influence of the caster that transformed it into a tool.
“Rhosyn – train and temper your thoughts, you are being quite rude, the fine lady asked you several questions!” Eros’ tone was tainted with a hint of contrite, frustration palpable – that was to come as no surprise as Rhosyn currently inhibited its’ innate desire to understand and unearth mysteries. It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Lady Jolfry, my name is Rhosyn Gwyllt and I do indeed. There was palpable pause as several realizations dawned, Ophelia may have received his missives, however, it did not mean that she’d been afforded the opportunity to peruse their content.
Even if she had, it was liable, both parties would have more questions that went unanswered – for the time being at least. I am afraid not; I am not a student at the university at all. A pregnant pause punctuated that sentiment, I traveled from Arlathan, it appears perhaps the letters I’d sent in advanced may not have arrived – your work left me with just as many questions as it answered. Yet another slight pause before he’d begun anew, his excitement reaching a fervor pitch. What prompted you to begin looking into the adjustment of dosage rates? Did you consider that different species may have an adverse reaction to certain ingredients within a potion? I imagine that would also be a plausible reason to avoid pursuit of the veterinarian aspects.
Give her a chance to speak Rhosyn – you are going to frighten her with your excitability and then neither of us will have any answers and this extensive journey you insisted on taking by caravan will have been for naught Eros warned.
When we test theorem and measure the worth of something, we oft times have to decide if our ethics and our morality is at question as well. I find my heart leads me true where some of my counterparts would continue to push forward in "noble" pursuit of the truth. Truth is nothing if it is gathered at the expense of the innocent, because then it ceases to be truth and be a lie we tell ourselves to justify the means and the cause. She nodded. Unfortunately I've just myself returned from an adventure into Tevinter, and I've neglected to head to the main office at the University to see to my letters, that was to be a stop later this afternoon, A small lie. Her desk was cluttered with unopened mail, haphazardly perched from every flat surface that didn't have a scroll or manuscript open across it, or inkwells and discarded quills. It was an embarrassment when she thought about it, which she did very little of, her mind all the time taken up by other things. Mister Gwyllt, did I say that right? Or do you prefer Rhosyn? Is Rho alright? And call me Lia if you prefer, I find single syllables for names make it much easier when talking.
She tilted her head to the side, and raised a brow. Additional questions? She listened and took stock of the questions, hoping she could remember them all..A sickness as a child left me asleep for three days when I was given a potion so it had always been in the back of my head that the medicines we think of as "one size fits all" really are not. She answered the first one, thinking for a moment as she shifted her packaging in her arms. There's so little I know about fauna, I'm more a flora person at the moment, but I see what you are questioning, we know that animals by nature avoid things that they have ancestral memory of as being a poison, but we know that animals will also eat things like fermented fruit, based off some observations, and have the same reaction that we would, intoxication. I suppose if someone were to want to expand on my work into the realm of fauna that would be a good use and pursuit of the data. Why should those animals that we consider companions suffer any less or more?
The driver from the carriage came over and took her package for her, and she nodded to him Go ahead and go back to the house, I will walk to the next store and have the purchases delivered, I have a feeling that I am not done with thinking this through yet. The older man nodded, taking the package she handed off as she put her parasol up, to keep the sun off her incredibly pale skin. Walk with me, I have more stops I need to make to prepare for my trip, but I would like to continue this line of thought. Why aren't you a student at the university, you have a good mind about you, and you'd certainly find yourself at home among the learned.
