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But you don't really care for music, do you?
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Post by Starling on Mar 1, 2016 4:45:52 GMT -5
 I WASTED MY TIME 'TIL TIME WASTED ME 604 words for open thread
opening posts are messy Few outside of Orlais did not find the Orlesian custom of remaining masked, when within the company of others, odd. Starling supposed that she could understand their confusion. Masks served the purpose of hiding one’s face and expression. Consequently, outsiders tied such an eccentricity with deception, scheming. They failed to see that the purpose of an Orlesian adorning a mask was purposely done for the sake of honesty.
It separated the actors from the scenery. To take part in the Grand Game the price was wealth and reputation, which meant not everyone could play. Only the nobility and the occasional merchant, if they were wealthy enough. So only they, and those that were considered to be alike their “property,” could wear a mask. It kept the game “harmless,” by Orlesian standards.
And each mask was different to the other. An outsider might consider it simple to follow, for a specific design was reserved for a specific family or business. Yet, it took a degree of familiarity towards the Masked Empire to notice that the notion of a “specific design” was a lie. Each mask within the Empire was different, just as no two human faces were ever exactly the same. Masks worn by the House Valmont might look alike but always one would have an extra adornment, an added detail, left lacking by the other. The more elaborate the mask, the greater one’s status within their family or business would be.
During Starling’s schooling within Val Royeaux, a game played among each girl was designed to test one’s memory, the goal being to name each Orlesian family by the sight of their mask. Compared to the bard’s game of identifying the heart of each family, or masquerading in that specific family, masked, and undetected, it was child’s play.
Starling could have claimed that, as she sat beneath the canvassed ceiling of the Le Masque de Lion Café, she wasn’t playing the bard. But that would have been a lie. The lifestyle of a bard was not so fickle that it was alike a hat, removed and returned on a whim. Once learnt, it defined a person. It defined Starling too.
And bards were the one exception where Orlesian etiquette was concerned. They need not announce themselves as the wolves among the sheep. As Starling’s fair, delicate and unobscured face could testify, as she sat upon a provided wooden stool set against a corner in the café’s outdoor seating area. The handsome form of her lute was propped up against her lap as her long pale fingers danced a melody along its strings. Her flame-red curls tumbled down and over a narrow shoulder, moving gently against a passing breeze.
Starling could have taken a break more than an hour ago. A platter of sliced cheeses and a chalice of wine had been set out for her by the café’s owner, an old friend of hers. Yet, upon the final note plucked as she ended another song, Starling saw the hints of distraction upon the café’s patrons, even those masked. Word of Tevinter’s threat had spread, enough so that even the beauty of the Summer Bazaar was not unmarked by such malice. If music could soothe the hearts and minds of others, even if only briefly, how could Starling deny them so small of a comfort?
Pausing so as to adjust her hold upon her lute, Starling began to play Empress of Fire, with enough gusto that would not betray the tiresome ache that had begun to take root against her finger-joints, her wrist and against her fingertips. Just one more song and then she’d rest.
ALL I ASK OF YOU IS BELIEVE PHARAOH LEAP. |
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Post by Kahlia Pavus on Mar 1, 2016 10:30:13 GMT -5
Don't ask why she'd been here this long. She was sitting at a table near the minstrel, had been for a while. Much as she disliked the Orlesian nobility, she loved the stories and songs. Orlesian culture really was one of a kind. Thankfully, as her cousin's bodyguard, she didn't have to worry about playing along with the Grand Game. All she had to do was make sure Dorian didn't get himself killed with that smart mouth of his.
She knew her skin was enough to draw some suspicion. Tevinters were some of the only people to have such dark skin. But right now, she was wearing more culturally appropriate clothing. Long pants, three-quarter sleeves, and a plain silver-colored mask. The mask itself was rather inexpensive, something she'd bought at the first village they'd stopped in after entering Orlais. It made her a bit less conspicuous to wear the mask. Her skin tone still drew attention, of course, but when she kept her hair down it covered the back of her neck.
When the minstrel began playing Empress of Fire, Kahlia couldn't help but sing along. It had been one of her favorites after her twin brother got sent to the Qarinus Circle. Lissa had known her songs, that was for sure. Kahlia remembered Lissa complimenting her voice, even going as far as to suggest that she train as a bard. It was too bad that Kahlia was no good at being subtle.
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Post by Starling on Mar 2, 2016 2:33:13 GMT -5
I WASTED MY TIME 'TIL TIME WASTED ME Starling’s songs were of a different sort to that of the pretty melodious sound flowing forth from the lips of the dusky-fleshed woman sitting among her audience. Yet, she did not mind her performance becoming a duet. Her pale delicate fingers continued to play across taunt strings without falter. Without mistake. Encouraging her audience to believe that the performance was continuing on as planned, that all was as it was designed to have been.
Her smile was soft, serene. And kohl-painted eyes, with hues as strikingly blue as lazurite, looked up momentarily, acknowledging the other woman before glancing back down at her lute. Yet, in that moment, Starling made more than one conclusion about the masked stranger.
It was awfully bold of a Tevinter to idle about Orlais’s heart after practically threatening war upon the Empire. A mask might conceal a few identifying features, but flesh the bronzed pallor of burnt caramel wasn’t common among Orlesians, and a well-travelled tradesman would be capable of identifying a Rivani from a Tevinter by skin-colour alone. Of course, it would have been just as unwise to immediately rule-out the mingling of cultures via marriage or breeding. Starling herself perfectly fitted what some among the Orlesian nobility colourfully referred to as “mongrels.” Orlesian, but not entirely.
But the Tevinter had made a careless blunder, one that screamed “outsider” far more boldly than her dusky complexion ever could have done: she wore a mask.
Perhaps, like so many outsiders, she had thought nothing of it. Her mask of silverite was rather “plain,” by Orlesian standards. Yet even the subtlety of such craftsmanship boldly announced both secrets and history, to those who knew what to look for. The Orlesian family who had coveted their masks in such a style had long ago died out. Likely, the Tevinter had purchased hers from a tradesman outside of Orlais’s grander cities, for such a charlatan’s trick would not have been tolerated anywhere else. Indeed, the Tevinter should have thought herself lucky that a nearby noble hadn’t taken it upon themselves to act upon such a careless mistake. Outsiders who had likewise dabbled in the Game had not been as fortunate.
Starling could have overlooked her.
Her song ended, the slender redhead got to her feet, holding her lute lightly against her side as she dipped into a graceful bow towards her audience. ”Thank you. Thank you.” Deliberately, she flavoured the soft feminine quality of her voice with the syrupy thickness of the Orlesian dialect. ”A moment, if you will, monsieurs and copains. I have a story to tell. To mark this occasion and to also reflect upon the strength of our empire. S'il vous plait, surely we all still remember those dark days not long since past. Our Divine Justinia dead. War and battle that sought to tear apart our homes. Monsters that fell down from the sky …”
Of course they remembered. Empress Celene had been Corypheus’s target, his ambition being to tear Orlais down so as Tevinter could rise up from the ashes. And all knew just how close he had come to succeeding. It was child’s play for Starling to grab hold upon, maintain and play with the attention of her audience. To speak not only of the Inquisition’s heroic actions of saving Orlais from chaos but to paint the Inquisitor as a hero – a champion – their saviour.
Tevinter could never crush their empire – not with Inquisitor Lavellan standing by, ready to save them all.
”- The Herald and the Lion stood together that night, both strong and unflinching despite that Tevinter magister’s best efforts to destroy them both. And do you remember what was said, mes chers? That not even the Maker could protect our enemies from the wrath of the lion. And they were right. Here we stand; stronger than we were before. Strong in our empire’s friendship with the Inquisition. Stronger than anyone could ever have imagined.”
With applause still ringing in the air, Starling took hold of her platter of cheeses and cup of wine and carried both over to the Tevinter’s table. Sitting herself down, her smile both warm and friendly. ”You have such a delightful voice. Surely, you’re a patron of Val Royaux’s theater?”
ALL I ASK OF YOU IS BELIEVE PHARAOH LEAP. |
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Post by Kahlia Pavus on Mar 2, 2016 3:07:19 GMT -5
This woman was more than just the average minstrel. The song turned into a duet, and the woman played it off as if it was intended to be so. Then the minstrel began to spin a story. Kahlia hadn't been there for the part she told, but Dorian had told her plenty. Then, the woman sat at her table, catching her off guard. And that was hard to do.
Instead of immediately answering, Kahlia instead moved a hand up, and removed the mask. It was placed on the table, allowing her to once again take in her full field of vision. She returned her gaze to the stranger.
"I am simply passing through," she said politely. She may not be good at subtlety, or politics, but she was raised to know how to at least be civil. "I heard Skyhold is still open for pilgrimage." A quick glance proved that none were listening in, or if anyone was they were very good at hiding it. "When word finally reached my home of what had happened here, I wanted to see what help I could be." She motioned to the bow that was leaning against the table. "There are many uses for someone whose aim hits true."
Damn Orlesians and their Game. Even the commoners played it, so she'd come to notice. And that bloody mask had done nothing but draw more eyes to her. She was better off baring her face for all to see.
"Forgive me, I am Kahlia," she said after a moment. As much as she hated to admit it, her early teaching had been coming in handy since leaving Tevinter. She didn't pass as true nobility unless she REALLY wanted to, but she could still pass for some lesser-noble's youngest. Which was what she was. But now she fell silent, curious as to what this minstrel was going to do next. Maybe she wasn't good at playing this particular Game, but she had still been born a noble. Time to see if she was still any good at it.
As long as Dorian didn't show up and run his stubborn mouth, she might even have a chance,
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Post by Starling on Mar 2, 2016 6:11:47 GMT -5
I WASTED MY TIME 'TIL TIME WASTED ME She was both matter-of-fact and straightforth. Traits that Starling had not expected, and yet, in a way, her guess about the Tevinter’s declaration to play at the Game as being unintentional was proven correct. Bluntness in one’s banter was heavily criticized among Orlesians.
Rather quickly, Starling decided that she much preferred the Tevinter’s method of conversing to what she had originally expected. It was a refreshing change of pace for the bard. Of course, bluntness did not promise honesty.
”It is.” With her bare fingers, forgoing the use of a knife or fork, Starling picked up a cube of crumbling cheese from her platter. Pinched between thumb and fingers, she barely took the time to admire what looked to be red peppers embedded into the cheese’s surface, before she promptly popped the entire cube inside of her mouth. Chewing with quiet enthusiasm. However, when her attention was directed towards the acknowledged bow, Starling narrowed her thin copper-tinged eyebrows, scowling. With one short beckoning gesture of her right hand, she leaned across the table, dropping her voice to a low whisper. ”I would do my best to keep that out of sight, mon amie. These aren’t days of war – yet – and to walk about armed within this city is to dare being arrested by one of the guardsman.” Orlesian peasantry could not afford weapons, whilst the nobility could afford a bribe. Starling’s warning was sound. Unless the Tevinter’s intentions weren’t as non-disruptive as she seemed to want to convince Starling that they were.
”A pleasure,” still smiling, Starling held her right hand out, a gesture for them both to shake hands. ”I’m Star.” A corner of her smile twisted, as if embarrassed, and she uttered a short, clipped laugh. ”Yes, my parents were quite ambitious. Here, s’il vous plait, try some of these cheeses.” Pushing the platter closer towards Kahlia, Starling added, ”I would mind that slice there – the one that is darker than the rest, yes – the last time I tried one of its like it tasted like bitter regret. Agreeable, until the second bite. “
”The way that you talk about your home makes you sound like you’ve traveled far. I hope that I don’t offend by guessing that you’re … Tevinter?” Starling quickened her words, to imply that such a tidbit of information didn’t matter. Of course, it was only confirming her initial assumption. ”It doesn’t matter. At least you’re trying to mend bridges instead of breaking them down all the faster.” Starling took another bite of cheese, this one creamier and blander of flavor than the others that she had since sampled. ”I am surprised that you chose to make your way to Skyhold by passing through Orlais. It is a much faster journey to dock at Amaranthine and take the Ferelden mountain-pass.”
Nothing about her friendly expression changed, though Starling had deliberately set-up her first snare. How Kahlia responded accordingly would be one of many tests to ascertain just how trustworthy she actually was.
ALL I ASK OF YOU IS BELIEVE PHARAOH LEAP. |
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Post by Kahlia Pavus on Mar 2, 2016 10:10:50 GMT -5
The woman gave her a gentle warning about the bow. "I am a bodyguard," she said after a moment. "I am... uncomfortable having it anywhere other than with me." Then she started talking about the cheese, to which Kahlia looked surprised. "Thank you," she said quickly, taking a bit of one of the lighter cheeses. Growing up in Tevinter, Orlesian cheese tended to be too rich for her.
Yep. She'd been found out already. "No offence taken," she assured Star quickly. "Rarely do the governed have the ability to control those who govern them." Was she winning this? Probably not. She wasn't good at the Game, never had been. But she could still be polite, at least. Star mentioned how it would have been faster to take ship to Amaranthine. "I told my cousin much the same when he decided to come through Val Royeaux," she admitted with a sigh. "You see, I am traveling to Skyhold with my aunt and cousin, and I had never seen Val Royeaux. Dorian insisted that it was worth seeing, and I agree, but perhaps at a ... better time." Ug, she was trying too hard. But even she knew that being too blunt within the walls of Val Royeaux could get you killed.
She looked down at the mask that she'd placed on the table. "Meanwhile, this thing has attracted more stares than even my skin has," she muttered. "I knew that merchant was lying." But she didn't seem to care. Now she had to figure out what to do with the damn thing before some noble got angry enough to call the guards on her. That was more trouble that she didn't need. Stupid masks were more trouble than they were worth.
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