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Post by cyrlan lavellan on Mar 1, 2016 9:03:46 GMT -5
But the future is forgiven, so smile [attr="class","wildlyrics"]We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun the worst is yet to come [attr="class","wildpost"]He often marveled at how Herald's Rest had somehow managed to remain a constant in his life. It was all dark wood and stone, undeniably worn but sturdy nonetheless (at least, he had yet to notice). Unchanging despite the comings and goings of those around him, and for that he was grateful. His mind, however, was fickle between simply seeking solace in familiar surroundings and the desire to explore new places. As it were, exhaustion overrode both and now he was only glad that people were too used to him slouching about Skyhold to pay any extra attention as he pulled out a chair proceeded to fall into it in a manner less than graceful, the claw-like prosthetic balancing a plate of cookies, swiped from the cook's table earlier, with surprising delicacy.
It wasn't as if he was physically tired, he had not been running around the entire fortress as he used to but had been holed up in the library, assisting in research where he could. The momentary lapse in orders from the Divine signalled a short breather, a small break where everyone could pause and simply relax. Yet even that was easier said that done, for after multiple years of constant running to and fro, trying to piece together a disjointed continent to rally against a single enemy, 'taking a break' is a rather alien concept. Devoting time to doing what was supposed to be light reading seemed like a reasonable enough way to spend an afternoon, except it turned out that the content covered was far heavier and complex than expected.
For a moment, the elf contemplated returning to his quarters and indulging himself in a well-earned nap, though that would mean rising again in the middle of the night with nothing to do. The alternative was to continue with his self-assigned mission to get to know everyone (or at least try to) who worked for or with the Inquisition.
His target, the lone figure who sat by the window.
Cyrlan stood once more, his legs complaining as he moved to take the seat opposite the stranger, sliding the plate onto the table and grabbing one of the treats for himself. "I haven't seen you around, have I?" He asked by way of greeting, voice warm and amiable as he nudged the plate towards the other in a silent offer. [attr="class","wildnotes"] Vincent Calix; weeps this is a bad post i swear it'll get better |  |
[googlefont=Roboto Condensed] [googlefont=Roboto] [googlefont=Gloria Hallelujah] [newclass=.wildlyrics] background-color:#fefefe;color:#303030;text-align:center;width:500px;font-size:8px;text-transform:uppercase;font-family:Roboto;height:10px;margin-bottom:-45px;letter-spacing:3px;position:relative;z-index:1;[/newclass] [newclass=.wildnotes a] color:#777777 !important; font-size:12px !important;[/newclass] [newclass=.wildpost b] color:#303030;[/newclass] [newclass=.wildpost::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb:vertical]background-color: #303030;border:none;[/newclass] [newclass=.wildpost::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 1px;background: #fefefe;[/newclass] |
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Chains can always be broken.
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Post by Vincent Calix on Mar 1, 2016 18:01:55 GMT -5
[nospaces] [attr="class","oneword1"] [attr="class","fromyou1"] cyrlan lavellan vincent is a well spoken lil nerdlet and also they dont give cookies to slaves or mercenaries apparently
just one word from you and it's over
[attr="class","itsover"]
Vincent had never been to Skyhold before this. The closest he'd ever gotten to this mountain fortress was when his old friends had gone to the Dales to fight for the Inquisition all those years back... It seemed like it had just been yesterday, however. As if yesterday he'd been sitting among his friends, listening to incredibly stupid stories around a campfire in the middle of a forest where his heritage supposedly lied. The place his mother had always talked about going to, and he'd beat her to it. He wondered if she would've been just as intrigued as he was at all the ruins their people had left behind. Vincent shook the thought from his head, sighing and leaning against the tavern's window pane. [break][break]
He honestly didn't know why he'd come here. People who were looking to hire others to do their bidding usually had something sinister in mind, and a place like this would be the last they'd be. He'd considered joining the Inquisition a while back, after Judith and the others left, but he'd never gone through with it. Maybe it was time he did something about that, or at least asked if they needed any help around Skyhold... it wasn't like he could be doing anything better with his time.[break][break]
The half-elf found his thoughts suddenly interrupted before he could think further on the matter of unemployment. Vincent honestly hadn't noticed Cyrlan heading his way, let alone sitting down, so when the other spoke, the younger man let out a small squeak, jumping a little as he whipped his head to the side to look at him. The elf sitting across from him was clearly Dalish, piquing Vincent's interest. He'd only met a few of his mother's kin in his lifetime, and few had been friendly. With a awkward chuckle, the younger man shifted in his seat, forcing himself to relax and glance down at the plate being offered to him, furrowing his brows.[break][break]
"No, Serah. I just got here, actually..." Vincent gingerly picked up one of the cookies, inspecting it with obvious confusion. "If you don't mind my askance... what exactly... is this?"
ulla [newclass=.itsover b]color:#02B37D[/newclass] [newclass=.oneword1]transition:1s;overflow:hidden;height:200px;width:450px;[/newclass] [newclass=.oneword1:hover .fromyou1]transition:1s;margin-top:0px;[/newclass] [newclass=.fromyou1]background-color:#2f2f2f;opacity:.8;font-family:arial;font-size:10px;color:#fff;padding:10px;margin-top:250px;width:150px;transition:1s;[/newclass] [newclass=.fromyou1 a]font-family:courier new;text-transform:uppercase;color:#a366b6;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass] |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on Mar 2, 2016 9:06:01 GMT -5
But the future is forgiven, so smile [attr="class","wildlyrics"]We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun the worst is yet to come [attr="class","wildpost"]He may have lacked the discerning eye of Leliana or the Iron Bull, with all their business of being spies and the like (or previously, in the case of the latter), but he was far from unobservant. As it were, the other's surprise did not go entirely unnoticed, though Cyrlan merely wrote it off as a reaction to his unannounced arrival at the table. Perhaps it was old Dalish habit, the lightfootedness with which he moved. A warmer month would see him donning attire that highlighted such heritage, the type of armor that favoured mobility over protection, playing on the fact that they would hardly, if ever, be seen by whoever and whatever they hunted. Alas, winter was upon the grey stone fortress and he absolutely detested the cold.
Chewing thoughtfully as he waited for the young man to settle down, allowing what he hoped was a reassuring grin play on his lips, Cyrlan took the time to mull over the feeling that the other had something just a little off about him. Where was he from? There was no trace of the rich Orlesian accent when the other spoke, but neither did the stranger look wholly Fereldan. But curiosity about any sort of origins were quickly wiped away by the almost hesitant question that followed, one that caused the elf to lean forward, free hand gripping the edge of the table, with an incredulous look on his face.
"You don't know what these are?" Cyrlan exclaimed, as if the expression he wore did not pose the question boldly enough. For a moment, he remained there, eyes wide and head cocked ever so slightly before he settled back almost reluctantly, but began to gesture with the half-eaten cookie in his hand as he explained. "Cookies! Ah, sweet baked treats? They're quite difficult to explain," he floundered a bit before simply deciding to pop the rest of the treat into his mouth and proffered the tray of other cookies once more. "Just try them! I think some's chocolate, that one's orange though." The elf was quite enthusiastic about pointing out the various cookies that remained, though given the small selection before them, it only took a few seconds before that was done and he rested his head on his hands, watching with all the inquisitiveness of an eager child for the stranger's reaction. [attr="class","wildnotes"] Vincent Calix ; food is love, food is life | |
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Chains can always be broken.
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Post by Vincent Calix on Mar 2, 2016 16:38:05 GMT -5
[nospaces] [attr="class","oneword1"]
just one word from you and it's over
[attr="class","itsover"]
"Cookies?" Vincent gently placed the cookie in his hands down, inspecting the plate for a moment before he grabbed what he assumed was one of the chocolate ones. It was a familiar substance, although he'd only had it a couple of times in the past. Besides, he didn't much care for oranges. Upon grasping the treat, he looked over at Cyrlan, as if debating how he should control his reaction so he wouldn't offend the other provided he didn't like it, and after a moment, he finally took a small bite.[break][break]
It wasn't as bad as he'd feared it might be, and honestly, he couldn't help a small smile from taking hold on his face. It was a little crumbly, but with the help of the chocolate it almost seemed to melt in house mouth. Vincent looked back to the other and smiled, taking a moment to finish the baked good before he said anything. It didn't seem mannerly to just shove the rest into his mouth willy-nilly.[break][break]
"That was delicious. Ma serannas..." Vincent shifted a little, still offering a small smile to the elven man in front of him. However, he seemed a little uncertain as to how to continue the conversation, and ran a hand through his curly hair nervously. "... What is your name, Ser?"
ulla [newclass=.itsover b]color:#02B37D[/newclass] [newclass=.oneword1]transition:1s;overflow:hidden;height:200px;width:450px;[/newclass] [newclass=.oneword1:hover .fromyou1]transition:1s;margin-top:0px;[/newclass] [newclass=.fromyou1]background-color:#2f2f2f;opacity:.8;font-family:arial;font-size:10px;color:#fff;padding:10px;margin-top:250px;width:150px;transition:1s;[/newclass] [newclass=.fromyou1 a]font-family:courier new;text-transform:uppercase;color:#a366b6;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass] |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on Mar 3, 2016 21:41:20 GMT -5
But the future is forgiven, so smile [attr="class","wildlyrics"]We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun the worst is yet to come [attr="class","wildpost"]He nodded encouragingly at the echoed word, almost not daring to breathe until a smile finally broke out across the stranger's face. Delighted at the prospect of confirming that his excitement regarding the baked treats had not been wholly unmatched, the elf clapped his hands together and grinned, the wooden portion of his hand making a decisively odd sound as they met. Oh, and he had manners, too! Though Cyrlan would hardly blame anyone who tried to cram an entire cookie into their mouth, not when he was so very often that particular someone (save for when there was some nobleman or other, to which Josephine would surely throw a fit if he did so).
"You speak elvish." An observation rather than a question, though the querying way his lips quirked begged an answer nonetheless. But it seemed that it was his turn to answer instead, pausing ever so slightly to turn over the seemingly simple inquiry on his mind. It was clear that the other did not recognise his position as Inquisitor or 'Herald', the latter of which being something he did not count as any particular compliment. Remaining unrecognizable was not too bad an idea, but he would have to answer this and the chances of remaining unknown after revealing his name were relatively slim. As it were, he settled back into his seat, shifting his weight ever so slightly as he smiled again. "I'm Cyrlan. And who might you be?" ✎pie[googlefont=Roboto Condensed] [googlefont=Roboto] [googlefont=Gloria Hallelujah] [newclass=.wildlyrics] background-color:#fefefe;color:#303030;text-align:center;width:500px;font-size:8px;text-transform:uppercase;font-family:Roboto;height:10px;margin-bottom:-45px;letter-spacing:3px;position:relative;z-index:1;[/newclass] [newclass=.wildnotes a] color:#777777 !important; font-size:12px !important;[/newclass] [newclass=.wildpost b] color:#303030;[/newclass] [newclass=.wildpost::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb:vertical]background-color: #303030;border:none;[/newclass] [newclass=.wildpost::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 1px;background: #fefefe;[/newclass] |
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Post by Vincent Calix on Mar 6, 2016 0:27:07 GMT -5
[nospaces] [attr="class","oneword1"] [attr="class","fromyou1"] @ulla you can technically have as many notes here as you want. go crazy.
just one word from you and it's over
[attr="class","itsover"]
"My mother was... is one of the people." Vincent's smile faltered a little, and he found a sudden interest in his hands. He hadn't spoken of Marawen in over a year, but... it was surprisingly easy to let it out, to tell someone else about her, even if it was only a little. "She taught me what elvish she knew when I was little, and told me of her clan. It was one of the few things I had to look forward to every day."[break][break]
He couldn't help but wonder what she looked like now... how much grey was in her dark curls? Did the magister scar her face any more? Had her vallaslin faded? ... Would she recognize him? It'd been a little over a decade since Vincent had been sent away, sold to a woman he wished he didn't remember the name of. He'd surely changed quite a bit from what his mother remembered. Her fourteen year old son didn't have the scars he bore now, or the small amount of stubble on his face. Back then his hair had been longer, too, and braided by Marawen's careful hands every dawn before the steward would awake the slaves and make them begin to work. How could she possibly recognize the lean, taller man her son had become?[break][break]
With a small sigh, he pushed the thoughts into the back of his mind, focusing once more on his company. He could mull on this later, when he wasn't making conversation with the nicest person he'd spoken to in a month. Cyrlan, he'd said... the name sounded familiar, but Vincent couldn't place it quite yet. It was safe to say that he'd never heard anyone address the Inquisitor by anything other than his titles or clan name. [break][break]
"Vincent. I'm... I was a mercenary, up until recently. I came here looking for work."
ulla [newclass=.itsover b]color:#02B37D[/newclass] [newclass=.oneword1]transition:1s;overflow:hidden;height:200px;width:450px;[/newclass] [newclass=.oneword1:hover .fromyou1]transition:1s;margin-top:0px;[/newclass] [newclass=.fromyou1]background-color:#2f2f2f;opacity:.8;font-family:arial;font-size:10px;color:#fff;padding:10px;margin-top:250px;width:150px;transition:1s;[/newclass] [newclass=.fromyou1 a]font-family:courier new;text-transform:uppercase;color:#a366b6;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass] |
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on Mar 6, 2016 5:42:33 GMT -5
But the future is forgiven, so smile [attr="class","wildlyrics"]We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun the worst is yet to come [attr="class","wildpost"]There was the distinct absence of any "oh Maker it's the Inquisitor" exclamation and he accepted the lack of recognition with relief, instead turning his attention towards the shift in the man's demeanor, one that prompted the elf to simply shut up and listen. It seemed inappropriate to reach for another cookie so he left the plate untouched, allowing his smile to soften into something considerably more sympathetic. If the stranger's tone was anything to go by, it was that the story he recounted was not a happy one. It seemed that such tragic variations were more common nowadays, he reflected silently, eyes earnestly focused on the other. If the tale ended there, Cyrlan could scarcely help for the time being. But he could listen. He was good at that, at least.
When conversation petered out as the other seemed to be lost in thought, the elf let the silence reign for a moment longer, turning the words over in his head. They certainly brought forth a plethora of questions - what clan, what was her name, you don't look happy what happened, how can I help? But those were heavier questions, the sort that forced one to dig deeper into memories that would rather remain buried, and so as such things went, Cyrlan deemed it an inopportune timing and did not deign to ask. It seemed only right, for he could not go around interrogating every guest that wandered into Skyhold. Though he had to admit, he would have loved nothing more than to know more about everyone, not to leverage information against them as a spy would but simply to get to know people. It never hurt to remind oneself that he led individuals with their own stories (led to their deaths, he occasionally thought), that he could not let such an integral fact escape him, that ultimately the Inquisition was always, always about the people.
And the number of those people seemed to grow every day. It was a puzzling fact to him, with the organisation being a peacekeeping force and no longer the solitary army unified against a single evil. In fact, things only seemed more complicated after such was resolved, allies scattering to the wind when there was no longer that one cause to unify them. Though it was all the better, in a sense, with less people to keep eyes on for fear of corruption and the like. The Divine had her forces, the religious, righteous Templars, but the Inquisition was a knife that you knew was there, waiting in the shadows and simply waiting for the right time. Not all too prominent, because that would simply throw them into another political maelstrom, but just enough. He supposed one more would not hurt that balance.
But he was curious nonetheless. "For work? In the Inquisition? We're hardly the first place to turn to for that," The elf tilted his head inquisitively in a decidedly feline manner, an impish grin playing on his lips. "But I won't turn away anyone who wants to help, that's for sure. Neither can I say no to anyone who doesn't know what cookies are, I simply do have to show you the kitchens. Oh, and tiny cakes!" [attr="class","wildnotes"] Vincent Calix ; vincent needs a hug omg | |
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