When A Seeker Calls [Closed] Jul 28, 2017 11:16:45 GMT -5
Post by Félix L'avancee on Jul 28, 2017 11:16:45 GMT -5
7 Harvestmere, 34 Dragon, Evening; Knight-Commander Meredith
The cold southern wind that carried the first bite of winter to the City of Chains, also brought with it dark grey clouds, thick and threatening, that choked the very heavens.
“This weather is a foreboding omen, I tells ya. There be dark times ahead for Kirkwall, mark my words lads.” A whitnered, sea worn voice called out to on one in particular. Félix didn’t even need to turn to recognize the rather unique tone of the ships grizzled Captain, whose soft silky Antivan tones had turned to harsh rust from years of overuse. Not that that stopped the man, who seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut for more than a few moments at a time. If he wasn’t barking out orders to the handful or so crewmen, that scuttled about like ants on deck as they prepared to dock, the aged Antivan would chat idly about whatever idiotic thought crossed his vacant mind at the time or he would attempt some crude joke he heard a decade ago, only to forget the punchline but laugh himself silly regardless. It was certainly a trial for the young Orlesian, who was ever so grateful to the Maker that he only had to endure this torture the short distance from Kirkwall to the Gallows. If it was any longer, he could not guarantee that the Antivan would make it their alive.
Cool blue eyes spared a glance up to the looming clouds and in that moment Félix couldn’t help but feel there might be some truth to the old fools words. Though that notion did not last long and the young Seeker cast aside such idle fancies with the gentle shake of his head. He could only imagine how his peers and fellow Seekers would laugh him out of his armour if they knew he had given even the slightest bit of credence to such nonsense. It was nothing more or less than the seasonal change of weather, not some divine warning sent by the Maker. Regardless of what foolish old seafarers might say. With any luck the clouds would be swept north to Starkhaven in a day or two and Maker willing the horned giants would depart just as swiftly.
The cog charged like a battering ram towards the Gallow’s docks, completely unhindered by the choppy waters of the Waking Sea. Ebony gauntlets held firmly onto the slippery wooden railing as he looked out over the fast approaching shore. He had never seen the famous or perhaps infamous Gallows before and he could not deny the sight was an impressive one. A giant bastion of solid rock that had weathered countless storms. While the ancient Tevene may have lacked the Orlesian flare for design, they most certainly knew how to make structures that would endure through the Ages. It was perhaps one of the reasons the corrupt and wicked Imperium remained standing even to this day.
His thoughts were soon interrupted as the cog’s hull thumped unceremoniously against the Gallows docks. Félix was almost thrown backwards, the weight of his heavy armour not helping matters any. Fortunately his grip on the railing remained true and he was not tossed around like a ragdoll even as three members of the crew leapt with feline agility to the docks tying the cog down. The overpowering scent of rum and stale urine assaulted the Seeker’s senses as the Antivan came bustling up with a crooked smile that perfectly displayed his collection of yellowed and missing teeth.“The Gallow’s as commanded Messere.”
Félix’s nose wrinkled further as he reluctantly turned to face the Antivan and his sour breath for what he could only hope would be the final time.
“So it would seem Captain.” The Seeker replied with a cool nonchalance. “So it would seem.” Not wanting to waste anymore time or words on the wretch, he reached into the folds of the ramskin clock and procured a sizable coin purse. The captain licked his dry lips at the sight of the drooping bag, the avarice practically glittering in his eyes. There were few vices more disgusting than greed, he thought with a sigh as he tossed the purse towards the old man who caught it possessively between two hands with a gleeful grin.
“Andraste’s flaming Knick-” The Antivan’s exclamation of joy was interrupted when the back of a gauntleted hand connected harshly with his jaw. The Captain was sent crashing to the hard deck, the clatter of his precious coin raining down about him. The crewmen remained slack jawed at the unexpected turn of events, though their shock swiftly turned into a flurry to snatch any stray coins that rolled their way. Though Félix paid no heed to them, his blue eyes instead honed in on the floored Antivan, who clutched his jaw tenderly. The dazed Captain recovered his senses and attempted to lift himself from the floor but a black sabaton pressed firmly against his chest kept him from rising.
“Do not take the name of our martyred Lady in vain Captain, it makes me … irritable” The nonchalance had all but evaporated from the Seeker’s tone, suddenly replace with a low, warning hiss comparable to that of an irate serpent. Félix had little enough time for the man as it was, but such casual blasphemy had worn down his last nerve. “Do we understand each other Captain?” The Antivan only glared daggers up at him, like the man wanted to skin him alive. The armored foot pressed down even harder against the seaman’s ribs, robbing the very air from his lungs with a gasp. “I said, do we understand each other?” The Orlesian repeated, once more, this time receiving several desperate nods in response. It was good enough, he supposed doubtful the lesson stuck, but hopeful that the Captain might think twice before before taking Andraste’s name in vain. With that he swept off the cog, the crew parting before his determined march like the sea.
On the docks three figures awaited him. Two of them armoured knights, who wore identical looks of worry on their faces as he stepped down from the gangway and onto the wooden dock. Their companion did not share their apparent concern, indeed from the sunburst emblazoned upon her forehead Félix could see the young woman held no emotion at all.
“Greeting Seeker. I am Elsa, assistant to Knight-Commander Meredith. She has asked me to escort you to her as soon as you arrived.” The tranquil droned in the usual dispassion that all tranquil shared. He was glad to see that the letter heralding his arrival had reached the Gallows ahead of time, though he had not been forthcoming about why he was visiting. Such matters would be discussed with the Knight-Commander in person. With a polite nodd to the young woman, he gestured for her to lead the way, while the two Templars fell in behind him at a safe distance. He was not surprised by the their distrust, Templars rarely welcomed Seekers with open arms because usually it meant they were failing their duties. Not this time however, he was not in the City of Chains to investigate any reports of abuse, he was here for a far more delicate and pressing matter.
The gallows remained largely empty, save for the occasional patrol of Templars, who eyed him with suspicion as they passed. Elsa informed him that the Knight-Commander had imposed a curfew on the mages, given the threat of stormy weather that could break at any moment it was an understandable precaution Félix had to agree.
With a gentle rap against the door, the tranquil lead the way inside the small and severe office the Knight-Commander called her own. Félix followed her inside.
“Knight-Commander.” The Tranquil’s monotone voice droned. “This is…” with a gesture she turned the floor over to Félix.
“I am Félix L’avancee, Seeker of the Chantry.” He dipped his head respectfully to the statuesque woman encased in a silverite carapace. So this was the indomitable Meredith Stannard, Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, he mused to himself, curious to see if the woman would live up to her reputation.