One: A Tranquil Afternoon's Work
There is thunder over the sea. The quiet mind hears more. The steady hand makes careful words.
Opal: Blue as a summer day and speckled a sunny, golden colour.
Opal Fragment: A rough sliver of blue and gold.
Onyx Fragment: This did not break away cleanly, but its brown bands may still be counted, six.
There are stories in Thedas quieter than those for scaring children. There is scandal too loud to whisper outside four walls. Stormwind approaches, write and bind your knowledge, lest it be snatched away.
Coral Fragment: This sharp piece has been sun bleached, of most value to women with rough feet.
Cracked Snowflake Obsidian: This piece of mirror black, volcanic glass has a dusting of white, to cover its near smooth surface.
Flawless Tiger’s Eye: It is striped, polished and well looked after, the size of a small lady’s hand.
There is purpose and purpose lost. These curiosities came from Chateaux to scrap seller, on the back of The Champion.
Damsel’s Favour: It is a soft, violet scarf, with a scent of Andraste’s Grace. She liked him a lot.
Broken Statuette: Andraste herself or some lesser woman? Only legs and feet remain.
Frayed Rope: This rope was once used as a lanyard on a small fishing vessel. It has been left out in the rain.
There are secret uses for a mage. One finger traced a painless wound, a dangerous intimacy. When mage is gone, only words remain.
Military Communique: This hastily scrawled note is both memorandum and apology. The wrong widow is crying.
Tiger’s Eye Fragment: Whole, a Tiger’s Eye gemstone might gaze back. This fragment only peeks.
Mark of Bravery: Small, round and made of brass. Its lack of polish suggests it was not won proudly.
They asked after the source, filed the answer and never spoke of it again. They removed the problem, righted its wrong and closed a door. Temptation came heavy, on silent words, like Stormnight, before the brightest of knives tears it apart.
Cracked Staff: Once alive with power, now firewood, this staff required more frequent oiling.
[I emptied the junk section of Hawke's backpack before MotA. This is what is contained afterwards.]
Two: Pride and Desire
People call him “abomination” but never louder than in a whisper. He is above that manner of slander. Words are a powerful magic, but not in the way you believe. I called him “love” once, but not to his face. He is above that manner of affection. I can no longer recall it.
A lost mage, limping home, makes a sorry sight. The prouder the man, the more wretched he will be, in sodden cloak and bloody boots. I saw beyond his wretchedness, when we found him, alone, traversing the mountainous pass. Now, I remember that day simply as wet. Black clouds rained cold tears, as the Templars found their fallen.
With healing magic, I loved him, while he lamented his folly. “In a spin, she was there and she was gone.” By darkness, his cries rang aloud. “The steel, it tore down at me, here, here.” By daylight, he mused. “She delivered her pain. One knee kissed the dust, the other her chin. Her arms were flayed wide, like a griffin dancer, poised for the kill, killing me. The curtain fell.”
Charged by an approaching storm, I reached out to meet his longest scar, collar to hip. Another met my eye, cast the lure and captured me. I embraced temptation, as a door was opened. It was like a Harrowing, only colder. A deal was made, but never truly honoured. In time, the proud mage’s gait cannily resumed its fall, as I lost myself. He nodded to me, in passing, and my heart wept.
I heard him whisper his attacker’s name in a fever dream, “Tallis.” Perhaps he loved her. Surely fond distraction is the only way to tear a mage, of such power, apart. Once, this understanding might have torn at my own wretched heart. He would not meet with me, the day I was changed. Now he nods again and I meet his eye. I am at peace, above wretchedness.
--Esther the Mild, Tranquil of the Circle of Magi of Kirkwall, the Free Marches.
Notes: classified testimony. Tranquillity is the quiet solution.
[This is inspired by Tallis' Drop Dead ability.]
[And her animation.]
Three: Choose your own ending.
Proceedings in Hightown are being disrupted. Greed and weakness draws humans to the stink of the confections a woman lavishes on her young. The location is disturbing efforts to house the videthari.
The Qun demands action. Make your decision.
Decisions
(Tranquil) It will be arranged so that the bas collector will exchange words and curios, during baking hours. A temporary distraction.
(Mage)The cut menace will go. In the case of an accident, we have little to lose, either way. He will stay on the leash, if he wishes to keep his perilous secret.
(Tallis) An old knife is a reliable knife. This demands an end.
Endings
(Tranquil) Raised voices and a broken window. “That smell. The smell of her. Again? Disgusting. Really, Philippe,
really?” “But, darling, I didn’t... How did this scarf get here, anyway?” It is done. The woman has a new use for her time.
(Mage)Reckless fool. His unchecked nature has left another unexplained body to clean from the floor. Their situation is more uncertain, ours is resolved, but a valuable tool may have been wasted.
(Tallis) A slender human hand, wearing two rings, drops at your feet. This knife has made another shallow cut. The question you need not ask is answered, with a lie. “Floating downriver.” You observe your weapon depart.
Edit: Sorry, I didn't want to edit it, because it's a finished product, but I had a minor formatting glitch. I somehow didn't copy one line from word pad.
Modifié par Firky, 23 octobre 2011 - 11:36 .
Retour en haut
It reads quite poetically.
