Recent content by Lucien Valtiere

Lucien rose the moment the dismissal was given. Before the boxes could be properly distributed, he reached the front table and plucked one free, their box, tucking it neatly under his arm. He didn’t look at Avery when he spoke at first, as though she were already an afterthought. “There’s no...

Lucien was silent for a moment longer than necessary, eyes unfocused as if her words required no effort to process. When he spoke, his tone was flat, almost bored. “So,” he said at last, “you intend to extract artifacts from the College that you feel you are entitled to.” He glanced toward the...

Lucien did not answer her at first. He stood where he was, expression unreadable, eyes steady as her words slid past him without purchase. He had heard every variation of the barbs before - entitlement, ambition, pride, and ego. It was dull. Predictable. Beneath response. His gaze flicked...

Lucien did not ask questions loudly. Coins changed hands in murmurs and glances, enough to loosen tongues without inviting scrutiny. Reliable ones, the sort who knew when to forget faces and remember descriptions. They pointed to the movements of a woman matching Zora’s description...

Lucien woke with the unpleasant sense that he had not truly slept. The book lay where he had left it, closed but not quiet. Its weight lingered in his thoughts, pressing behind his eyes as he dressed, as he moved through the morning rituals expected of him. Breakfast passed untouched. Lectures...

Lucien had expected nonsense. Grandiose nonsense, certainly, the usual threats and promises that littered forbidden texts. But as his eyes moved from line to line, his irritation dulled into something quieter. Colder. This was not a book of simple wonders. It did not beg spirits, nor bargain...

Lucien rolled his eyes. “Marvelous,” he muttered. “Why does anyone need to attend class when you can pop up in empty rooms and give impromptu lectures instead?” He turned from her with a flick of his coat, striding toward the desk as if simply curious, hands clasped behind his back, expression...

Lucien gave no reply to her admonition. He did not acknowledge the scripture, the proverb, or the implied warning. His gaze lingered only on the book itself, assessing its binding, the age of the pages, the faint scent of it. Without ceremony, he took it from her hand. He offered no thanks. No...

Lucien did not react when she emerged. He watched her the way one studied an experiment, eyes tracking posture, breath, micro-movements, weighing each word for intent rather than meaning. When she finished, the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. He scoffed softly. “I will do no...

Lucien bristled slightly as her words sank in. She knew about the desk. The wards. The professor’s habits. It was another document he was looking for, but he wouldn’t divulge that. He scoffed. “I’m not here for something so pedestrian,” he said, the word bitten off like a curse. His gaze...

Lucien had timed it perfectly. He had watched the professor’s routine for weeks, knew when the man took his lunch, when he stepped out for meetings, when the hallway was empty save for the echo of his own footsteps. The locked drawer held what Lucien wanted. Notes far too valuable to remain...

Lucien stared at her without expression, face settling into a neutral mask that betrayed nothing. He released the dealer, who wasted no time vanishing into the alley’s deeper shadows, and took the vial with measured care. His gaze dropped briefly to the blood-smeared coins in his palm. For a...

His head whipped around the moment the stranger approached. Lucien’s eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpening his features as he took in the blood smeared across her fingers and the coins in her palm. It was unsettling and ritualistic. The mark of practices whispered about in lecture halls and banned...

A young man stood in an alley nearby as though the filth had been arranged around him by mistake. His coat was tailored dark wool, the cut precise, the cuffs embroidered with understated thread; his boots gleamed despite the damp stone, and his pale gloves never quite touched the brick. He was...

Lucien quirked a brow, more at the attempted explanation than the content of it. Maester Thunderbeard? A reputable teacher taking on….this? Still, he made no comment. His gaze had already begun drifting toward the Allirian booth, narrowing slightly. Something there was catching his interest...