Private Tales As Deep As Time Allows

[Celestine]

If there was any place that she felt any semblance of relaxation, it was amongst the chaos of Alliria.

Well, she had a task here. The Captain of her unit only allowed Cel to take some leave from the company in order to do this one thing. It would take months of development, but she was willing to work with the smiths to get it right. In fact, there were a number of things that brought the Anirian mercenary to take her leave, to reset. It was like clockwork, how every year the redhead needed to be reclusive and keep to herself, to not be reminded of what she had endured back in Aniria...

The largest city that bridged both continents used to be a place she was afraid of, but never had she set foot to the Liadain side. Keeping to Epressa ws her way of controlling that she would never be brought back, but still, Vel Anir found ways to remind her of the dark days.

Several drinks in, Celestine took up residence on a two seater sofa before the fire, a bottle of whiskey poised at her lips as her eyes stared into the hearth. No one approached her, not when she used her magic to keep strangers away from her by heightening their fear of the fire, however minuscule or forgotten, it worked for the mercenary. There was a faraway look to her eyes, unblinking and reflecting the angry licks of flame that seemed to flare only in her presence. As if her melancholy heightened the heat and wild nature of the fire.

"I wouldn't think about it, friend." Called the barkeep to one of his patrons who began to stagger over to the fire, the red head not facing the rest of the room. "Havelok can cripple a man without looking at them in the eye."

If Cel had been listening, she would have smiled at her long-time friend's warnings, but the dark cloud never dissipated from her thoughts.

 

[Aramis]

Alliria was a love letter, and Aramis the lover.

There were plenty of classically beautiful places in Aniria. There were feats of the imagination in Dornoch. Romance in every curve of the Empire's temples... but none of them held a candle to the delicious clash of architecture, ideas and art that Alliria gave birth to. He could be on a street built by the elven craftsmen one moment, turn a corner and be in the harsh stone forests of the ogres. Every bend held another surprise, and no matter how many times he visited, how many times he trod the same steps there was always more to see. To be surprised at. Inspired by.

Like her.

The brutalist movement given human form.

Aramis had not been searching for a muse, not when the whole city was one, but there she had been. Lost in her own world, her face the embodiment of a storm. Unthinking he had followed her all day. Made notes of where she went, who she spoke to, what made the clouds clear for just a moment across her face... and eventually followed her here. To this dingey corner of the city. It was not the type of haunt Aramis would have picked for himself preferring pretty things but he supposed there was a... rustic charm to it. If rustic meant sticky.

He had attempted to clean the bar stall he perched on but it had seemed to make the unique smear of stale ale and what he suspected was sweat and blood worse. The discomfort spurred him on to approaching the object of his desire far sooner than he would have liked. But at least the sofa she was lounging on looked to only be sporting a few stains.

"Then I'm sure she'll cripple me if she finds me dull," the dreadlord drawled over his shoulder before folding into the chair beside hers, hooking his ankle over the other knee, drink in hand. "Aramis," he said by way of introduction, eyes running over her brazenly. "Tell me, Little Dove, has anyone ever painted you before?"

 

[Celestine]

Surprise had her head whipping to the side, taking in the man that made it past her magics. Undeterred by her warding off, her eyes now travelled over the male, sizing him up and wondering if he meant to annoy her or sweeten her with honeyed words.

But Cel did not expect him to talk about painting.

Her eyes narrowed, curious and surprised.

"You are Anirian?" Accents differed all over the territories, but being a Dreadlord in her past life allowed her to identify many of them. She tried to hide her own, afraid that she would be hunted down this far away from Vel Anir, but she soon learned to hide in plain sight. "I thought Anirians were known for bloodshed and funerals. Not painting."

She certainly painted a room with blood before, which she left unsaid as the dark clouds began to come together again. Her face fell, turning her face back to stare through the flames in the fireplace.

 

[Aramis]

"Can't it be both?" Aramis countered and swirled the piss poor excuse for whisky the bar had in his glass. The amber liquid caught the light of the crackling flames turning it brighter. The shade caught his attention and he committed it to memory to capture it later on. Perhaps if he added ocre... he stopped himself before he could spiral further and returned his eyes to the muse before him.

Ah such a beautiful look of forlorn rapture... Angelo himself could not have had a better model.

"If it bothers you then no, bloodshed is not my forte nor my motivation for being here. I'm here for inspiration and you, Little Dove," he leaned forward in the chair. "Are simply captivating."

 

[Celestine]

Celestine looked to him again, staring at him point blank.

"Both?" There was a sadness in her voice, a hesitation. "We get that choice?" She laughed, drinking from the bottle she had bought from the barkeep. It had been one of the better whiskey's available, and certainly worth all the gold she paid for it. "I have been gone from Vel Anir for some time and even with the distance, I still feel tethered to it."

But she did not shoo him away from their shared sofa. Instead she held the bottle towards him in offering for something better. "How am I captivating?"

Her accent, her warrior education, her magic honed by Anirian Dreadlords, all that bloodshed made her what she was today. Today, she was a mercenary. "And why Alliria for inspiration? Why not a city... like Dornoch?"

 

[Aramis]

"Haven't you heard, darling?" Aramis drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass and gifting her with the type of smile that made girls sigh and mothers worry. "It's all about choice now in the Republic."

Tipping his head he downed what remained of its content then held it out to be refilled.

"What isn't captivating? A lone warrior stalking the streets of every day life... like a wolf amongst the sheep," he sighed a dreamy sort of sigh, his eyes unfocusing for a brief moment as though he could see exactly how he would paint the moment. Shaking himself when she asked her next question he took a testing sip of his new drink and gave a relieved sigh when he found it an improvement on the drivel he had been given before.

"Dornoch is my next port of call. I take the boat tomorrow morning up the straight," he smiled and leaned back. "Have you been?"

 

[Celestine]

Her attention turned to the fire once again. His words were sweet, sticky like a natural honey meant to attract her, but in her melancholy the mercenary began to fade his voice out. That was until he mentioned Dornoch, his words registering then.

Cel did not move to look at him again. Even as he directed a question, she spoke to the flames. "No."

She had fled to Alliria and then beyond, recruited to join the mercenary company called the Blackshields, and remained in the Reach for some time.

When he didn't respond straight away, she tore her hazel eyes from the fire and blinked at him. "I never had reason to visit. No jobs have ever taken me up that way... but I hear stories from others, you know? Maybe you can send me a painted card." She smiled wryly, trying to make an effort to not fall into the pit of numbness that existed inside her. A darkness that grew to a blinding shadow over her senses, and only as the days passed did she begin to slowly become human once more. A vicious cycle, one she had lived with for years.

 

[Aramis]

The ghosts that danced in her eyes, the bitter twist of her lips, the shadows from the fireplace... Kress but his fingers itched to paint. He tapped them out in an irregular pattern against the glass instead.

"The architecture there is like nothing else in this world. They stack their homes on top of one another to cram into space, but across the way there will be some sprawling perfectly manicured water garden," he shook his head. "They say it used to be a city of war but gave it over to peace and the arts. Something our home could perhaps stand to learn, no?" the small smile that curved his lips confirmed he was attempting to bait her.

"If you haven't been you must come with me. Dornoch must be enjoyed by everyone at some point in their life."

 

[Celestine]

His invitation earned him a sparingly glance, but his words hanging between them made her gaze regard him with assessment. His skin seemed to showcase a myriad of colours used on canvas, but the only colour that seemed to keep her attention was his eyes. A blue hazel, but those blues stood out spectacularly against the brown hues in his irises.

And now, she was staring.

"You might need to do better convincing." It wasn't a no, but Cel set aside the bottle and turned to face him on the sofa. Her legs were drawn up, boots dirty the soft furnishing of the cushion she sat on, but her entire attention was upon the male now. "What makes Dornoch differ from Vel Zrada?"

Of course, she remembered her cities and what they were famous for.

 

[Aramis]

"Oh everything, little dove," Aramis' eyes seemed to dance in the firelight. "Zrada has to march to the whims and wishes of the rich who fund it. For years I was doing portraits of young ladies sat in libraries, or with swans," his eyes rolled dramatically. "And young noble men sitting on horses they clearly had no idea on how to handle. In Dornoch art is unbound. Even the poor throw money at artists, not for anything in particular but just to create. To bring joy to the city, to celebrate life," he gave a sigh and then took another sip of his drink and stared off into the middle distance.

"What the mind can do when it's unbound... what it can create...."

 

[Celestine]

Kress, he knew how to paint a picture alright.

Celestine tilted her head to one side, her red hair falling from behind her ear and brushing her shoulder. "I stand corrected. Zrada is unlike Dornoch." She chewed her lip for a moment before continuing. "You know what? I'll take you up on that offer."

She lifted an auburn brow, as if waiting for him to rescind the offer he made for her to join him.

"Besides, Alliria depresses me." And there were only a few places she liked to hide in while she came here to get lost with the crowds of the largest populated city in all of Arethil. "I am in need of new scenery."

 

[Aramis]

Aramis' grin was like that of a Cheshire Cats.

"Excellent!" he downed the rest of his glass and then stood, collecting the elegant satchel he carried with him. "I'm staying at the Rose and Lion on Sycamore Grove, meet me there tomorrow morning with your things at 8 sharp. The boat leaves at 9," from his pocket he called out a small bit of card that looked plain. He handed it over to her.

"Till tomorrow, Little Dove."

With that, he left. Only once he had did the card in her hand reveal itself, the ink slowly appearing like a cautious flower in spring to show a single name:

Aramis Marc
Your artistic desires are mine to please​

 

[Celestine]

Celestine only had a small pack hanging off one shoulder as she leaned against the stone walls of the Rose and Lion. Arms folded over her chest, her hair tied back in a half styled look to keep her eyes clear. She was staring into the traffic filling the street before her, noting how much better dressed and affluent the clientele were on this side of the city.

Of course, Cel had coin herself, and plenty of it. Mercenaries were paid well enough to make the job one to return to, and she liked getting them done in a timely manner.

But she waited, for him. Aramis. She had not told him her name yet, but she knew his from the card he had left her last evening.

"Oi! You! No loitering!" Came a shout from someone stepping outside and catching the intimidating presence of the Anirian. She turned her gaze to them, and frowned. "Move along!"

 

[Aramis]

"Don't worry Dorka, she's here for me," Aramis purred and let his hand lightly brush the other woman's shoulder as he passed. Instantly the innkeeper seemed to relax and looked up at the Dreadlord with a bright smile, all traces of anger gone.

"Oh, I didn't realise Sir. You know them Rangers like to linger and they're bad for business," she threw Celestine another dubious glance, as though she couldn't decide whether the woman was still going to be a problem regardless of Aramis' vouching. The other Dreadlord seemed not to be flustered by her mistrust however and bent to press a kiss to her hand.

"As if I would ever bring a person of ill-repute to your fine doors," Dorka blushed and then finally gave a nod and vanished back inside. With that dealt with, Aramis turned to his soon to be companion, and set his hat upon his head which had been tucked beneath his arm.

"Shall we?" he offered her his arm as he stepped closer to her and indicated with his cane to the street that led towards the dock.

 

[Celestine]

Celestine dropped her gaze to see his offered arm.

Perhaps the Revolution introduced new manners in the people of Vel Anir, but Cel had been raised in the old ways. She was never a lady born, but a warrior put to war from a young age. That was the tradtions of the Dreadlords, but she had not called herself one for almost a decade.

As mercenary, she had freedoms that allowed her to find her own self, to work with a company or work on her own. No one faulted her for wanting to work alone most of the time, but it felt less and less as she did when she had been called Dreadlord Havelok.

She had been staring at his arm for a good moment now, and saw his arm begin to drop before she rolled her eyes with a soft sigh and took the waning offer.

"Glad to hear the Allirians still see the Rangers as unworthy loiterers in this city." If she had been in better spirits, perhaps she would have smiled or chuckled. "That being said, I would not wish to be a Ranger."