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Post by againststars on Sept 28, 2015 6:16:33 GMT
Nevarran tea culture is an intrinsic part of the tapestry of the country, and its capital is no exception. Many small tea houses are scattered throughout the city, but the largest sits neatly in the middle, not far from the Grand Necropolis.
No delicate, airy Orlesian parlour, this: the dark paneling and thick wooden tables are sturdy and solid, with heavy curtains lining both the windows and the walls. The tables are big enough for at least four people at the smallest, each with a large metal boiler with a spigot set on one side, a teapot balanced atop. Most of the boilers are plain, serviceable iron, but on some tables the boilers glint different colors -- in one corner, a dawnstone boiler glitters pink and incongruous in the heavy atmosphere; in another, a bloodstone boiler looks more at home. Silverite, veridium, and volcanic aurum all have their place -- Nevarran lore holds that the water from each provides different properties, which is why the tables containing boilers made from rarer ores must be rented out, and often at high prices. There is alcohol and food served in addition to tea, as well as room and board provided for travellers, cementing the tea house's position as a hub of social activity and conversation, good or ill.
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Post by Hawke on Sept 29, 2015 2:47:02 GMT
Cato sweeps into the room, dusty and dirty and a spectacle all the same.
Probably something to do with his large, curving horns - he has to duck just slightly as he enters to avoid catching them on the door frame, and even then he gets a few too many long stares as he steps in to the tea house proper. He hefts his travel sack over one shoulder, and politely leaves his halberd at the door - which seems to settled the worried glances of the servers somewhat. It seemed a little rude to sit it next to him at a table, as most in the little shop seem full. Without a word he plucks through his belongings and finds his coin purse, heavy with the new strange little coins of the country. The first thing he had done upon entering Nevarra was jettison some heavier pieces of loot, his favoured 'parting gifts' from his brief stay with Magister Marius. The candle holder had sold well enough, so he spilt a few coins across the counter top, asking for some food and tea and a room for later. It was impossible to judge whether he'd put down the right change as the woman behind the counters stern expression never shifted - but she scooped up the coins and directed him to the lone empty table in the room, spacious enough for at least another 4 guests. He pulled his thin, growing slightly threadbare silks just the slightest bit closer as he reached for the simply though elegantly wrote silver pot at the centre of the table pouring himself a steaming cup. One of the servers had already bustled over to place the leaves in and put a cup before him, and the smell sweet and cinnamon-y.
He takes a precautionary sip, grateful for the warmth and not for the first time, missing the humid tropics of the Tevinter coastline.
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Momo
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Post by Momo on Oct 1, 2015 23:42:26 GMT
It had been a while since Amara had been to Nevarra, and really it was probably the safest place for her to be right now. Except possibly Ferelden, and there was no Blighted way she was going there again. No, it was too damned cold and everything smelled like wet dog. Probably because there were so many dogs, and she really didn't like them. Well, the ones the nobles kept anyway. No, Nevarra was her safest bet, at least until her face stopped circulating on wanted posters in Orlais. She'd have to give it a couple of months, maybe a year.
Her first stop was to find some place to spend the night, and all the taverns and inns seemed filled. Well, such was life. Food was next on the list, and finding a tea house, she nodded. This was a good of a place as any. Slipping in, she glanced around the room, noting the rather large Qunari. Taking in a deep breath, she acted as if nothing were the matter and made inquiries with a stern faced woman about food. Sliding her the correct amount of silver, she smiled and thanked her, making sure to take a seat where directed, but not too close to the Qunari. She made sure her back was to a wall, and she faced the door, both of her daggers hidden and her bag small enough to fit between her feet under the table. Out of habit alone she scoped three escape routes and four potential threats, the biggest one being a few feet from her,clearly under dressed for the weather.
She couldn't tell if he was a Vashoth or not, his clothing seemed to state he was, or that he was a rather tame Tal-Voshoth, but it was not unheard of for Ben-Hassrath to adopt the clothing of locals, or of other nations to appear as though they did not follow the Qun. She would have to be wary of that one. Thanking the woman who brought her her food, and the correct tea leaves, she slipped her another silver and sipped her drink, before inspecting the table. Honey comb would be a nice addition, just a touch. Sweetening it without it being too much. Warming her hands on the cup, she tilted her head, braid shifting slightly across her back as her earrings gently clinked together. No, perhaps she would forego the honey today.
Amara glanced at the Qunari again, and gave him a polite nod, feeling just a pang of sympathy. This clothes were rather threadbare, but it could just be a rouse. Who knew at this point. Perhaps if a conversation was started, she'd be able to discern what she needed. Or not, who knew.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2015 1:42:54 GMT
It was similar to the Hanged Man. The tea house was a much neater, much more serene setting, but it was about the same. Where the Lowtown tavern would be the no-good gambling uncle, the tea house was much like a sweet aunt. Or at least, that's what Calanthe thought of it.
As she entered, she noticed a lone halberd. Her staff felt a bit heavier at that moment, but Cal brushed it aside. Who would leave their weapon at the door? What if someone took it? What a silly thing to do. And if she followed in example, Cal probably wouldn't be able to enjoy whatever rest she would have wanted to enjoy. No thanks, she thought, shaking her head. It's staying with me.
She observed the glittering pots and cups and was intrigued by the various aesthetics according to each table. She must have been staring for too long, because a server approached her with a quirked brow.
Ah. Hey. I'm here for the room... Tea? Yes. I mean...yes.
She asked her about her preference. A particular boiler?
Is...that important? Do I just pick a color?
She asks about her coin. Cal removes several from her vest, and after a second, she is led to a table. When she is asked about what she wants to drink:
"Ya' know, just give me whatever you recommended. And can I have whatever that guy had over there, but with extra sauce?"
After the server leaves, Calanthe gains the mind to at least remove the staff from her back. It startles her for a moment when it clacks againts the floor, but nothing happens, and she can breathe again. She glanced toward her neighbors initially to send an apologetic look for the noise, but then she found herself observing them intently. The first was a qunari--a rare sight. He especially appeared to be enjoying his tea. The second was an elf, who would glimpse subtly at the qunari every now and then. She suddenly felt very ridiculous, sitting alone at the large wooden table. Her staff was settled in her lap, and the mage didn't let it go as she waited for her meal.
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Post by Hawke on Oct 2, 2015 9:21:36 GMT
The influx of new patrons sets Cato's focus further into the depths of his cup; unthinking, he hunches his shoulders slightly, and sips. His revere is broken when an elf takes a seat adjacent him, back situated to the wall and he notes that perhaps she is flicking glances at him every so often. He's not entirely certain, though it wouldn't be uncommon an occurrence. It strikes him for the first time since he had fled the Imperium that he must be on the look out for the Ben Hassarath at every turn - it had been and elf agent that had lead away his family, all those years ago. The thought sends a further pang of dread through him, and he taps taloned nails on the table top, forcing himself to look up.
He places a wan thin smile on his mouth that doesn't quite cover the points of his teeth and tries not to look too startled at the clacking of the staff against the floor. The room isn't exactly rumbling with noise but its a pleasant kind of buzz of casual conversation - the wood against the stone of the polished floors is loud enough to clack! through all of it. As if Cato wanted anymore attention drawn to them.
"So, come here often?" He offers, just the slightest bit lamely, placing his cup down upon the table with a little clink. Normal... he would just act normal. Thats what he'd wanted, and what he'd fled to find. Perhaps he'd find it here.
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Momo
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Fight for our rights, we may just start greatness for the ages, remember the Mages
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Post by Momo on Oct 2, 2015 19:32:34 GMT
Amara slid her eyes over towards the other woman, staff on her back. Mage, then, of yet to be determined danger. Though if she was just enjoying a cup of tea and a meal, as they all where perhaps she would cause no danger. But that Qunari. He wasn't acting like a Ben-Hassrath, but he'd straightened a little when he noticed her. Curious. Finishing her sip, she set her cup down with practiced silence, like any good Elf servant would know how to do and shrugged.
"I'm just passing through," she offered, dropping her gaze, putting on the mask of a shy, scared little elf. She peered back at him, then the other woman and shifted slightly. Who knew what would actually happen in a few moments, but at the very least she could hold onto the air of weakness she was skilled at putting on. For now she would give the mage the benefit of the doubt, and the Qunari seemed like the sort to have fled the Qun, or worse Teveinter, but who knew at this point. The Ben-Hassrath were clever to say the least.
"My family's expecting me in two day's time." she added, shifting a little nervously. "My mum's sick."
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Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2015 20:17:15 GMT
"That's terrible," Calanthe sympathized, and after a beat or two, she spoke again. "I know we're not very familiar, but I'm a healer. Perhaps I could aid you in some way." If this woman's mother was ill, how could Calanthe not even offer to help?
It's not like I'm going anywhere right now, she thought. It was a partial lie. The political state regarding mages now was unstable to say the least, so Cal had been wandering from place to place sorting out the conflict as best as she could. On the other hand, she was drifting closer to Tevinter, and even she could not deny the strength of her curiosity. But she had no explicit plan, and she knew very little of what to look for if she even got there. In short, any distraction new task was a welcome one.
A server placed Cal's meal onto the table, and to the woman's delight, it had extra sauce. A bit informally, she rested her elbow on the table as she brought a slice of meat to her mouth. Was one supposed to use silverware when eating these things? She hoped not. The hearty scent of her plate mixed rather intriguingly with the tea she was brought, which smelled of something floral. Interesting.
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Post by Hawke on Oct 3, 2015 1:58:30 GMT
Cato looks on and nods sympathetically when placed; any thought of a knife being slipped between his ribs slipping away. She seemed small and scared enough as it were.
At the mention of healing he perks up just a tad, twitching an ear in the direction of the human; she does seem to be caring a staff with her, but it could be a simple walking stick. From what little he knows of the world beyond Tevinter, mages were kept under lock and key in huge towers and taught their magic was a blight from the Maker - or, at least, thats what he thought he heard in idle conversation amongst the citizens on the Imperium. For all his travelling, he hadn't often mingled with the regular population. When on the road he was drilling through reciting lines or performing acrobatic feats and there had been little time besides except for shows.
He rather hopes this regular conversation it going smoothly.
"I must confess I've travelled a long way to get here, as well - though I wouldn't mind coming along so I might observe your skills with healing. It might help with my expedition," He places the words carefully, ending it with the hook of the conversation, before taking a polite little sip of tea - careful not to slurp. He had been waiting for practice this particular act, and these two might prove just the right kind of unsuspecting accomplices. Or victims. He hadn't quite ironed out the details.
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Momo
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Fight for our rights, we may just start greatness for the ages, remember the Mages
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Post by Momo on Oct 3, 2015 2:54:25 GMT
"No!"
It blurted out of her mouth quicker than she meant. Well that wasn't what she wanted.
"No, no. I'm sorry. There is already a healer, but not much she can do," she offered, clearing her throat. Shifting again, she bit her lip, eyes flicking between the two. Well the mage seemed willing to help, but the Qunari? She was half expecting that halberd by the door to find its way into her back. No, no thank you, she was not going to get involved with anymore Qunari. "T-thank you for your offer." she added, frowning a bit. True the Circles were dissolved, or that was what she heard, but certainly it wasn't so safe.
She sipped from her tea cup and cleared her throat. "My parents don't ..that is Templars aren't....when Shem with long swords come to Alienages it's never..good." she sighed, folding her hands in her lap. Daggers were within easy reach, but she wasn't sure that'd be enough if the mage didn't take no for an answer. Or the Qunari. Templars were the last thing she needed, and if a Mage was following her, they would show up. And she didn't want to kill any one else. They were just doing their job...though the Manifesto she read said some took a little too much glee in it, to put it loosely.
"It is faster to travel alone. No one bothers Elves anyway."
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Post by Deleted on Oct 3, 2015 3:27:09 GMT
Calanthe made a low hum in understanding.
"If you don't think it'll help... I'm really sorry." Her hand toyed with the teacup, not quite committing to try it just yet; but thinking on what the elf said, something about the templars, made her fingers curl around her staff under the table.
"You know it's not right what they do, the templars," she said."You must know about that already, but I can't stand that they keep doing shit like this."
Oh great. The light-hearted chatter was getting a bit too serious. Calanthe sighed and shifted in her seat, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "You don't need me to tell you that. Sorry."
If she was not to go on a healing mission...
"But..." She had not caught the qunari's name, and she did not want to address him by his race, but she did well enough to get his attention by simply acknowledging him with a wave of her hand. "You said you had an expedition of some sort? Did you need a healer?"
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Post by Hawke on Oct 3, 2015 6:04:24 GMT
Cato is a little startled by the force of the elf's answer, but chalks it up to upset due to the rather untimely and by all accounts gruesome sounding soon-to-be demise. That, at least, confirms his suspicions about the templars this side of the border. All the more reason to keep his... abilities on the back burner, unless hard pressed.
Luckily, he had more up his sleeve than flashy fire shows.
"I am also truly sorry to hear it," He fumbles for a moment as if searching for something else to say to the shaken looking elf, but anything more seemed to ring a little hollow. He nudges his teapot closer, and adds, "Should you like a different cup, please go ahead. Its sort of.. cinnamon-y."
Then he turns to the human and raises a brow.
"Well, it isn't my expedition per se. A wealthy member of the Orlesian court whose name I could not utter out of confidence is organizing a sorts of expedition, and looking for wealthy financial backers whom might want to take part," He sups his tea as it was quite a mouthful of a lie, and he needed a second or so to write out the rest of it in his mind. He had decided on a pretend Orlesian simply because of the distance from Tevinter, and hoped they wouldn't pry about how his accent clearly marked him a Vint; even so he could come up with something convoluted about being a specifically scouted out agent of some kind. He brushes the thought to the side - better to take what questions came and handle them as they did.
Ever the polished actor, he continues without missing a beat.
"Of course, a healer's expertise would never go astray in the field, though I may be getting ahead of myself. My name if Cato. And yourselves?"
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Momo
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Fight for our rights, we may just start greatness for the ages, remember the Mages
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Post by Momo on Oct 3, 2015 6:29:51 GMT
Thankfully it seemed believable enough. But the Qunari was Tevinter. Which meant he was either a spy, or Tal Vashoth. Maybe Vashoth. Please just let him be a runaway too. Would they believe her if she gave her Qunlat nickname. Maybe it would tip the Qunari, shake his facade. He certainly seemed like a spy. Giving him a thankful nod, she settled her nerves with a deep breath and finished her tea, taking a small sample from his pot and glanced briefly at the mage.
"Meraad," she offered without hesitation. It'd been ages since someone had called her that. Ages since she'd spoken Qunlat to someone and not have them trying to kill her, or she them. She missed it. She missed the sense of belonging it brought. But the Qun had nothing left for her. Licking her lips, she offered a hesitant smile, feeling the knife in her boot press against her skin. It could be just a blink of an eye, but at least she'd know one way or the other.
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Post by Deleted on Oct 3, 2015 6:49:11 GMT
Meraad. That was Qunlat, wasn't it? Was there something happening between these two that she wasn't aware of?
"You can call me Cal," she replied, busying herself by examining her tea once more, then courageously taking a sip.
It was not something she would have ordered initially.
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Post by Hawke on Oct 3, 2015 7:05:34 GMT
Cato blinks a few times, racking his brain for the meaning first - Meraad was certainly Qunlat but his own was terribly limited. But his troupe had travelled the coast, and he remembered pointing to the ocean as they travelled the cliffs between the towns the smell of the salt breeze strong and cool, and Taman had grinned at him and said the word.
"Sea," He muttered under his breath, the force of the memory coming back as though it were only the other day. He can still picture the orange warmth of the setting sun, how hot it had felt against his skin, how they had stopped by the shore to dip their feet and it had almost felt like a family. It scalded to think about, so much so he nearly grimaced, but he held his actor's mask firm; polite and inviting.
"I havn't heard Qunlat for a terribly long time - a curious name for an elf," But not for a Ben Hassarath, his mind bites back, and his expression turns just the slightest bit pinched. They had come then - finally, now that he was out of the heart of Tevinter, now he no longer had the safety of his troupe around him, all of them vashoth as well. She couldn't do anything here, surely, with Cal just sitting there in the middle of the tea house. Could she? The panic sets his heart racing, sends his skin prickling as he becomes just the slightest bit more in tune with the fade - magic humming through his veins and urging him to act.
'Make the first move, or she will catch you. Take you back to Par Vollen and they'll sew your mouth shut for certain,' a voice sings, unbidden in the back of his mind. An odd occurrence that had happened more and more recently - usually in dreams. Never had he heard it in daylight. He was quite certain it could bode well.
He curls his hand carefully around his cup, just to steady them, long grey fingers just a little too big for the human sized handle.
"It certainly is nice, meeting both of you. I've had little company on the road so far," He manages to come out with, voice barely aquiver. He would not let her take him - not like they had taken his parents.
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Momo
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Fight for our rights, we may just start greatness for the ages, remember the Mages
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Post by Momo on Oct 3, 2015 7:27:41 GMT
Nodding, she relaxed a fraction. No, he wasn't Ben Hassrath. She could see it now. That was certainly a good thing. "It happens. Not everyone's happy under the Qun." She shrugged and offered Cal some tea from her pot, sighing a bit. Perhaps he didn't speak Qunlat. If he was from Tevinter it was possible, it happened she'd seen it in Orlais. "Not everyone stays, clearly."
Sipping her drink, Amara let herself relax, enjoying the food put in front of her as well as the tea. "It's easier to travel the roads alone. Large groups draw bandits." Shaking her head, she sighed and shifted.
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