faderift | [ OPEN ] One time love, take care how you use it

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[ OPEN ] One time love, take care how you use it

WHO: Zevran Arainai, Isabela, their audience
WHAT: Zevran and Company heat up a cold night with some steamy songs from up North.
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Tavern
NOTES: Bawdy songs, salacious dancing, coin being tossed- adult language and content.

It was cold, they were bored and a little tipsy, and Zevran had run through as many stories of the fifth blight that he could stand for the night, Isabela had run through as many suckers as she could get in her game of cards as would be lured in by her laugh and her bosom. Comfortably buzzed and not wishing to become maudlin Zevran began to pick out the notes to a rather saucy Antivan song- one he recited recently for Alistair. By the time he'd gone through the first verse with just the Lute Isabela was chortling. "You wouldn't actually-"

"Oh, mia Bella, I would. I truly would." Never one to step down from such a challenge, his plucking went from idle to strong with purpose, which only had Isabela throwing her head back and cackling.

Giggling, in her own way, warm and rich and turning a few heads. The atmosphere wasn't dire or dour but it could use a little spice. A little heat. Whether it was the sudden sharp strum that brought him back to the beginning or Isabela elbowing him in the ribs to actually start singing that got more heads, he couldn't say. by the time he hit the refrain and had nudged her enough to get her standing on the table, writhing along with the music? They certainly had the attention of most if not all of the tavern. When he hit the second call and response- half the women in attendance replied, egged on by Isabela on the table still- leaping onto another in time with the music.

As he had quite a few such pieces in his repertoire, they had all night to fill with song and dance and bawdy intent.

[ ooc: tag around and have a party, everyone's game! ]

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There's a few quick extra blinks from him at hearing that, coupled with a faintly blank look, thanks to the unfamiliar names. For a moment he debates trying to pretend as though he knows what those places are, but that won't help him figure that out. So he decides in favor of having his curiosity satisfied instead, reaching up to scratch a spot above his eyebrow at the same time in an attempt to cover his slight hesitation.

"I'm afraid that I've not heard of either place yet, to tell you the truth. But if the music in those places is like that all the time, they must be interesting ones."

"If the Inquisition has reason to ride north? I will introduce you to far more than the music and the dancing, my friend. The art, the culture, the food- oh. How I miss the food the most in the south." Everything boiled, salted or cured to preserve it. No fresh fish worth roasting, alas.

If there's one thing that's bound to get Jamie's attention, it's food - and even the mention of it is enough to get him to almost visibly perk up.

"The food? What sorts of things do they have down south, then?"

It's only after he says it that he realizes that maybe the musician has other things to do rather than talk about food, no matter how curious Jamie might be about it, and he wound up giving Zevran an apologetic look.

"Ah, but you've probably got better things to do than tell some rifter about that sort thing anyway. Sorry, I tend to ask questions without thinking sometimes."

"Everything here is salted or cured or boiled beyond an inch of it's life. In the North? We've spices- fish fresh from the sea- fruits that will not grow down here for the cold or the mud and oh, the peppers. The first merchant I come across that sells dried peppers from Antiva is getting their whole stock bought out." How he longed for them, the fish, the peppers, the pasta. "Here it is roast potatoes and root vegetables and bread hard as a brick. There is no rice, no pasta, no light, crispy flatbreads."

While he could see where most things that were salted and cured and boiled to within an inch of its life could get a bit tiring (and he wasn't fond of hard bread by any stretch of the imagination), he likes some of the other things that are mentioned, and his mouth tugs ever so slightly off to one side.

"What's wrong with roast potatoes and root vegetables? Good solid food, those." Although that could be the problem. If someone came from a place where fish and rice and flatbreads were more usual...well, maybe potatoes and root vegetables all the time are a bit much, in that case. The thought is enough to get his expression to smooth back out, though, and even turn into something more thoughtful as he reached out to take his mug back.

"Sorry, I should've gotten that back from you. And I'll admit the flatbread sounds pretty good. What's your name, anyway? I'm Jamie."

"Now and then? Nothing at all. Day in, day out, heavy and hardly salted? It weighs upon me." He sighed, missing the food of his homeland intently. "The cooking of Orlais is- overly fanciful. Too much cream or butter in everything instead of using spices and fresh ingredients; a chicken does not need to be stuffed with eight different kinds of mushrooms before roasting when a knob of butter and bundle of herbs might do the work for you in half the time."

Jamie ought to not wind Zevran up about food in the South overmuch- they would be there a long while. Zevran had opinions.

"Think nothing of it." A beat, a smile. "Zevran Arainai, at your service."

As far as Jamie was concerned, he'd be more than happy to talk about food for quite awhile, even if it came with running the risk of opinions. He had more than a few himself, and he wound up raising his mug a fraction in acknowledgement before taking a drink from it.

"Mm. Aye, we've stuff like that back home. Well, not where I come from, but there's places with food that's just as fancy. Or fancier, where they'll not only stuff the bird but put its feathers back on or make pastry that looks like castles."

And that was just the start of it, when it came to those sorts of dinners. Not anything he cared for, really.

"Don't see the point to it, if you ask me. I'd almost rather have food cubes than wonder if that golden spire I'm looking at is edible or if I'll break my teeth on it. Why would you not be able to get some of the things you like up here, though? Surely there's merchants here from all over."

"Orlesians and Antivan Nobility tend to tart up their meals in such a fashion. I have spent many hours toiling away on carved fruits and gilded pastry. A dinner that looks lovely is wonderful- but I think food should look as it is, yes? Like food. Give me a bowl of fish chowder or spiced sausage with pasta any day." Simple, hearty, homey. Such things are rare in Fereldan- well. Simple and hardy, yes. Homey? Not quite so much.

"This far South it is difficult to get fresh fish, the herbs do not grow or travel well, and none of the cooks know how to make pasta. I am an elf bereft of the comforts of home. But should we travel to Antiva? I shall have a taste of it once again."

While he'd had a notion about fresh fish being difficult to find - that part of things had been obvious even to him - the rest of it was something he hadn't considered, and he let out a quiet "ah" of understanding.

"Well, with luck the Inquisition'll need to go there sooner rather than later. Or a place where there'll be fresh fish, at least."

That much might be easier than herbs and trying to teach someone to make pasta, he reckoned. In the meantime, though, he lifted his tankard back towards his lips.

"I'll admit, if the food's as good as you say, I'd not mind having a go at trying it myself. Or maybe even traveling there. There's a fair few places in this Thedas of yours that sound like they'd be places to see."

"I doubt that we'd have much cause to venture to Antiva. Even the Red Templars and Venatori know better than to tread where the Crows roost." But ah, to return home? "I would give anything to see my Antiva City again, traveling there has been dangerous for me as of late. But the other cities- Rivain, Even Nevarra has it's charms. The North is lush and lovely- I think you would enjoy seeing the cities and the people."

Not to mention trying the food.

"Especially Starkhaven. You'll sound right at home, there."

"Aye, so I've been told."

Truthfully, he wouldn't mind going to Starkhaven. He's been told just enough about it that he's curious to see what the place is like. Even the other places that only get a brief mention spark a little curiosity over what those charms might be. But it's the mention of crows roosting that puzzles him, and his brows knit together as he tries to figure out just what's so dangerous.

"Why would it be a problem going to a place where there's birds, though?"

Without thinking about it, he winds up rolling his 'r's' on 'birds', making the word sound considerably longer than it normally was - something he repeats a moment or so later, as he completely winds up misunderstanding what it is Zevran's talking about.

"They're just birds, after all."

Now there is a man with a linguistic style Zevran could get behind. What flare, what flash.

"Ah, how I forget so quickly you are not from here. The Antivan Crows are the most dangerous and infamous guild of assassins in all of Thedas. Ten years ago I was among their number until life took me in a decidedly different direction. But no one truly leaves the Crows or fails them, attempting to do so means your life is forfeit. They have tried to collect my head for the better part of a decade to no avail." Here he smirks, inordinately pleased with himself. "But many avoid trifling with them as they are well known and quite good at what they do- which is killing people."

Zevran isn't without his own particular sort of flare, as Jamie can't help but notice when his misunderstanding gets corrected. He's had his own run-ins with assassins...well, if one wants to count the times he's wound up getting tangled up in a situation where they've been involved. They may have never been sent after him directly, but he knows enough to know if these Crows are as dangerous as Zevran says, then managing to survive for as long as Zevran has is nothing short of a miracle - even if he does know their ways - and that is remarkable.

Very remarkable, as a matter of fact, and while Jamie may have a flashy brogue, he also has a face that quite often reflects what he's feeling, if he's not careful. Right now is one of those times, and a decidedly impressed look appears on his face.

"A decade? How- och, I probably shouldn't ask, should I. That's the sort of thing people aren't so willing to talk about."

"Mostly by staying Out of Antiva. They do not often leave their borders. Less support, fewer resources- it makes their work more difficult." He does not mind the asking- in fact he's thoroughly amused and terribly pleased that someone is impressed by him for this thing. It is something to be proud of! Being this Ombra Nera, frightening the most dangerous men in Antiva. It isn't something easily or lightly done and here he has done it. Easily and lightly. And impressed someone not even of his world with that fact!

"Most do not ask, to be honest. They hear my name and Crows and tend to put one and two together. My desertion is well known as it is tied to a larger story."

"Ohhhh, I see."

If most people don't actually ask, then Zevran's reputation must be even more formidable than he's thought - and for a few seconds his expression doesn't change one whit. Even if he was aware of how pleased Zevran is by the whole thing, that wouldn't change - because the whole thing really is impressive.

That look on his face does wind up shifting slightly after a few moments, however, simply because that mention of a larger story gives him the idea that...well, there's a larger story there. Which is fairly obvious, all things considered, but doesn't change his curiosity when it comes to wanting to know what happened.

"Ah...don't suppose you'd care to fill me in on what that story is? I'll admit I'm a wee bit curious to find out what that sort of thing might be."

"Now that is a tale that requires another round." Zevran waves down a passing serving girl to fetch himself a glass of wine, settling back comfortably as it will take a bit of time to go over the whole of it. "Ten or so years ago there was the Fifth Blight- horrible things, Darkspawn- terrible creatures that carry disease and only wish for death, ruin, and chaos- come up from the deep roads, underground tunnels that connect in a vast network under most of Thedas though they have long since been taken over by the aforementioned Darkspawn. Anyway, in a Blight? They come up in force guided by an Archdemon; which is a dragon that has been tainted by the same disease, the same blight, that makes the Darkspawn what they are and causes the death and ruin of all those that become infected. In a Blight they sweep over the country like locusts, killing and tainting everything in their path unless they are stopped by the Grey Wardens."

He pauses to sip his drink, drumming his hand on his leg for a moment. "They are warriors and mages without equal, they only take the very best of what they find. It is to be an honor to be a Warden. Their sacrifice is what ends blights. Now there were no many in Ferelden as before the fifth blight? They were not certain this Darkspawn activity actually was a blight as there had not been one in well over a century. Hard to keep such things in perspective when time rolls on, yes? So there is a battle. The army is split in two. Half with the Grey Wardens and the King of Ferelden, half with his lord councilor Tyern Loghain waiting to flank the oncoming army upon a signal. The signal was shot- the rest of the army? Did not come. They retreated, seeing no reason to lose the whole of heir army. As such all of the Ferelden Gray Wardens perished in the slaughter- save two. Jonas Cousland and Alistair. They were spared but sought aid in rallying against this blight and Tyern Loghain wished them dead. Or was convinced to wish them dead- it was a difficult time for all, back then."

Now he gestures to himself with a smile. "Enter the Antivan Crow. Contracts on the Grey Wardens are normally not taken, it is impolitic to kill them as they are vital to the larger scheme of things. But I was in the area and thought it would be good money. I take the contract, I am sent to kill them- I fail." Here Zevran crackles a low laugh. "I fail miserably. But they show me mercy as failure in the Crows? Means death. I could wait and die or I could join them on their quest to save Ferelden."

The mention of another round is something that sounds like a good idea to Jamie, too, as he's getting the impression that there might be a bit of a story to be heard here. When the serving girl comes around, Jamie takes a moment to add in another tankard of ale, and slips her enough coin to cover both drinks. If the story is as good as he thinks it is, it's more than worth it.

And it is. He listens with wide-eyed interest, occasionally bringing his tankard to his mouth to absently take a sip, the ale almost completely forgotten as the Zevran spins his tale. Only once it appears that there's going to be a pause long enough does he pipe up again, taking the chance to interject with a quick question.

"So you'd not succeeded in killing them, but they'd know you'd tried, surely. The Grey Wardens were still willing to let you join them, even after all that?"

"Well...there were only the two, they desperately needed every hand of help they could get to raise an army to save their country, and I am quite persuasive when given cause. I convinced them I would be of use in their quest and...well. I did so. Together we saved the country, they were named heroes, and we parted ways." He lifts his glass to Jamie, grinning.

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[ OPEN ] One time love, take care how you use it

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