((Late Justinian, 9:41 Dragon; Inside what will be the Herald’s Rest tavern; Cullen ))
Bernie stood in the open doorway, letting the light coming through behind her illuminate the interior of the building. Sunlight streamed through the dust that danced in the air like snow, falling onto tables, chairs, and benches laying in various stages of deterioration and shrouded with a thick coating of the same, illuminating the nearer shadows but leaving the furthest reaches untouched. The windows were coated with grime: decades, if not centuries worth that blocked light as effectively as brick walls. And yet, save for the occasional broken pane, they remained intact. She took a few steps inside, grasped the back of a chair that seemed more or less intact and gave it an experimental shake; it wobbled and creaked alarmingly, then disintegrated into pieces, sending billows of dust into the air. The furniture would have to be repaired or replaced; the stairs leading to the upper floor were broken; the roof was in disrepair; the chimney would likely need to be cleared of debris and a rat or three, and by the smell of it, some larger fauna would need to be evicted, as well, but the structure itself seemed sound. The builders of this place had wrought well.
Whoever they had been. She cocked her head thoughtfully, feeling the currents that eddied around her, the magic like nothing she had encountered before. The Veil was thin here, but she felt no demons lurking beyond, eager to find a way through. Leliana’s correspondence had been sketchy on the details of the mountain redoubt that a wounded and demoralized Inquisition had found, seemingly by a stroke of luck but it had been clear on one thing: the organization desperately needed a place where its members could set aside their worries and relax for a time, a place to encourage camaraderie and rebuild the morale that had been so thoroughly decimated.
That was something that she knew a bit about.
There had also been mention - in the most circumspect of terms - that an assassination or two might be requested, but that bridge could be crossed when it was reached. She had heard enough to know that the Inquisition and its Herald, Maker-sent or not, were trying to fix the mess that the Chantry had unleashed. To that end, she would at least listen to whatever Leliana wanted done.
“My lady?”
Bernie pivoted toward the door, mildly surprised that she had been recognized as female. She had as little love for being out in Fereldan winters as Sofia did, but while her cousin took pains to incorporate Antivan style to her cold-weather gear, blending in was a habit that Bernie was in no hurry to lose. In her heavy leggings and furs, with a wool-lined leather hat, she could have passed for an Avvar at no great distance. She had a couple of dresses in the pack that had been secured to her horse. Tomas would be bringing the rest of her luggage in his wagon in a few days; she’d tried to convince him to let a younger courier handle the task, but the old goat was positively giddy at the prospect of a part of Ferelden that he hadn’t yet discovered (and more than a little peeved that he hadn’t known about it).
The young man dipped a bow as soon as she faced him. “Eustace Morris, Quartermaster to the Inquisition, at your service, my lady!” he proclaimed grandly. Marcher, from the sound of him, and the look: pale blonde hair, fair skin with rosy cheeks and blue eyes. Had she said young? He looked barely out of adolescence, peach fuzz visible on his cheeks and chin. “You are the new tavern keep, yes?” he inquired eagerly. “Lady Nightingale told me to expect you and to give you whatever assistance you require,Lady -” He trailed off, one pale eyebrow arched in query.
“Bernadette Il Rossa,” she supplied. “Just ‘Bernie’ is fine, though. I’m certainly no lady.” He was polite; she’d give him that. “Quartermaster to the Inquisition,” she repeated, letting her eyes twinkle gently as she looked him over. “A formidable job for one so young.” Had the ranks of the Inquisition been decimated so thoroughly, or was he a prodigy?
His rosy cheeks flushed even further. “I - am untested, it is true,” he stammered, then drew himself up. “But I am determined, and sworn to the Inquisition. My family has trading ties across Thedas; I will use those as a foundation and build even further, until our web stretches to the northmost tip of Seheron to Gwaren and merchants of all stripe clamor to do business with us!”
They were that hard up, then. The defeat at Haven had no doubt taken a toll on their burgeoning reputation that would take time to recoup. “Very good,” she told him with a warm smile. “As for what I need -” she glanced around, letting her smile grow whimsical. “A tavern needs drink and food. Good drink and food.” Cheap ale and rotgut liquor might do for drowning sorrows, but they seldom lifted spirits. And a good meal could compensate for any number of hardships.
“Of course!” Eustace agreed. “Our scouts are salvaging food stores from Haven as we speak; the flocks and herds are being gathered and moved to this location, and our hunters are most skilled at bringing down game! I’ll ensure that plenty makes it to your kitchen! As for beverages -” He squirmed a bit, looking abashed. “The tavern in Haven was completely destroyed, and its stocks with it, I’m afraid. I have begun sending out inquiries, but with the current state of Thedas, many folk are taking solace in drink, and merchants are reluctant to ship so far when they can sell close to home and save on freight costs.”
“I see.” She reached into a pocket and withdrew the small roll of parchment and stick of charcoal that she carried. Brushing dust from a tabletop, she unfurled a length of parchment, wrote several lines, then tore it off and handed it to him. “Contact these traders and tell them what we need,” she said briskly. “Tell them it’s for Bernie and that she needs it last week.”
His eyes lit up as he scanned the list. “My messengers will leave within the hour, my - Bernie!” he vowed, turning to go with the demeanor of one charging into battle.
“Not just yet.” Her words brought him around mid-stride, and she gestured at the dusty and dilapidated chamber. “I’ve cleaning and repairs to see to in the meantime,” she told him. “Might you be able to round up some buckets of hot water and soap, scrub brushes, a broom and mop or two, and a few oil lamps, please?”
“At once, my lady!” She didn’t bother correcting him; it would either take or it wouldn’t. His departure was even more enthusiastic than before, heartened by the prospect of being able to immediately deliver on a request.
Once he was gone, she took a last look around and stepped out into the sunshine and began doffing her cold-weather wear, draping it over a low wall beside a staircase leading up to the battlements until she was down to a simple tunic and trews. With the towering walls to block the wind, the temperatures were quite tolerable. She garnered a few curious glances as she exchanged the hat for a green kerchief that covered her hair and pulled a pair of leather gloves from her pack, deciding to leave the heavy-soled boots on until all the debris had been cleared out.
Back inside, she cast her eyes upward, debating the wisdom of trying to clamber to the second floor to have a go at prying the windows open. Deciding it probably wasn’t a good idea and resolving to ask Eustace for a ladder when he returned, she summoned a wisp to provide light for the moment.
Cautiously. Blood magic had made her wary of any denizens beyond the Veil, and she had only even learned the spell a couple of years earlier, from Sofia, while her cousin was instructing her in Creation magic. Had there been any trace of malevolence in the energies that swirled so close to the surface here, she would not have chanced it, but there was no hint of danger, so she released the magic and smiled as a pale blue light with a vaguely humanoid shape at its center materialized in her palm, bobbling about in ecstatic curiosity.
“Stay close to me,” she instructed it, wondering if it was possible for this simplest of spirits to be twisted into a demon. It immediately zipped to a position just above her shoulder, and she began picking her way carefully through the debris deeper into the structure, curious as to what she might find here.
Bernie stood in the open doorway, letting the light coming through behind her illuminate the interior of the building. Sunlight streamed through the dust that danced in the air like snow, falling onto tables, chairs, and benches laying in various stages of deterioration and shrouded with a thick coating of the same, illuminating the nearer shadows but leaving the furthest reaches untouched. The windows were coated with grime: decades, if not centuries worth that blocked light as effectively as brick walls. And yet, save for the occasional broken pane, they remained intact. She took a few steps inside, grasped the back of a chair that seemed more or less intact and gave it an experimental shake; it wobbled and creaked alarmingly, then disintegrated into pieces, sending billows of dust into the air. The furniture would have to be repaired or replaced; the stairs leading to the upper floor were broken; the roof was in disrepair; the chimney would likely need to be cleared of debris and a rat or three, and by the smell of it, some larger fauna would need to be evicted, as well, but the structure itself seemed sound. The builders of this place had wrought well.
Whoever they had been. She cocked her head thoughtfully, feeling the currents that eddied around her, the magic like nothing she had encountered before. The Veil was thin here, but she felt no demons lurking beyond, eager to find a way through. Leliana’s correspondence had been sketchy on the details of the mountain redoubt that a wounded and demoralized Inquisition had found, seemingly by a stroke of luck but it had been clear on one thing: the organization desperately needed a place where its members could set aside their worries and relax for a time, a place to encourage camaraderie and rebuild the morale that had been so thoroughly decimated.
That was something that she knew a bit about.
There had also been mention - in the most circumspect of terms - that an assassination or two might be requested, but that bridge could be crossed when it was reached. She had heard enough to know that the Inquisition and its Herald, Maker-sent or not, were trying to fix the mess that the Chantry had unleashed. To that end, she would at least listen to whatever Leliana wanted done.
“My lady?”
Bernie pivoted toward the door, mildly surprised that she had been recognized as female. She had as little love for being out in Fereldan winters as Sofia did, but while her cousin took pains to incorporate Antivan style to her cold-weather gear, blending in was a habit that Bernie was in no hurry to lose. In her heavy leggings and furs, with a wool-lined leather hat, she could have passed for an Avvar at no great distance. She had a couple of dresses in the pack that had been secured to her horse. Tomas would be bringing the rest of her luggage in his wagon in a few days; she’d tried to convince him to let a younger courier handle the task, but the old goat was positively giddy at the prospect of a part of Ferelden that he hadn’t yet discovered (and more than a little peeved that he hadn’t known about it).
The young man dipped a bow as soon as she faced him. “Eustace Morris, Quartermaster to the Inquisition, at your service, my lady!” he proclaimed grandly. Marcher, from the sound of him, and the look: pale blonde hair, fair skin with rosy cheeks and blue eyes. Had she said young? He looked barely out of adolescence, peach fuzz visible on his cheeks and chin. “You are the new tavern keep, yes?” he inquired eagerly. “Lady Nightingale told me to expect you and to give you whatever assistance you require,Lady -” He trailed off, one pale eyebrow arched in query.
“Bernadette Il Rossa,” she supplied. “Just ‘Bernie’ is fine, though. I’m certainly no lady.” He was polite; she’d give him that. “Quartermaster to the Inquisition,” she repeated, letting her eyes twinkle gently as she looked him over. “A formidable job for one so young.” Had the ranks of the Inquisition been decimated so thoroughly, or was he a prodigy?
His rosy cheeks flushed even further. “I - am untested, it is true,” he stammered, then drew himself up. “But I am determined, and sworn to the Inquisition. My family has trading ties across Thedas; I will use those as a foundation and build even further, until our web stretches to the northmost tip of Seheron to Gwaren and merchants of all stripe clamor to do business with us!”
They were that hard up, then. The defeat at Haven had no doubt taken a toll on their burgeoning reputation that would take time to recoup. “Very good,” she told him with a warm smile. “As for what I need -” she glanced around, letting her smile grow whimsical. “A tavern needs drink and food. Good drink and food.” Cheap ale and rotgut liquor might do for drowning sorrows, but they seldom lifted spirits. And a good meal could compensate for any number of hardships.
“Of course!” Eustace agreed. “Our scouts are salvaging food stores from Haven as we speak; the flocks and herds are being gathered and moved to this location, and our hunters are most skilled at bringing down game! I’ll ensure that plenty makes it to your kitchen! As for beverages -” He squirmed a bit, looking abashed. “The tavern in Haven was completely destroyed, and its stocks with it, I’m afraid. I have begun sending out inquiries, but with the current state of Thedas, many folk are taking solace in drink, and merchants are reluctant to ship so far when they can sell close to home and save on freight costs.”
“I see.” She reached into a pocket and withdrew the small roll of parchment and stick of charcoal that she carried. Brushing dust from a tabletop, she unfurled a length of parchment, wrote several lines, then tore it off and handed it to him. “Contact these traders and tell them what we need,” she said briskly. “Tell them it’s for Bernie and that she needs it last week.”
His eyes lit up as he scanned the list. “My messengers will leave within the hour, my - Bernie!” he vowed, turning to go with the demeanor of one charging into battle.
“Not just yet.” Her words brought him around mid-stride, and she gestured at the dusty and dilapidated chamber. “I’ve cleaning and repairs to see to in the meantime,” she told him. “Might you be able to round up some buckets of hot water and soap, scrub brushes, a broom and mop or two, and a few oil lamps, please?”
“At once, my lady!” She didn’t bother correcting him; it would either take or it wouldn’t. His departure was even more enthusiastic than before, heartened by the prospect of being able to immediately deliver on a request.
Once he was gone, she took a last look around and stepped out into the sunshine and began doffing her cold-weather wear, draping it over a low wall beside a staircase leading up to the battlements until she was down to a simple tunic and trews. With the towering walls to block the wind, the temperatures were quite tolerable. She garnered a few curious glances as she exchanged the hat for a green kerchief that covered her hair and pulled a pair of leather gloves from her pack, deciding to leave the heavy-soled boots on until all the debris had been cleared out.
Back inside, she cast her eyes upward, debating the wisdom of trying to clamber to the second floor to have a go at prying the windows open. Deciding it probably wasn’t a good idea and resolving to ask Eustace for a ladder when he returned, she summoned a wisp to provide light for the moment.
Cautiously. Blood magic had made her wary of any denizens beyond the Veil, and she had only even learned the spell a couple of years earlier, from Sofia, while her cousin was instructing her in Creation magic. Had there been any trace of malevolence in the energies that swirled so close to the surface here, she would not have chanced it, but there was no hint of danger, so she released the magic and smiled as a pale blue light with a vaguely humanoid shape at its center materialized in her palm, bobbling about in ecstatic curiosity.
“Stay close to me,” she instructed it, wondering if it was possible for this simplest of spirits to be twisted into a demon. It immediately zipped to a position just above her shoulder, and she began picking her way carefully through the debris deeper into the structure, curious as to what she might find here.