The dark world that surrounded Theolain Nor’danel and his trusted staff was still unknown to Vaelyrin but her journey with them all had seen her changing. The thoughts had never occurred to her, but would she mind if she found out who and what the Oath of Silver were? First and foremost they were her friends. Her patients. They were people, from all walks of life. They were, in her eyes, good and kind. A bit rough around the edges, sure, but she was never one to judge a book by its cover. Rin was the happiest she had been for a long while and as she sipped her drink in the Merchant’s Last Coin after a long day at The A’lorai Clinic, she smiled to herself. Ignorance really was bliss.
It must be coming up to a year now that I’ve been in Oath. I’ve known about them for much longer and have always sort of admired from afar.
Oath is a place that encourages IC development, discussions about plots and initiative. The creative freedom you’re encouraged to share has paved the way for some amazing plots for my characters.
More than the IC aspects, the members are amazing. I’ve never known a more welcoming, accepting and kind community of people.
Like their characters, members come from all walks of life but you’ll never find anybody who won’t lift you up when you’re down.
I know I’m biased but honestly. I love you guys so much and I love being part of Oath, IC and OOC <3
“Idle hands find trouble, Yenaria. Never forget that.”
The words echoed across the years from what seemed two lifetimes ago, bringing the quill to a halt as it scratched its columns of numbers down the neat rows of the ledger.
For a moment - and it was no more than just the slightest of moments - Ria felt chastised. How many days had she sat, fingers itching? But those days were over, and she was back in control. Her beloved stables were flourishing, despite the accident. And now, fingertips stained with ink, her hands could hardly be called idle any more.
Which made them the perfect place to hide a tiny bit of trouble.
The ledger was set aside, numbers left to dry, and Ria pulled a slim notebook from her pocket, flicking it open to a sketch. Getting the floorplans of homes in the noble district was amazingly simple. Finding out who was hosting the big Fire Festival party of the year was even easier.
No one would notice an extra mask in the crowd, dancing.
And with any luck, it would take a few weeks for them to notice the things that went missing afterward.
The shadows cast from the pale, flickering candle flame caused the knights face to appear haggard and ghastly. His quill continued to scratch quietly away, even as the last of the wax began to dribble over the candlestick. The tome he was writing within was approaching voluminous; stuffed here and there with loose sheaf’s of parchment or small coloured strips of fabric, to help mark certain sections.
The aging elf paused, rubbing at his his eyes with ink-stained fingers. Not for the first time - and certainly not for the last, he wagered - he found himself musing on whether he had made an egregious error. De’loren’s request had seemed innocent enough, indeed, he had been rather amicable if a bit rough around the edges. At the time, he hadn’t seen any flaw with bringing the youth to visit the Spires records; especially when he was there to keep an eye on him.
But even so… Time had taught Sunwind that even the most innocuous of events could come back to bite you. One moment the future rolled out before you, pleasant green pasture promising peace and plenty. The next moment the past would strike from the undergrowth, a coiled like serpent eager to reprimand the unwary.
He sighs, slumping back into his chair. He moves as if to cast the quill down, but thinks better of it, instead placing it carefully to one side. He looks over what he has written, a precursory gesture, for in truth his eyes fail to take it in. The candle flickers towards its last, the flame sputtering and dying upon the wick - and still the knight does not move.
He sits in darkness, brooding, his thoughts as smothering as smoke.
That woman’s getting in your head, Fer. Don’t let her in - no matter what the cost.
Ferenis awoke with a soft start, every inch of his body bruised and aching. He’d taken nothing but beatings at the last three meets down at the Pit, and although his priestess had healed him up as best she could he still felt like a punching bag that had taken one too many hits. Just turning his head made him nauseous, yet with gritted teeth he pulled himself up into a seated position, reaching over for the bag sat on the small table between himself and the armchair where the sleeping figure of his brother lay.
Quietly, he removes a small vial of powder from one of the bag’s pockets, shaking the contents of the tiny container and popping the cork stopper out with a flick of his thumbnail. He empties the contents onto the side of his wrist and takes a sharp sniff, drawing an arm across his face afterwards. Instantly, he feels more alert, and the screaming of his muscles quietens to a soft aching. Ferenis casts his brother a quick look, making sure he’s still sound asleep. The last thing he needed right now was Eiondel pecking his head about the powder; they’d never dabbled before - but then, he’d never been in so much pain before now, and it took enough of the pain away that he could concentrate and get his work done.
He’d nicked the supply from an open locker in the backroom, the name ‘Ren’ crudely carved into the wood with a knife. There was a part of him that thought maybe just taking it had been a bad idea, but he’d been in too much pain to care overmuch for the consequences at the time. Hopefully he’d get better soon then leave some money in the locker for the goods. Maybe. Or maybe he’d just keep his head down and not say a word, just wait for things to blow over and carry on like nothing happened. No worries, no fuss. Lots of people came through the backroom after all, especially thieving types. The owner of the locker was to blame, leaving it open like that in the first place. Asking to have it nicked, almost.
Ferenis lets out a hacking cough as he breathes, massaging his side. Cracked ribs were a nuisance until they healed, and he had five of ‘em. Still, there was work to be done and no time to spare. He stands and grabs his things, slapping Eiondel’s knee sharply as he passes.