((Closed RP, but OOC welcome.))
Rough hands tossed the old Miqo'te storyteller into a chair, hard enough that his body weight rocked the chair back onto its hind legs, and someone snatched the hood that had kept him in artificial darkness away. Being able to see didn't help Chuta much; there was only one point of light in the room he found himself in, a single candle burning on a rough-hewn wooden table in front of him. Another chair stood opposite his at the table; he could see he was in a stone room, small and cramped, with brackets for torches lining the walls. It felt cold and damp, and smelled of old sweat, and possibly blood.
He only had a moment's notice to catch the retreating backs of the men who'd brought him here, mostly unharmed save for the rough treatment and the bonds on his wrists and ankles - an impression of candlelight on a helmet slung back between shoulderblades, curved scimitars at the hip. Then it was time to wait.
Time is tricky when you're isolated and alone, but Chuta guessed it had to have been several bells at least before the door swung open again. The light outside seemed almost blinding, if only momentary, before the door swung heavily shut behind the man who entered; his white tabard shone from across the room, but he wasted no time in coming over and plopping himself in the other chair. "Heavens, you tied up, Master Allfriend?" the man exclaimed. "That won't do - you're a guest, after all. Hey! Someone come in here and untie Master Allfriend!" He shouted that back at the door, and a large Roegadyn came in and knelt behind Chuta's chair, working at the bonds.
The man in the chair leaned back, propping his legs up on the table with the candle, causing it to wobble alarmingly, almost knocking over. He was Hyur, Midlander, young - too young maybe for the Sultansworn tabard, which was flecked with food stains and crumbs. He balanced a half-eaten blood currant tart in his gauntleted palm, eating at it messily, spittle and bits of chewed tart flying out of his mouth as he talked around his latest bite. "Call me Rosewater. You've got some exotic friends, Master Allfriend - oh, but you're 'friend to all,' after all, so I'm sure you're aware of that. Ha! Pretty fitting name! Can't say I didn't notice the irony! I love irony. Underappreciated. You hungry? I've got a taste for sweets myself, but can't say as most do."
He dumped the second half of the tart on the table in front of Chuta just as the Miqo'te's hands came free. The sensation of blood returning full-force to his hands after bells of restraint was almost more painful than the ropes had been. Rosewater grinned easily at Chuta; he had a boyish charm about him, a mischief-maker's face, and silver eyes that seemed to glint through the darkened room.
"So, Chuta - I can call you Chuta, right? Great! - turns out that we've invited you here to be our guest for a little bit to ask you a couple questions about some murders. Oh - silly me, I haven't mentioned - I'm involved with Her Resplendence's internal security unit." He grinned, dimples popping out on his cheeks, and casually brushed crumbs off his tabard with his shining, scoured-clean gauntlets, dropping his legs off the table. "We've noticed a few weird things."
He took out a sheaf of loosely-tied parchment, undoing the string with a casual jerk of his hand, rifling through the pages with careless disregard for their content. Chuta could see a page that looked like a bio of his, complete with an artist's depiction of him - a map of Thanalan with his frequent performance sites marked - and a fair landscape of a certain lonely cliff above the Golden Bazaar, with a single cherry tree in bloom. "Ah, here we are. So, it starts, oh, about nineteen, eighteen summers ago. People started turning up dead right before you'd turn up in a town, or just after. See? Good men, usually. Brass Blades. A Sultansworn or two. Y'know how it is." Rosewater quirked a brow at him. "Pretty sophisticated measures too. Pretty good at making it look like an accident, whomever was doing it. Not an amateur, that's for damned sure. You know anything about this?"
He set down the sheaf, patiently listening, his head tilted to the side. "'Cause I'm pretty sure it's got a connection with you - oh, here I go rambling on again. Well, you know how you vagabond types are. It's a romantic image, I gotta admit - floating from town to town, making money on the side, never getting involved with anything or anyone. Yeah? But I hear you're involved with someone now." Rosewater rubbed his jaw for a moment, looking off thoughtfully to the side. "I hear you've started to put down roots. Funny thing about roots, attachments, things like that - sometimes they turn into gaol chains." He laughed at that, shaking his head, gathering up the parchment again.
"Guess I'll just have to be keeping you here a bit longer as our guest, Chuta. Feel free to put down some roots. It's kind of a shame actually - you spent so long going wherever the cherry blossoms bloomed." He waved cheerily as he headed back out, the Roegadyn following him, an iron click in the heavy door indicating it locked behind them.
The half-eaten tart that Rosewater left behind was the only food Chuta would get.
Rough hands tossed the old Miqo'te storyteller into a chair, hard enough that his body weight rocked the chair back onto its hind legs, and someone snatched the hood that had kept him in artificial darkness away. Being able to see didn't help Chuta much; there was only one point of light in the room he found himself in, a single candle burning on a rough-hewn wooden table in front of him. Another chair stood opposite his at the table; he could see he was in a stone room, small and cramped, with brackets for torches lining the walls. It felt cold and damp, and smelled of old sweat, and possibly blood.
He only had a moment's notice to catch the retreating backs of the men who'd brought him here, mostly unharmed save for the rough treatment and the bonds on his wrists and ankles - an impression of candlelight on a helmet slung back between shoulderblades, curved scimitars at the hip. Then it was time to wait.
Time is tricky when you're isolated and alone, but Chuta guessed it had to have been several bells at least before the door swung open again. The light outside seemed almost blinding, if only momentary, before the door swung heavily shut behind the man who entered; his white tabard shone from across the room, but he wasted no time in coming over and plopping himself in the other chair. "Heavens, you tied up, Master Allfriend?" the man exclaimed. "That won't do - you're a guest, after all. Hey! Someone come in here and untie Master Allfriend!" He shouted that back at the door, and a large Roegadyn came in and knelt behind Chuta's chair, working at the bonds.
The man in the chair leaned back, propping his legs up on the table with the candle, causing it to wobble alarmingly, almost knocking over. He was Hyur, Midlander, young - too young maybe for the Sultansworn tabard, which was flecked with food stains and crumbs. He balanced a half-eaten blood currant tart in his gauntleted palm, eating at it messily, spittle and bits of chewed tart flying out of his mouth as he talked around his latest bite. "Call me Rosewater. You've got some exotic friends, Master Allfriend - oh, but you're 'friend to all,' after all, so I'm sure you're aware of that. Ha! Pretty fitting name! Can't say I didn't notice the irony! I love irony. Underappreciated. You hungry? I've got a taste for sweets myself, but can't say as most do."
He dumped the second half of the tart on the table in front of Chuta just as the Miqo'te's hands came free. The sensation of blood returning full-force to his hands after bells of restraint was almost more painful than the ropes had been. Rosewater grinned easily at Chuta; he had a boyish charm about him, a mischief-maker's face, and silver eyes that seemed to glint through the darkened room.
"So, Chuta - I can call you Chuta, right? Great! - turns out that we've invited you here to be our guest for a little bit to ask you a couple questions about some murders. Oh - silly me, I haven't mentioned - I'm involved with Her Resplendence's internal security unit." He grinned, dimples popping out on his cheeks, and casually brushed crumbs off his tabard with his shining, scoured-clean gauntlets, dropping his legs off the table. "We've noticed a few weird things."
He took out a sheaf of loosely-tied parchment, undoing the string with a casual jerk of his hand, rifling through the pages with careless disregard for their content. Chuta could see a page that looked like a bio of his, complete with an artist's depiction of him - a map of Thanalan with his frequent performance sites marked - and a fair landscape of a certain lonely cliff above the Golden Bazaar, with a single cherry tree in bloom. "Ah, here we are. So, it starts, oh, about nineteen, eighteen summers ago. People started turning up dead right before you'd turn up in a town, or just after. See? Good men, usually. Brass Blades. A Sultansworn or two. Y'know how it is." Rosewater quirked a brow at him. "Pretty sophisticated measures too. Pretty good at making it look like an accident, whomever was doing it. Not an amateur, that's for damned sure. You know anything about this?"
He set down the sheaf, patiently listening, his head tilted to the side. "'Cause I'm pretty sure it's got a connection with you - oh, here I go rambling on again. Well, you know how you vagabond types are. It's a romantic image, I gotta admit - floating from town to town, making money on the side, never getting involved with anything or anyone. Yeah? But I hear you're involved with someone now." Rosewater rubbed his jaw for a moment, looking off thoughtfully to the side. "I hear you've started to put down roots. Funny thing about roots, attachments, things like that - sometimes they turn into gaol chains." He laughed at that, shaking his head, gathering up the parchment again.
"Guess I'll just have to be keeping you here a bit longer as our guest, Chuta. Feel free to put down some roots. It's kind of a shame actually - you spent so long going wherever the cherry blossoms bloomed." He waved cheerily as he headed back out, the Roegadyn following him, an iron click in the heavy door indicating it locked behind them.
The half-eaten tart that Rosewater left behind was the only food Chuta would get.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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