The Orlesian occupation of Ferelden lasted almost a century, marking a dark period in Thedas.
Vigil's Keep was the first fortress to fall. Twenty years after the invasion began there, Orlais finally sacked the city of Denerim, claiming victory and drove the king into hiding. Though routed, the king now known as "Brandel the Defeated" continued to rebel against the Orlesians... but his efforts have proven inefficient, as most nobles believe that Ferelden is truly lost.
August has just ended and the cold and rain are starting to show, on-and-off, in the southern parts of the continent. The northern half is experiencing only minor changes.
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In his time travelling, Cyrel had made it to Denerim but once before. The large city was distracting; it was hard to examine everything, and his attempts at observing people were minimal at best. When he was unable to identify the emotion that the rushing people were feeling, it made noting their physical reactions difficult - how could he remember their reactions for his own use later, when he did not know with which emotion to match them up with? It was not effective at all.
As a result, this city was not where he went to observe. The Tranquil was here to work - it was good to shore up money for his travels, as it gave him time to focus on other aspects of his life, the ones that did not earn money. Observing people was effective, efficient for moving him through life, but did not earn him money. Thus, he could not do it all the time.
Contrasting the hurrying people around him, Cyrel moved slowly, peacefully; there was no intended location to be at (as the Chanter's Board had proven to not have a task he could accomplish successfully), so it was best to simply observe. If there was someone looking for work, it was more likely he would spot them - furthermore, if there was no certain destination, where would he even hurry to? The young elf stayed on the outskirts of the crowd, unaware of how odd he appeared, in contrast to everyone else. He wore a small smile, seemingly at peace and content with the world and walked slow - a marked contrast to the people that rushed about, buying or trying to get elsewhere.
On the other hand, though, the fact there was so much going on met that the Tranquil was very preoccupied trying to note and understand all of it, so he was not paying much attention to where, precisely, he was going, nor the whereabouts of his coin purse...
Last Edit: Dec 14, 2014 19:02:39 GMT -5 by Deleted
Though it was no longer the capitol of the nation, Denerim was by far and away the most heavily populated settlement in Ferelden. The old buildings and simple, almost rustic architecture gave it a sort of... savage charm. As did all of the hyper-intelligent dogs roaming the street and giving off such pungent odors. Imagining this to be the birth place of Andraste left decidedly mixed feelings in Sly. On the one hand, the people here seemed less caring of an elf than they did in Orlais, Tevinter and the Marches. And there was a real sense of community. But on the other, the food was awful, the climate was cold and damp, and it lacked even the most basic amenities of a proper civilization.
Still, his sense of adventure was real. The troupe had only ever been this far to the South and East once before. And even then, it had only been for a week. The pavilion was supposed to stay an entire month this time, and only two weeks in Amaranthine. Which would give him plenty of time to explore the native culture rather than the Orlesian one he was so thoroughly acquainted with.
Sly moved through the market place quick and quiet as a shadow. His short and lean frame and natural agility made it easy for him to duck, swivel and swerve to avoid any that would impede his forward momentum. As the ring leader often said: you could know a culture best by the shit they peddled. Orlesians had a million and one trinkets, all fancy, all expensive, and all useless. Antivans carted out leather, wines, olives and massage oils. And now he would see whether Ferelden was as passionate as Antiva, as pampered and materialistic as Orlais, as macabre as Nevarra, or as cosmopolitan as Rivain.
A quick perusal of the market proved the Fereldens were an unfashionable, simple and pragmatic people that valued sturdiness and function over style. On the one hand, it was admirable, and on the other it was quite... quaint. The prices were also more fair than in other more "civilized" arts of the world, so he was certain to load up his knapsack with anything he could get his hands on. The merchants' eyes bulged when an elf flashed them that much silver, but unlike Orlais, he didn't get dirty looks and wasn't asked to explain where he got his coin from.
Heading back out to the edge of the bazaar, Sly wasn't overly surprised to see an open, albeit clumsy pickpocketing take place. It was so clumsy that it was almost a slight against him. No, he wasn't a pickpocket, but he was in the escape artist industry, and sleight of hand was involved in both. Sighing, Sly was quick to dodge those around him and neatly bring a blade to the throat of the pickpocket.
"Might I suggest you give that kind elf sap his purse back? I wouldn't want to spill any of your blood on the cobblestone--it'd take forever to wash out." He wasn't the best with a knife, but he was quick, and most people didn't doubt steel pressed tight against their neck. Fortunately this one was no exception.
Cyrel could state that he was surprised - it wouldn't be true, of course, but that was one of the better ways to put it in a "normal" fashion, in a manner that the average citizen of Ferelden would understand. Instead, if Cyrel were being truthful, he would state that the events that just occurred were not anticipated, and there was no clarity as to why they had resolved how they did. His coin purse had been snatched, an event he was not uncertain about; it was not the first time this had happened, yet Cyrel found it difficult to keep watch for it being taken at all times, so he simply made sure that his money was spread out in several bags. True, it did not prevent him from a loss of money, which was an inefficiency that he could not afford and would have to learn how to deal with, but the loss was not so great.
A "not so great" loss was much better than a "great" loss, as rational thought dictated.
No, it was the precise actions and words following the theft of one of his purses that left Cyrel unaware of the true cause. Another person stepping in to threaten the thief was not something to contemplate, if it fit one of two categories. One, the person stepping in was a member of law enforcement. While many did not - there were tasks that had a greater effect that they needed to engage, and Cyrel believed it was only logical - a few did when they could or noticed, so the elf would not consider such an action to be odd. The second option would prove to be in accordance with the normal actions perpetrated if the person stepping in had simply taken the money for themselves - it was likely as common as the action of taking another's purse, if slightly less so, though Cyrel did not have statistics to reinforce his opinion on the matter.
Dismissing thoughts on the exact statistics so that he could focus on the anomaly that had just occurred, Cyrel offered up a smile to the vigilante, figuring that was acceptable behavior. "I appreciate the assistance," he stated, attempting to keep his words "normal" and within the typical conversational framework. "I was focusing on my attention on Denerim, not my purse; I will try to rec- fix that." With that, he reached out to take his purse. Before he had become Tranquil, Cyrel enjoyed peppering his speech with the new words that he had picked up while reading, even if far simpler and better known ones would work just as well. In the present day, Cyrel was still accustomed to such an action - it was not a matter that was taken as easily when he was a Tranquil. He was never able to get the tone "just right", after all; it was still a little flat, still a little lacking in inflection, but it was exceedingly difficult to get to the point where he was, in the first place, and Cyrel did not imagine that he would be able to progress further beyond his plateau without a good deal of effort.
Effort that he simply could not exert at this point in time - he was in Denerim to work. Not to attempt to imitate "normal" beings, but work.
HA! Sly thought triumphantly as the naughty-little thief passed his handful of ill-gained coin over to the wronged party. "It's nice seeing that some people are still capable of reason." The fiery-haired elf gave a roguish little smile. Poor bastard didn't know that if worse came to worse, Sly wasn't much of one for knife fighting. And in general, the mere thought of poking the man so hard that blood started leaking out was a far from pleasant one. It practically made him cringe just thinking about it. So he was all too happy that his bluff wasn't called and it didn't come to violence.
Sly so abhorred nicking people.
"Be on your way. Repent and the like, else the next man to step in might not be so forgiving." The thief seemed reluctant in the grudging sense. He didn't want to let go of a score that easy, but seemed to value his life enough to go as soon as Sly released him.
Turning back about to his fellow elf, Sly dropped down in a flourishing bow, bending one leg at the knee while the other was extended out. "You're very welcome." He grinned. He might have said that "we elves must stick together", but given that he was raised in a circus, he felt no extra sense of community with his "people". Not any more so than he did with humans and dwarves. "No point. Truth be told, he was an atrocious pick pocket. If I had a hankering for your valuables I could ghost them off you far better than that poor sod did. But fortunately the criminal life doesn't agree with me." He got his fill on danger and thrills at the circus. "And there's a lot more like me that could do it without you ever being the wiser. And some that will string you up if you catch on to what they've done. Better to just hide it somewhere they can't get to."
Come to think of it, the other man had taken the mugging quite well. Most people were a lot more incensed--it came with the territory of being robbed blind, after all. Was he used to getting his coin lifted? Or maybe this was some sort of very delayed response? Whatever the reason, Sly did not dwell on it overlong. He didn't know the man well enough to say just yet, and being an odd duck himself, he understood being a hard read.
"Judging by what you said earlier, it doesn't sound like you're a native. Where are you from?"
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