Chapter One: Cirié

A gentle breeze graced the waters, and the docks had been bustling with both workers and fishermen. Some of these people had been getting ready for the rest of the day, and others had been switching shifts between their fellow sailor or worker. However, it could not have been denied that there was a larger commotion that happened among the other common folk that had been gathered around the docks for reasons different.

The sighting of one of the familiar ships had been announced, and the wait had been over for many. As the ship had pulled in, excited chatter rose from the people that had come to see who was back, and who had fallen. Despite all the happy faces, there were those that were uncertain and some that were even worried for the news to come.

"Clear the docks!" a raspy voice had shouted, and more of the ship hands and dock hands had been ready for work. Overall, common folk had moved back, and there had been way made for the gangway that was to be settled from the ship to the docking point.

CRRRK—THUD!

Once the gangway had been lowered, a decorated official had rose, looking upon those that gathered and then momentarily looking back to the knights, battle mages, clerics, and other individuals that he had at his command. Pursing his lips for a mere moment, he composed himself and then gone to address those that had gathered now that they had started to silence themselves.

"Hear me, people of Neverwinter! We return victorious over those within Athkatla territories, and have come to the agreement of our two nations becoming more of a community rather than two sides fighting a never ending battle. We return to you today so that we may celebrate those that come back, and to mourn those that we have lost. Though, mark my words that this is the start of a new era in which Neverwinter and Athkatla must no longer be enemies, but come to a mutual understanding of one another so that blood no longer has to be shed between nations!"

A murmur had swept across those that were within the crowd, and there were even some outcries from those that felt indignant toward this announcement. This only resulted in the Knight Captain to close his eyes in thought and frown. As soon as he had collected his thoughts, he had spoken once more.

"I know that this is not something that those of Neverwinter and those allied with us wish to hear… I know that Neverwinter and Athkatla have their differences and I know that many of you have the absolute right to be angry. From Lord Nasher himself, we cannot allow our anger and the events of the past to cloud our judgements. We should only find the good in our hearts to carry on and build a better future for all of us. We should be thankful for those of us that return, and hope that our future requires no more sacrifice. Now please, allow for your sons and daughters, your wives and husbands to return to you… to celebrate with you, and to be happy with you in this time."

"Tch…" a woman of Elven stature and appearance had shaken her head before she had gathered up her supplies and slung her bag over her shoulder. It was obvious enough that she wanted little to do with the others that were upon the ship – even her armour and clothing had hinted that she was of… different abilities than those that she travelled with. However, it seemed that there was little in the way of hostilities toward this particular woman that donned the dark leathers of a conniving little rogue.

Lining up with the others, she had removed stray locks of ash brown hair from her face, and had done well to biting her tongue for now. At this time, she only had but one thing on her mind… and that was to get back to the Sunken Flagon, the inn that was not even a few moments travel from the docks.

Once this woman had been able to enter into the Flagon, she was greeted by warm air and the sight of a rather empty looking building. There was only the bald man in the back at the bar, cleaning mugs and getting some things set up. Upon further inspection, there were only one or two patrons that looked as if they cared not for whatever excitement that had been going on at the docks.

Removing the hood from her person, the Elven woman had disrobed the cloak from her shoulders before carelessly tossing it upon the back of a chair and then plopping down into the next one with an exasperated sigh to the events. Rubbing at her forehead to quell her thoughts, it was then that she seemed to have caught the attention of the barkeeper of the building.

"Well then, if it isn't our little Cici. Finally back from the war with Athkatla, are you?" the bartender had asked, quickly taking up one of the clean flagons and filling it up with ale.

"I thought I asked of you to not call me that, Sal. It's not like I'm a child anymore; I really would just prefer it if you called me Cirié – like my mother had named me," the Elven woman, now revealed as Cirié, had said to the man. The response, however, had elicited a chuckle from the man named Sal, and he made his way over to the table, soon setting the flagon down upon the surface.

"Some habits are just hard to get rid of, lass. Have one on the house – and I'm sure that your uncle will be pleased to see that you're back from Athkatla – and from the looks of it, without a scratch. You certainly carry yourself like your father before you, I'll give you that," Sal had gone on to say, a slight smile upon his lips as he seemed to look around.

"Speaking of my uncle… where is he exactly?" Cirié had asked, sitting up straight in the chair and looking to the taller Human.

"Mm… I believe that he actually is taking care of some of the ledgers and also a new guest that he had carried here. The man looked like a mess; that's all I really know," Sal responded, looking pensive whilst rubbing at his chin in thought. "I would do my best not to disturb your uncle if he's with that injured patron. The man seems to have a mouth on him that a sailor would envy. Though, he might just be able to match sarcasm and sharp words with you. Just be careful should you decide you want to provoke our injured guest."

"Tch… people that have to remain under care happen to bore me, thankfully enough. I'll just wait for my uncle to get done with whatever it is and greet him then—"

As if on cue, the door that led to the building's rooms had swung open. Another Elven man had made his appearance, and he seemed to have been wiping away at some blood that was smeared upon his hands and clothing. The sight was a little shocking, though Cirié furrowed her brow and had attempted to steel herself. However, the first words to come from her mouth were, "Hells, I come back from a battlefield, and you look worse than I ever did. What exactly happened, Uncle Duncan?"

As if frozen for just a moment, the Elven man had raised his brow as his eyes fell upon the Elven woman that stood there within the dining area. A smile quickly formed upon his lips as he strode forward and offered a familial hug to Cirié. Even despite all the blood and whatnot, Cirié had hesitantly returned the gesture before offering a faint smile of her own.

"Though… I have to admit; even with months behind me and the time going by, I did miss you, mother and father," Cirié said, attempting to disregard her uncle's appearance if only for a moment. "However, you never did answer my question, Uncle. I mean, Sal did brief me on the fact that there was an injured individual here, though there was not more than that."

"I'll have to get a courier to deliver a message to your parents and sibling in Waterdeep. They will be overjoyed to hear of your arrival," Duncan had said, wiping his hands upon the apron he donned. This only caused Cirié to look a little disappointed, though the woman quickly blew a few stray locks from her face once more before attempting to disregard it.

Noting the look upon Cirié's face, it seemed that Duncan only really looked to Sal for a moment before nodding him off back toward the bar to resume his work. Motioning for his niece, Duncan had lead her back toward the lodging of the Sunken Flagon and then had promptly closed the door behind him to deter any listening ears.

"The reason I must keep this quiet is because of the events surrounding our… guest, as it were," Duncan started to say, lowering his voice to a whisper as his expression turned stern when looking into Cirié's eyes. "And you must promise me not to overreact to what you're about to hear, because after coming back from the Athkatla territories, I'm sure what I am about to utter is the last thing you need to hear – especially from kin. However, no matter what the circustances are now, you are to remain level-headed and calm – if you feel that you cannot handle the news, you are free to make your trip promptly to Waterdeep on your own."

"Must you sound so severe so soon, Uncle? I'm sure that what you have to say isn't that bad… not unless you were harbouring some fugitive that just committed homicide over the town – in which case, I would only ask if it were justified. Though in most cases, it generally isn't, so please end the dramatics and allow me some insight to this… visitor, I suppose," Cirié replied, her voice sounding bored – though this was likely a reflection as to how she felt with all the beating around the bush.

"Very well, Cirié, but do not say I did not warn you," Duncan replied, standing up straight and regaining a certain composure. "While you are here, you have the full right to know that I am taking care of who seems to be a ranger from the Luskan border. However, that is all I am obligated to tell you at this time, Cirié. Just as long as we're clear on this, I wish of you to not react violently toward the man – even despite him donning some of the armours you would rather see broken and bloodied."

"…" Cirié seemed to have furrowed her brow at the news, though quickly turned away from Duncan as she had started for the end of the hall where one of the textured windows allowed for light to illuminate the narrow passageway. Before long, she had simply crossed her arms before leaning against the wall. There was a scoff that escaped the Elven woman's lips, and she had shaken her head in what appeared to have been disbelief.

"A man from the Luskan border, huh? After all the strife and dealings with them, you find it in your heart to actually help this… good for nothing just because he was a hair's breadth from death?" Cirié asked, her voice dripping with a certain kind of venom to her words. It was clear enough that she was not impressed by her Uncle's decisions, and had been able to vocalise it without shouting as she so wished to have done.

"Just because we have differences with those that reside in Luskan does not mean that we should turn our backs on those that are defenceless, Cirié," Duncan had quickly retorted. It seemed that he had more to say on the issue, though he had quickly bit back his words before giving a sigh to calm himself. "You need not interact with him if you do not wish, though I felt it necessary to tell you of the events transpiring here should you wish to stay now that you are back from your duties within the Neverwinter army. I'd rather not have needless violence springing out within my lodge."

"It wasn't a duty; I was coerced into helping those near worthless men and women thanks to Axle's half-assed way of dealing with certain things. Now that it's over, I leave the Neverwinter service as a free woman with no shackles.

"In any case, there is still that truce between Neverwinter and Luskan, so you'll be at least pleased to know that even if I did lash out against someone from Luskan territory, I could be tried for murder – since the man happens to be on his deathbed anyways," Cirié said with a slight growl to her tone.

"Well, whatever the case, I will not have you springing needless violence… much like I will not tolerate him springing needless violence. While I am happy you have returned home—" Duncan had started to say, looking upon Cirié and then pausing as he inspected her a little more closely and scrutinised her. "Ahem, while I am happy you have returned home, I am a very busy man with the Sunken Flagon, and if you intend to stay, then you should know that I may ask for your assistance to at least help the injured man."

"… Very well, Uncle Duncan. There are… some things that I must attend to as well before I even make my way back to Waterdeep in any case. I will need some time to recuperate from this recent journey, though I suppose I will agree to help you since I simply cannot endure a journey back home quite yet… and unfortunately, I also lack the funds to hire a carriage service… not that I would trust the roads anyways…" Cirié sighed in defeat, straightening her posture and turning so that she may look back to her Uncle.

"Just as long as we're at an understanding here, Cirié," Duncan confirmed, giving a slight nod of his head as looked down the hall. A door had stood ajar, a soft light spilling from the room and into the hallway. There was only a small sigh from Duncan, though his expression seemed to speak much about how tired he was.

"Well… I suppose I shouldn't cause you too much trouble, either. I can only imagine what required you travelling to the Luskan border," Cirié started to say, a hint of disdain still in her voice. "But because I can't simply just say 'to Hells with this', and actually have some good conscience in me, I'll do whatever you need me to. After all, you seem just as tired as I – or at least that is what your demeanour tells me."

"Indeed. A trip for a pick up is no simple walk in the park – especially with the bandits having taken advantage of Neverwinter's soldiers being out at battle during that time," Duncan said, offering a little more insight to what it must have been like for him. "If you really are interested in helping, then you would do well to tending to our guest's wounds by the eve."

Turning to leave into the lobby area of the Sunken Flagon, Duncan had only paused before fixating his attention back upon Cirié. Hesitating for a moment, the Elven man spoke, "I do appreciate your stance on this subject, Cirié. Thank you for your understanding – even if you're not happy with the idea with all of this."

"Yeah, well… I'm tired… and I want to get back used to walking upon land after being on that ship for the past week or so," came Cirié's response. "The only question I have now is if my room is still the same as before? Or am I being relocated?"

"It is indeed the same room."

"Thanks."


Evening had fallen over Neverwinter, and holding true to the word she assured her Uncle, Cirié had been awake and awaiting anything that she needed to know. Must to her dismay, however, Duncan had only offered some cleaning reagents, bandages, and what he called 'sound advice'… which was to not converse with the man. After all, the last thing Duncan wanted was 'for you and that man to wake up the whole of the Docks District with how hot-headed you can be.'

"Yeah, sure… tell me to take care of the guest, but don't tell me what kind of injuries he has. 'Just don't converse with him, because you're like a screaming banshee that shouldn't have been released when angry.' Thanks, Uncle Duncan…" Cirié had mocked to herself as she made her way down along the halls and to the door that had been left ajar.

Pushing the door open with her free hand Cirié had a typical scowl upon her face as she entered the room. Sure enough, there was a man sleeping upon the bed, and from the looks of things, happened to have a pained expression upon his face. Disregarding what she knew of the man's past and pushing aside her disdain for Luskan persons, Cirié had entered the room – however, she was not able to take even two steps in before the man had quickly opened his eyes and nearly bolted upright. His efforts were only stopped by the sharp pain that it looked like he experienced as he made a sharp gasp in pain.

"Perhaps you should try not doing that next time. It'll save you the pain you're clearly in," Cirié had said, feeling no sense of sympathy for the unknown man at this time.

"Don… don't give me orders…. I'd rather draw a blade… to that pretty throat of yours… before I bend a knee… to your will," the man had said, his voice clearly still weakened by whatever events that had transpired before Cirié had come back from the Athkatla war.

"I wouldn't get too excited. In your condition, I'd be surprised if you could even remove a blade from its sheathe, much more so if you could lift a flagon to your lips without wincing," Cirié said, furrowing her brow and pulling up one of the chairs in the room to the bedside.

"Keep talking… I'm sure you could provide enough reason… for me to end your life… which would be a shame for a wench like you. Were you not so talkative… I'd ask you to help warm this bed of mine and ask for special treatment…" the man spat, giving somewhat of a condescending chuckle as he looked over to Cirié.

From what the Elven woman could tell of him, he had scars that decorated parts of his face and body, a slight scruff, and a rugged appearance – something that most women would have found attractive. However, the more Cirié looked upon this man, the more she would have rather worsened his condition than actually assist to better it. Especially with the vile he insinuated with his words.

"I find it fortunate that my uncle has a good heart to treat one with such an outlook upon women as you. Were it not for his gracious personality, my being too far from home, and him being of kin, I wouldn't even be here to treat your wounds," Cirié had shamelessly replied, sitting upon the chair and reaching out to inspect and remove the bandages that lined the man's body.

"Yeah…? That man has you at his beck and call, then? I suppose that makes us one in the same in some small regard, wench."

"Keep calling me 'wench', and you'll have one thing less in common with me, and that will be your tongue," Cirié threatened, giving the Human a rather sour look. Making sure that he had sat still, Cirié unwrapped the bandages from the unknown man's body and dumping them into a bucket that was conveniently placed – most likely by her uncle before then.

"I'll do as I wish, milady," was the mocking response from the ranger.

"Very well, but don't get mad when I execute the same procedure… as in, I'll be doing what I want as well…" Cirié replied, removing more of the bandages with little regard as to how it would have been handled. There were some winces and grunts of pain from the Human, and there had even been some snaps of 'watch it!' from the man.

"Nnngh…" the brunet had winced once more in pain before looking to Cirié with a certain kind of malice. "Remind me to lay waste to both you and that uncle of yours after I am back upon my feet, wench."

Jerking her hand back, Cirié had applied the bandages and had been a little rough with how she applied them with each insult or threat that she received from the nameless man that was only there due to Duncan's good will. A trait that Cirié unfortunately shared with most of her kin – after all, she still had the offer of simply leaving if she wanted. And were Cirié to have taken that option, she likely would have inflicted greater wounds upon the man that was already a sitting duck.

"It's certainly lovely to see that you're just the most grateful of patients. Remind me to purchase for you a pastry from the local baker for your enviable tolerance," Cirié sighed, standing up as soon as she had been finished wrapping the wounds with clean bandages, and taking the bucket of soiled bandages with her as she left.

There had been a rather sour expression upon Cirié's face as she realised that she would have that to deal with the entire time that she would be staying here within her uncle's Sunken Flagon. While Cirié could admit to having a thick skin when it pertained to many different insults, most of the ones that degraded or demeaned women were those that justified her actions of wanting to put some men in their place… mostly the Human men, whom of which made her skin crawl with must detest.


In the time that had passed from when Cirié looked forward to leaving back to Waterdeep, she had endured the ranger's nagging and belittling of her… somehow growing accustomed to it after having doused him in the ale she brought with her one night in hopes that it would numb her to his personality. However, the look of pain and the curses that followed after the alcohol burned his wounds was satisfactory enough for Cirié as she took up Duncan's obligations to the ranger that stayed within the Flagon.

There were few times that Cirié was able to have a civil conversation with the man… and in that time, she had learned that his adopted name had been 'Bishop'. With a roll of her eyes, Cirié had thrown sarcasm his way – telling him that he looked and acted like no bishop she ever had the honour of actually meeting. Though, an eye for an eye, she had thought to herself, and had begrudgingly shared formalities with the man.

Thankfully, this seemed to have elicited a positive response from Duncan as he had been coming back from moving kegs one day and had come to check upon both Bishop and Cirié at one point.

On this particular day, however, a courier had entered the Sunken Flagon as Cirié helped Sal behind the bar, cleaning up the mugs and other dishes there. Looking up as the courier had piqued her interest, the Elven rogue had watched Duncan exchange words with the young looking Human before watching him look over the letter given to him. Pausing in her duties, Cirié noticed the look upon Duncan's face turn grim.

Before long, Duncan had approached his niece with the letter in hand and had handed it off to her. Before he had resumed his own work, he forewarned Cirié of its contents; "after reading your mother's writing, I shall only tell you that you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish should you need more time to recuperate."

Looking to her uncle with some worry, Cirié had furrowed her brow as she took the letter and had looked down to read its contents. As Cirié's eyes travelled to and from word to word, her expression had turned from worried to looking both hurt and saddened. Her eyes glimmered with the tears she fought back from welling in her eyes, and upon noticing Cirié's stance, Sal had stood up from his own work to place a hand upon the Elven woman's shoulder.

"Perhaps you should take the rest of the day off to mull over things..?" Sal questioned, only guessing what must have been written within the letter addressed to Duncan and Cirié. Judging by what Duncan had said prior, Sal could really only assume that the letter must have contained grave news from their family within Waterdeep.

"… That would be appreciated…. Thank you, Sal…" Cirié replied, tightening her grasp upon the letter she held and crumpling it slightly. Swiftly making her way from the bar, Cirié had brushed past Bishop, who seemed completely content with occupying the lobby and drinking the ale that was serviced at the Sunken Flagon. However, as he watched the Elven woman quickly make her way to the lodging, there was an amused scoff and a smirk that danced upon his lips as he took another swig from his mug.

While Cirié had sat in her temporary lodging throughout the rest of the noon, she had steepled her fingers before her, her eyes fixated upon the wall opposite her bed. Closing her eyes and exhaling strongly, the Elven woman laid back upon the bed before pulling the letter back up and rereading the few lines that appeared to have burned themselves into her mind.

'We are happy to learn of our daughter's return… but since Cirié in in your care, we must inform both you and Cirié of the events that have transpired within Waterdeep. It was not long ago – perhaps three weeks' time before you are presented this letter – which we regret to inform you both that Torin fell in the fortification of the Neverwinter border. While it would be a welcome change to see our precious Cirié's face, and embrace her in our arms… it is still much too soon, and we grieve Torin's death.'

Sighing and clenching her jaw, the steeled disposition of Cirié had broken as tears had started to stream down along her face. For now, it only felt like a good release… especially with all the events to have transpired in such a short amount of time. First being used for the war, now coming back home and knowing that there were still losses to have been had…. It was never an easy feeling, and as much as Cirié wished to have denied her feelings in front of others, being alone seemed to have been something of solace.

Several moments time had passed, and a light rapping had come at her door. Sitting up, sniffling, and rubbing the tears from her eyes and face, Cirié had gotten up from the bed before opening the door only slightly to reveal Duncan's concerned expression. Widening the door, Cirié allowed her uncle passage into the room before going back to sitting upon her bed.

Silence lingered in the air between the two of them, as it seemed that Duncan found it difficult to find words that would have made anything that was said in that letter as a whole less of a blow. With a sigh, he could really only take a moment as he watched Cirié fail to make eye contact with him in that moment in time.

"Cirié… I probably don't have the words to say to you to make you feel any better about what you read in that letter from your parents… and I'm sorry over the loss of your brother," Duncan had started to say, clearly finding it difficult to speak to his niece over what she must have been feeling right now. "I shall not trivialise your feelings with comparisons to my own tales… all I can really say is that I know that you're a strong being, and I hope for your peace, as well as the peace of your parents over this… unfortunate event."

Cirié remained silent as she turned her head to look out the window of her designated room, and an awkward silence ensued between the two for the time being. As Duncan looked for words of comfort to further say, it appeared he fell short as the Elven woman had stood up and spoke in return, "… I appreciate your words, Uncle Duncan. My brother… he, um… well, we didn't really see eye-to-eye before I left for Neverwinter to take up my… new job opportunity, as it were…. I suppose I'm really just upset by the last words I had said to him."

"I… I see…" Duncan said, not really sure how he should respond.

"I know Torin was always one to look out for my wellbeing, but… I got upset by it because I knew I could handle myself, and set out to prove as such…. Perhaps when I am ready to head back to Waterdeep, I will have to take some time to find out what happened exactly. I would rather have proper closure than a simple letter from my parents…" Cirié concluded, looking back to her uncle with a little hint of anger in her expression.

"If that is what you wish, don't let me tie you down here any longer than need be. You can take your time to get prepared if needed," Duncan declared, straightening his posture and starting for the exit. Taking pause at the doorframe, Duncan had looked back to his niece with a stern expression; "Although, I do hope that you do not let this consume you, Cirié. You've always been rough around the edges as a wee lass… but I'm sure I and the rest of your family would be at a loss should you allow an event like this to dominate your emotions."

With that bit of advice, Duncan had left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Cirié to mull over more of her thoughts on the whole ordeal. While it was true that there was a myriad of feelings in her head, chest, and gut that made her nauseated, she doubted highly that she would have been too emotionally controlled.

Brushing off Duncan's advice for now, Cirié retreated back to her bed so that she may slumber and prepare for her departure in the coming days.