Personae Dramatis
Orla Amell - Grey Warden, Enchanter from the Ferelden circle.
Zevran - Ex-Antivan Crow. Roguish Assassin with a penchant for not keeping his mouth shut.
Sten - A Sten of the Beresaad, he came to Ferelden to answer the question 'What is the Blight.' Was returning to Par Vollen with Orla and Zevran.
Dane - A pure bred Mabari that Orla saved at Ostagar. He has been her loyal hound since then.
Sophina - Apprentice to Magister Barbatus
Magister Fortunatus "Atus" Barbatus - Magister recognized by the Senate, holds various estates across the Tevinter Empire. Has a deep interest in Orla.
Edrea - Elfin slave to the Barbatus household.
They took Zevran's small armory of daggers. He had expected that but he still felt naked without them. The armor was gone too, but that didn't have the same meaning or comfort as his knives. He was now dressed in a pair of breeches that had to be tied in to place with a bit of rope and a shirt that hung around his frame like a tent. However, it could be worse. He knew that for a fact. He kept a slight smile on his face while his eyes scanned every inch of the boat as he walked, a Tevinter soldier on each side.
"His mistress had this elf extremely well armed," one of them remarked, as they pushed him forward in an effort to make him go faster, "It's a waste of good steel."
They spoke Tevene. It would serve him better right now for the humans in charge to not know he understood it perfectly. It was not the first time he had been as a slave to humans. Training to be a Crow basically had been that. A very deadly, exact form of slavery.
One that Zevran had bought his freedom from in blood. And in blood he would pay for breaking the oath he had taken. Zevran was rather looking forward to that. He kept his face forward and his smile dumb as the conversation continued.
"What's the point of arming an elf? They're more likely to trip on the blades and gut themselves than they are their target," his companion said and they both laughed, "Then there's the Qunari. This Grey Lady is either very powerful or insane," he finished.
"And we're stuck on a boat with her and her body-slave for two weeks," said the first.
"Why would she arm a body-slave?" the other asked, confused. Zevran was trying not to laugh at the idea of Sten as an accessory in Orla's bedchamber. He could visualize the shade of red the idea would turn her.
"She's a Magistra. Why do they do anything?" the first asked, opening the door to where the elves worked the bilge pump. The smell was nearly enough to make him vacate his stomach. They pushed him in the room, "You work here," one of them said in stilted Ferelden.
"Excellent!" Zevran chirped as he caught his footing easily, "Where do I start?"
Guard number one pointed to the pump as if that said it all, and it did. Zevran walked forward to join a few other elves, each had more bulk than he did though not a one of them would ever match what a human could manage. It was a good thing he wasn't any slouch either as the pump was hard to move. The slave whose place he took started off to the corner to steal a moment's of rest before being pushed towards the stairs.
"To the galley with you; the cook needs help," the human overseer snapped. The two soldiers looked on for a moment before deciding their job was done and leaving Zevran in the tender care of the overseer and two other elves, one younger than him and one older and graying who wore the signs of his life on his face.
"Your mistress must really hate you to have you end up down here," the older one said, gravel on his voice, "I know you can understand us. Don't think we didn't see the light in your eyes. You can talk, the overseer here is practically deaf."
"We have to be dying screaming for him to hear us," said the younger, almost laughing, "even then he'd likely just ignore it."
"Ah, so it is like that then," Zevran said as they worked, ankle deep in spilled bilge water. "My 'mistress' who isn't such and would be flabbergasted to be called thusly likely has no idea they placed me here," Zevran said frankly but with his usual mirth.
"She's a Magistra, they're all the same," the elder said, working the pump, "I'd say she might miss you in bed but we hear she has a Qunari for that."
"I hear it's a hornless one," said the younger, "That's kind of odd, I mean normally the big horns are a selling point. The bigger the horns…"
Zevran couldn't help it anymore, he burst out laughing. The image was just too ludicrous to deal with anymore, "I can personally assure you," he managed through his laughing, "that neither the Qunari or I have been so lucky as to grace Orla's bed. Though I do admit, I have walked in on her a few times." He appreciated the beauty his friend had and was often unaware of and wouldn't object to a tumble with her, or more than one. It simply hadn't happened and he was okay with the idea that it never would. A close friend was a greater treasure than a sometimes-lover.
"The way he says it, baba, I almost believe him," the younger one said.
"Theron, don't let the smell of the bilge blind you to the smell of shit when it comes out of someone's mouth," the elder said in gentle rebuke.
"I assure you that while I am a master of spinning lies, this is the Maker's own truth," Zevran returned.
"A Magistra who doesn't take slaves to her bed?" The elder said, and he and Theron exchanged looks, "So, she must prefer other women then. Hard luck. We did manage to catch a glimpse of her and she's not bad, for a human."
Zevran shook his head, coughing a bit at the rank smell as they worked, "Ah, even if I was her bed toy I don't think she'd welcome me now. Not without a bath anyway."
"There's truth in that. No one wants a shit-smelling elf in their bed," the elder elf said, "What're you called?"
"Zevran," he said, "Formerly of the grand Antiva City! Lately of the bilge room of a ship," he said.
"Aeton, and Theron there is my son," the elder elf said, "The poor sod who got sent to the galley for a beating is Xan. All property of Magister Fortunatus Barbatus who, Maker willing, will slip and fall into the sea."
"And poison the fish?" Zevran said, "What a terrible thing to say!"
"He's right, baba, we have to eat the fish," Theron said, and the three chuckled while they worked. The laughter and the banter were the only things that kept them going through the hours until three more poor souls came in to replace them. They were ushered out to a small hold filled with berths and had bread and water shoved into their hands. Aeton offered Zevran a spot on the floor in a circle with the others who were now off duty and he took it.
This type of simple camaraderie reminded him of his days training for the Crows. After the weapons training, the beatings and the attempts to kill the students, those who made it through the day would sit in the shared bedroom and eat. Despite the efforts of the Crows to integrate it, the elves had always kept to one side and the humans another. Here there weren't any humans to push off to the side, merely a group of exhausted elves trying to spend the short time they had to themselves living.
The berths were not split between men and women which became obvious as the women began filtering in and sitting down. Tired laughter and flirtations filled the small room; Zevran smiled to himself only to be knocked out of the quiet moment when a pair of warm, soft arms wrapped around him.
"Here's the new face! I claim him," a woman's voice chirped and a few other let out disappointed sounds.
"Oh, I assure you there is enough of me to go around," Zevran said happily looking at the woman who had latched on him. She was an attractive girl with a skin tone close to his own, slanted gray eyes and sleek black hair that was damp with sweat and smelled of a kitchen.
"I can keep you busy enough tonight, I promise," she said. The girl's black hair smelled of bread and cooked fish with the barest hint of fresh fruit. It was a stark contrast to the scent of the bilge that he was soaked in. It didn't seem to bother her, however. Zevran didn't bother to shrug her off as he took a bite of the stale bread, the warmth of another body was a more than welcome distraction.
The girl looked up, the skin on her cheek brushing against his, "Hey, baba, where's Edrea?" she asked Aeton. There was a concern in her voice that made it obvious the question was more than just an idle conversation. Zevran didn't think he was reading too much into it. Accidents and deaths were common things for slaves, doubly so in Tevinter where blood magic was so common that you were more likely to run into a high dragon than a Magister who didn't slit their wrists for fun and profit.
"The cook rattle your brains, girl?" Aeton said around a mouthful of bread, "She's the personal slave for that Magistra our master's been on about forever and a day."
"Why does she get to sleep on clean blankets at the foot of a soft bed in one of those large, fancy cabins?" she asked, halfway between whining and jesting. There was something else there too, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He was quite good at reading other's tones, but he didn't know her well enough to quite figure it out.
"And when did you learn to speak Ferelden, Rena? You'd be more useless than usual, girl. So stop complaining about it and get on whatever you'll be on tonight," the old elf returned to tired laughter from the others in the room. Zevran had a feeling he knew what Rena would be 'on' tonight. It brought a grin to his face. Not only was it a good way to pass an evening, but in-between tumbles he could press for information both about the slaves and about their master. Servants, slaves, children and the poor were all invisible to those who considered themselves above in station and in standing, and as such were valuable sources of information for those who knew how to tap them.
Not to mention the fact that the tapping was quite enjoyable.
"Aeton!" the call came from an older woman at the door, holding up a boy who was in the twilight of his childhood years but still had the the look of the young. It was the apparent long-lasting youth that made elfin boys and girls popular with humans and Zevran knew instantly what had happened. The mood in the room changed from tired, but jovial, to a concern for the boy with a palpable undertone of anger.
Rena tensed, "Oh, Maker," she whispered, "Frayne!" And with that the girl pulled away and ran with Aeton and Theron to the door. There was a flurry of activity as everyone made room and spread what dirty sheets were available on the floor so the boy, Frayne, could be placed down.
Everyone made room as the old woman gently laid the boy down. Zevran moved to get a better look, kneeling by the boy. There were hand marks on the back of his neck that wrapped around to the front like a noose. Frayne curled up into a ball on the thin sheets, hands clutching his stomach like a woman in her time would. Tears streaked down his face. Sadly, there was no way to tell just how injured the boy was without putting him through the ordeal again.
"Rena," Aeton said sharply.
Rena looked up from where she had dropped to her knees, cradling the boy's head. There wasn't a family resemblance and yet Zevran knew the bonds of such when he saw them. Blood did not make a family. In situations and places like this parents often abandoned theirchildren behind or theywould diebefore parents. You made family out of what was left.
"What, baba?!" Rena snapped, looking up.
"Pull yourself together," Aeton's tone was harsh, but necessary. Falling apart wouldn't help anything right now, certainly not Frayne who needed strong support and not tears. Tears were to be shed in private, if at all. This was something Zevran had more personal experience with than anyone would want.
"You know where the front cabins are, don't you, girl? Go get Edrea. Make whatever excuse to the Magistra you have to, but you fetch Edrea," he finished, then placed a gentle, calloused hand on her shoulder, "We'll be here with him, Rena."
Zevran stood up and offered a hand to Rena, "Come. I will walk with you, bella," he offered, "I can explain to the Magistra," Zevran offered. It would curdle Orla's blood to hear herself called that, but somehow he doubted these people would understand why he could call her by her first name. He had to admit, sometimes it was startling to be on a first name basis with a woman who could kill an archdemon.
Rena's large gray eyes met his and searched them in silence for a moment before she nodded and took his hand, "Alright. Like baba says, I don't speak the language anyway."
Zevran helped her to her feet. They both looked down at Frayne who writhed on the bunched up, dirty sheets. Even though he was already inclined to dislike their host, now he could feel dark coils of hatred bubbling to the surface for the man. He pushed it aside the best he could. Hatred was unprofessional. It made one make mistakes. Mistakes that could get him killed. An assassin was of no use to anyone dead.
"Then I will speak for you," Zevran said simply. They started on their way, the ship was large and seemed to Zevran to be more like a floating manse than a ship. Rena lead the way, a couple steps in front of him. He noted that her hands were balled up in fists at her hips and she was shaking with rage.
He didn't want his words to stir a hornet's nest so he waited until they were out of earshot of the others to speak up, "The Magistra is reasonable," he said, catching himself just short of saying Orla's name, "You may be surprised."
Rena responded with a short, bitter laugh, "They're all the same. She must have you broken real good for you to be saying that. This is all her fault anyway."
He had expected the first part of the reaction. Orla would have to prove herself with actions, that was nothing new and she had always manage to come out ahead. It was the last part of the statement that stopped him in his tracks. He raised an eyebrow as he grabbed Rena gently by the wrist, "What do you mean 'all her fault'?"
Rena pulled her hand back and shoved a finger in his face, "Your mistress is the reason all of this happens in the first place! That bastard and his obsession with her. Every time he gets worked up he does this to someone!"
Zevran took the outburst in stride. He couldn't deny that it was justified, even if it was misdirected, "Are you aware of how they treat Mages outside of Tevinter?" he asked her simply, not yelling, not correcting, just asking.
"What? No! What does that have to do with anything?" Rena snapped.
"Even if she knew about this, which she did not, there would have been no way for her to come and stop it. Until last year she was kept in a tower with other mages watched over by warriors trained to kill them at the slightest sign of whatever it was they deemed corruption. And sometimes simply because they could. It is not the same as being a slave, true, but I think you will find she understands the feeling of helplessness better than most," Zevran finished.
"There's no place on Thedas that would treat mages like that," Rena snorted with disbelief.
"The world is a very large place, bella," Zevran noted, walking past her and starting the trip towards Orla's cabin anew, "And most of it is not like Tevinter."
"I don't believe it," Rena said firmly, falling into step beside him, "And I'm sorry you're too damn enthralled to see the truth of things."
"The truth is often not as simple as we think, bella," Zevran noted to himself, "The world would be an easier place if it were."
Finally clean and free from the dirt and salt water, Orla felt like she could finally breathe. She inhaled deeply, the scent of perfumes and oils that had been worked into her hair almost overwhelmed her. She had never been so perfumed in her life, including when they readied her for the Landsmeet. In Orla's mind Edrea was too eager to help, but she didn't mind the extra pair of hands given how messed up she had been. Now, with her hair hanging wet and combed she stood for a moment wondering what she was going to wear. For the moment her Grey Warden regalia was out of the question. The salty, wet heap had already been removed from the cabin.
Orla stretched, taking a moment to glance at her naked form in the full length looking glass. She was dotted with more scars than freckles now. It wasn't until she took a second look at the mirror that she realized this one was all polished silver. In fact the room was dotted with more signs of wealth than she had ever seen. Gold trim on furniture, jewels inlaid into gentle patterns resembling stylized dragons. The dressing table she was looking at now had to be at least two hundred years old judging by the style of the stenciling. Just how rich was this Magister? Did they all flaunt it in such a manner?
"They are a corrupt people, kadan," Sten spoke up, answering her silent question. Orla nodded once, running her fingers over the gentle carvings on the wood. There wasn't any point to pomp like this. For her. It made no sense.
"Hey, we aren't corrupt you… giant… door stop?" Edrea spoke up, the last coming out barely audible as Sten stood up to his full height of eight feet.
"The makers of all this pomp consider you property, a thing," Sten pointed out.
"That's true," Edrea said after a moment, and the elf girl slipped some sleek fabric over Orla before she had a chance to stop her. The girl's deft and practiced hands got her arms through the sleeves and tied the dressing robe in place, "but there are more of us than there are of them, and we aren't corrupt. Elven hands made this robe, elven hands built just about everything in here, even the boat."
"But you don't own it," Orla pointed out, fingering the fabric of the deep green robe. It was unlike anything she had ever seen, "What is this?" she asked looking at Edrea.
"Silk, Mistress Orla," Edrea said, her small hands opening a jeweled box and then looked back at her as if she just realized something, "Are your ears pierced, Mistress Orla?" she asked.
"Huh?" Orla was taken aback, "No. There wasn't ever a reason to."
"I'll have to fetch some ice and a needle then," Edrea said to herself, closing the box and setting it aside.
"What?" Orla blanched, "Oh no. No, no, no. You do not need to fetch any ice," she said firmly. She could deal with being bathed, powdered and dressed in something like this - if forced - but Orla was not having a needle shoved through her ear for anyone.
"No ice?" Edrea tilted her head quizzically, "Are you going to numb your ears yourself, Mistress Orla?" she asked, "I, um, wouldn't recommend that. It can be hard to tell when you've gotten it just right and it will either hurt because you didn't do enough or hurt because you numbed it too much. I mean, forgive me for saying it," she said, bowing her head quickly and Orla got the feeling the girl was expecting to be slapped. She looked up quickly once, and then twice and finally held Orla's gaze when she realized there wasn't any corporal punishment coming.
For a long moment neither of them said anything. Neither moved. The tension didn't quite melt off the elfin girl completely, Orla wouldn't expect it to. Still, she made no move.
"You're not going to punish me, Mistress Orla?" Edrea finally asked.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Orla said simply, "Well, other than saying we're piercing my ears because we're not going to. But I'm not going to punish you. There's nothing to punish," she finished.
Edrea gave her a look like she had lost her mind but didn't correct her. Orla hadn't expected to be corrected. While expecting punishment for something was one thing, actually wanting it was another thing entirely and Orla would be worried if the girl started begging for a beating. As weird as her life had been so far, having someone beg to be hit or punished by her was something that hadn't happened yet.
"And you don't have to keep calling me Mistress," Orla said, "At least when it's just us, I mean I don't want to get you in trouble," she amended quickly. While there had been some amount of prejudice against the elves in the Circle for the most part they had all been in the same sinking ship. It might have been different had she been raised outside the Circle of Magi where elves were servants if they were lucky but she couldn't get over being called 'Mistress' and waited on hand and foot for every little thing.
Edrea looked like she was going to say something, her mouth opening when the door to the cabin opened, followed by a stench that turned her stomach and curled her toes. Given that there wasn't the sound of a crunching bone that would mean Sten was crushing necks and that Dane only let out a happy woof she knew who it was before she looked over. Zevran stood there, smelling like he had crawled out of a privy. She had to cover her mouth with the sleeve of the robe to keep from gagging.
"What happened to you?" Orla asked, recoiling from the smell.
"I notice no difference," Sten said simply.
"You'll have to pardon the intrusion, bellas and my overly large friend," Zevran said, his voice devoid of it's normal mirth, "but I bring a message for Edrea. Well, I do not, but she does," Zevran said, making way for a dark skinned elf girl who didn't look much older than Orla. For a moment the girl stood in the doorway, staring agape at Sten like she couldn't decide if the large Qunari was something to be afraid of or not.
"Rena?" Edrea said, and then rattled something off in Tevinter.
The voice pulled the dark haired girl out of her stupor and she ran into the cabin, taking Edrea by the arms and rattling off something Orla had no hope of following.
"What's going on," she whispered, moving to stand beside Zevran. Proximity made the smell worse but curiosity over rode it.
"Our host is a worse person than we may have thought originally," Zevran said, "How is it said? We have jumped out of the pot and into the fire, yes?"
"Then we leave," Sten said firmly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
"How?" Orla snapped, "Fight our way through a ship full of soldiers, slaves and at least two blood mages if not more? And then where do we go? We're in the middle of the bloody ocean!" Orla didn't swear often but she was frustrated and it gnawed at her. The inability to do anything to change their situation, "If we take the boat, what then? Sail it to Par Vollen with a crew of three? I hate boats," she snapped, "Not to mention I barely know a thing about them!"
"Besides," Zevran interjected, "Even if we could sneak away it wouldn't make a difference," the lack of nicknames and the sheer seriousness of his tone hit Orla in the gut, hard. Something was very wrong here.
"What do you mean?" Orla asked.
"Explain yourself, elf," Sten said, crossing his massive arms over that mountain of a painted chest.
"Apparently our host has been attempting to get his hands on you for quite some time, Orla," Zevran said, his tone sending shivers down her spine.
"What?" Orla breathed.
"Make sense, elf," Sten demanded.
"I do not know how it is being done because the other elves aren't sure but he has been after you long enough that there is not a person on this ship who doesn't know your name," Zevran said, "And it has some…consequences," he noted, a glance over to the two elven women. Edrea was pale and shaking.
Walking like her legs no longer could support her full weight, Edrea came to stand in front of them and then dropped down to her knees. Orla could hear the tears the girl's hair hid from view on her voice, "Mistress Orla, I beg your leave for the rest of the evening."
Orla gave Zevran a shocked look, unsure to make of this. The ex-Crow simply nodded once in return. Orla then dropped down to her knees, putting herself on the same level as Edrea and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, "What happened?" she asked.
Edrea shook her head in reply and choked on a sob. Orla felt like someone punched her in the gut. Something was very wrong here. Suddenly all these gifts she known had been put out to tempt her felt tainted. She wished for her own clothing, her own things and her own space but it had all been taken away. She swallowed and nodded once and helped her to her feet.
"This is my fault, isn't it?" Orla said, "Someone's hurt and it's because of me," she managed, going pale herself. They were in the clutches of a madman and a straight up fight would kill them all. To make matters worse, people were getting hurt on her account.
"You are not the one who did this," Zevran said firmly, "You are not to blame for someone else's depravity, Orla."
Orla looked over at Zevran while she held on to Edrea, steadying the shaking servant girl her own eyes wide at the revelation that this was a lot worse than she had thought. She had felt like it might be but once awake and cleaned up and out of Atus' presence it was easy to let it slide because he wasn't treating her like this. Part of her disgust was directed at herself, for being willing to let the facts slide in favor of a bath and clean clothes.
The dark haired elf-girl, Rena, was her name, pointed at her and started saying something to Zevran. Orla had been able to pick the name up though the rest of it had escaped her, she spoke no Tevinter and only some Orlesian. I'll have to change that, she decided as the girl finished.
"What did she say?" Orla asked Zevran.
"She wants to know why you are pretending to care, bella," Zevran said.
"Pretending?!" Orla returned, "I'm not pretending to do anything! I do care."
"I know that, bella, but look at them and consider their life and world and you can understand why she thinks this is a trick of some sort," Zevran pointed out. Orla looked at the elves again, taking in details she hadn't before. Puffy eyes, dark circles, torn skin on the hands and suspicion rolling off the dark haired girl in waves so thick Orla could almost see them.
Orla swallowed and then looked back at Zevran, "Ask if whoever is hurt needs a healer," she said.
"It would not make him worse, that's for certain," Zevran said darkly.
"Ask. Please. I'm not going if they don't trust me," Orla said. She wasn't going to abuse her position, even to help someone. The Alienage in Denerim had taught her that. You had to prove yourself before you had any right to help, after all they had more than enough reasons to not trust humans.
Zevran nodded and turned back, speaking to Rena. The dark haired girl shook her head vehemently and started shouting and pointing at her in a way that needed no translation. Gently she handed Edrea off to Zevran, "Wait a moment, let me get you something for him," Orla said quickly. Her first stop was the overly large bed. With two fingers she burned out a circle of fabric and then took that over to the dressing table, pulling the elfroot out of the vase and grounding it up on the clean fabric. She picked a few other flowers from around the room to finish out the mixture and then tied off the circle of fabric with a piece of leather that had been binding the bouquets together. She brought it over to Zevran and pressed it in his hand.
"Have him drink this in hot water. It will help," Orla said, "And take Dane with you," the mabari's ears perked up and Orla smiled over at the dog, "You go with Zevran, boy. Sten will watch me. I want you to keep whoever is hurt safe and give them a LOT of dog kisses, okay?" she said, patting him on the head. Dane woofed once in reply and pushed open the cabin door, looking back and waiting for the others to follow him.
"Zevran," Orla called out, and he stopped in the door, looking over his shoulder, "Take care of them." Since I can't. Not yet, anyway.
"Do not worry, bella, I will see to it," he said, and then all three were gone, the door closing behind them. For a moment, Orla simply stood there before dropping to her knees, shaking.
"It is as I said, kadan, they are a corrupt people," Sten said, staying by the door. Physical comfort was not something he did, but the intent was there in his voice, "What has happened to these elves is not your fault."
"Yes, but… why me?" Orla asked, tears blurring her vision, "In a world full of mages, why me?"
"Power always attracts those who wish to abuse it," Sten said, "We will have to bide our time but this Magister shall fall."
"And until then, what do we do?" Orla asked, seeking advice, comfort, anything to help her deal with what had happened, and feeling guilty for feeling like this in the first place. She wasn't the one being hurt, being abused.
"That is your choice, kadan. I will follow your lead. Though the path may wind you have proven you know how to walk it," Sten said, looking towards the door that stood between them and a ship full of secrets and danger and pain.
"I'll play along, for now," Orla said, clenching her fists, "But as soon as we can, I swear on Andraste's pyre I will rip his throat out myself."
"I look forward to that moment," Sten said evenly, "May it come soon."
Sophina's eyes opened slowly. She felt like she had spent the entire evening deeper in her cups than an Rivaini shipwreck was in under the sea. With a groan she sat up, pushing some stray red curls out of her face. It took a moment to get her bearings. She wasn't in one of the large cabins, but instead one of the group ones shared with the crew. Having known that being replaced was coming made it easier to deal with. She did, however, almost hit her head on the top of the bunk. Reaching up to get her bearings she wasgreeted by the course feel of wooden planks with straw sticking between them.
It was childhood all over again.
Except this time she didn't have to wake up and help gut and slice a pig. She had been promoted to elves, but only on demand.
The few sailors playing cards in the corner only gave her a cursory glance, more concerned with their game of Wicked Grace than with her. She didn't mind. Sophina hadn't gone out of her way to inspire fear in her master's servants. She didn't see the point of it. Someone had to work with these people to keep things running smoothly. Running this household wasn't a task that could be done if everyone was making jokes behind her back about sudden, assisted death.
Sophina wasn't her master, she couldn't be blind to these things as he was. Though she did wish her apprenticeship didn't involve getting caught up in these plans. At least a night in a tavern would have been a good reason to wake up feeling hung over below deck of a ship. Rubbing her head, she looked over at the sailors again, giving her vision a moment to clear.
"Oy," Sophina said, reverting to a lower class accent, "How long have I been out?"
The sailors didn't look over but one did answer, "Not even a day. So, been put down here with us have ya?" one of them said, and she could hear the smirk on the face. It wasn't an expression he wore long. It only took nails into her palm to bring forth the blood and his head slammed down on the table, scattering the pile of gambling gold as his two friends reflexively jumped back.
"I may be forced in here wit' ya," Sophina said, standing up, "But don't ya ever mistake me for bein' at yer level," she said, letting the spell go. The sailor sat up, his face bloody from the force that it had hit the table with. The look back at her was the proper mix of fear and awe as far as she was concerned. It would hopefully be enough to make sure they were smart enough to leave well enough alone.
After all, she wasn't a fan of cleaning up corpses.
Despite the constant shifting in the floor, Sophina stood and found her footing and started towards the open cabin door frame. Of course there wasn't a real door. That was reserved for the important cabins for important people. She couldn't help but to glare at the door to her cabin, closed and housing the Ferelden woman. She shuddered, recalling the sound of the music in the other woman's mind and how hard it had been to hold in place.
If the woman had been telling the truth about the music Sophina couldn't understand how someone could live with that discordant melody playing over and over. It was like a chamber group at a bad party where the musicians had been drinking since the start and weren't quite playing the same song. And yet, it eerily fit together in a strange rising crescendo that had left her shaking. Sadly it wasn't the last time she'd likely be called to put herself on the line like that for her teacher.
"You," Sophina's tone changed from lower class to formal as she spotted three elves walking towards the slave's quarters with the Ferelden's dog of all things. The three stopped and looked back at her, "I will take a bath," she said, trying to keep tiredness and her pounding head from making the words slur, "now."
The three elves looked at each other and the dark skinned girl, one of the kitchen girls if she recalled correctly, stepped forward. "Of course, Mistress," she said, with a nod of her head. She was about to point out that a scullery girl shouldn't be doing it when she caught the expression on their faces. Sophina bit back a sigh. Were the coffers going to be hit with another blood price? Life wasn't as cheap as Magister Barbatus seemed to treat it. The only question was whether it was a boy or a girl this time and how much damage had been done. Sooner or later gold was not going to be enough to keep theknife ears silent and in line.
She followed the scullery maid to the galley. The couple of elves still working there didn't have to ask what was going on and a barrel with lukewarm water was prepared. It was easy enough to make it hot on her own and when the last of the robes were stripped off and she stepped into the tub the water was just short of boiling. The heat and the steam rolling off of her skin did a lot to ease the tension she had woken up with. Sophina took a moment to enjoy the feeling of being washed by another as her tight auburn curls blocked her vision. If she was Magister Atus she'd command the girl into the tub. However she didn't see the regular staff for such things. There were plenty of places in Minrathous that she could scratch that itch with a partner or two more to her liking.
It didn't take long to actually feel clean and somewhat human again.
Sophina stepped out of the water, drying herself off and wrapping herself in the robe provided. It might not have been in her cabin, but being clean and clothed revitalized. And it was a good thing too, given that she was going to be the one cleaning up Magister Atus' mess. The first part of it was easy enough. She pulled her purse from the pile of dirty robes on the floor and held out a gold coin for the scullery girl. The elf didn't meet her eyes, but Sophina could feel her discomfort.
"Are they dead?" Sophina asked simply. The elf girl muttered something in return, "Speak up," Sophina returned stiffly. She did not have time for this.
"No, mistress," the girl said a bit louder, her voice shaking.
"Then this will cover any damage," Sophina said firmly and waited for the girl to take the coin. The scullery maid hesitated for a long a moment, then slowly took the gold piece while never meeting Sophina's gaze. In the flickering light of the galley she could see the flash of tears on the girl's cheeks. Sophina had more than her fill of crying slaves on this voyage and they were only just starting on their way back home.
"Th…thank you, Mistress," the girl said, clutching the gold piece and bowing low.
"This will be the last I hear of it, understand?" Sophina said, turning away, purse in hand. The clothes would be laundered and she would have to spend her evening both studying and keeping sailors at bay. The sooner they returned home the better off she would be. At least then she could start to modify her plans since the Grey Lady's presence would change things. She now had an ally or an obstacle. Either way it would be dealt withand things would move forward, asthey always did.
And they would move forward with or without Orla Amell. Sophina would see to that.