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The Gull and Lantern Tavern, Redcliffe, Redcliffe Bannorn, Drakonis 2, Korthsday, 9:27 Dragon
It took over an hour to unload and carry twenty barrels from the wagons and into the Redcliffe Chantry's undercroft, each weighing in at twenty-five stones each. Three barrels per wagon save for two wagons which had four barrels rolled and pushed from their stacks and onto the grounds of the Chantry. Then each were loaded onto a small bucket-like contraption with two sets of poles on either side for carrying upon ones' shoulders, each barrel easily twice the weight of a man. Then the barrel was carried to the undercroft's entrance, a flight of stone stairs going deep into the earth and into a complex that looked to be the same area as the cathedral itself!
The undercroft was a host to a main corridor where several doors went to the sides, rooms that were almost half of the width of the cathedral floor; Maker, probably three or four of the Hawkes' homestead could have fit in each room! One door was opened by one of the Brother Templars, unlocked with an iron key, and the barrels toted inside. Then the heavy barrels were replaced with supposedly lighter ones, to add back to the wagons, a bit lighter but still needing two people and the poled carrying device to go back through the hall and up the stairs to bring it back to the surface.
Marian, as it was her first time doing the trip, had been one of the ones to do it twice. Maker, she was rightly dog tired.
Duty finished, the new barrels loaded where the filled ones once were, and the wagons overseen by the Templars guarding the grounds, Master Levi Dryden gave the drovers the evening to relax and recuperate.
So Malcolm Hawke invited his daughter to join him for dinner at the Gull and Lantern Tavern.
The Gull and Lantern had been there as long as Malcolm could remember, some fifteen years back, and it hadn't been a new establishment then, either. Its current proprietor, Lloyd Rintoul, had bought it from its former owner and had improved upon the already-popular tavern ten years prior, expanding upon its menu and its drink selection. The both of them sat at one of the few remaining available tables and ordered supper and drinks from Bella, a young and pretty woman who had been working at the tavern for the past couple seasons. Marian got herself an order of blood sausage with fresh red cabbage, cooked carrots, boiled potatoes, along with a mug of summer mead while Malcolm would be getting mutton haggis along with lettuce, beet, and onion salad, boiled potatoes, and a cup of rhubarb wine.
"Ugh, stiff an' sore from movin' those barrels up an' down th' stairs." His daughter groused as she winced, twisting her upper body to one side and then to the other while she sat in her chair, no doubt to pop her back and alleviate some of said soreness. "Pity we can't roll 'em barrels around. Might make this here job a mite easier."
"I'm sure that the Revered Mother would loved seeing that, Chantry goods rolling and bouncing down the stairs." Malcolm said with a little bit of humor in his voice, making Marian chuckle slightly at the thought. No doubt just about every porter, coolie, drover, dockworker, and anyone else who did heavy lifting as their job probably thought something along those lines. "At the least we have those carrying slings to make it easier, otherwise it would be two men on either end of the barrel with whoever was on the bottom getting the brunt of the work."
"I've… been meanin' t' ask somethin', Papa." His daughter began slowly, her eyes casting about where they sat for a moment to see if anyone were paying attention. "What are we actually drovin'?"
Malcolm knew this question would come up. It did with everyone.
"So." The older man pulled from his leather sporran dangling in front of his kilt his pipe and small bag of tobacco, taking some of the dry shredded leaf and stuffing it into the bowl before using the table's candle to light it. He took a few puffs to get it going before looking to his daughter across the table from him. "We do transport Chantry goods, as you obviously saw." That had the young woman nodding. "So what we do is make two kinds of deliveries; one to the Chantries throughout Ferelden, and then another kind of delivery that will make its way back to Val Royeaux later on by ship. What we transport is the lifesblood of the Chantry, make no mistake. Without it…" Well, while he couldn't actually say the Chantry would fail, it would certainly cause very distressing times.
"What we have in the back of the wagons right now? Refined lyrium. For the Order and the Circle."
That had Marian look at him as if he had just denounced the Maker vocally and publicly. Thankfully the tavern was lively enough that no one was paying attention to their conversation.
"What's… in th' ot'er barrels? The ones we put back inna wagons?" His daughter asked slowly, still mulling over what he told her. That had Malcolm snort as he took another puff of his pipe. The other thing that the Chantry needed just as much as lyrium.
"Tithes."
Morn came to the city of Redcliffe as Marian Hawke woke with cock o' of rooster and the ringing of the bells at the Chantry of Our Lady of Immaculate Grace, the young woman getting up from her bedroll and preparing herself for the morning chores as well as the day at the same time she saw some of the clergy members of the Chantry also started their own secular and sacred devotionals. She got dressed quickly, a bit of a bitter chill in the wind likely either from the Frostbacks or from being so close to Loch Calenhad, throwing her high-neck padded doublet gambeson on to ward off the worst of the chill while pulling her wool socks as high as they would go, just shy of her knees, to better keep her legs warm before slipping on and buckling her sandals. Marian went through her morning chores quickly mostly to get herself warm from the bitter chill of the morning, certainly colder in Redcliffe than it was Lothering. The young woman didn't know if it were due to the close proximity of the Loch or the Frostbacks that were responsible, but she kept moving to keep warm as she checked on the team of oxen for any issues while filling their feed bags.
"Morn, lass." Tobias macConnell spoke up as Marian finished with the oxen, the older man moving to the wagon to pull something from his pack. "We've got watch today." As the young woman understood it, the company would be in Redcliffe for two days as Masters Levi and Mikhail Dryden plied their trade as caravan merchants, keeping an eye on the markets and perusing any wares or deals that might be advantageous for Lothering. The different between herself shopping at a market and one of the Dryden Brothers shopping was that they made deals with manufacturers, farmers, shipping companies, and other transporters, buying in bulk instead of small amounts. There was actually a fair deal of trade goods amongst the wagons that, as Hawke understood it, would be unloaded at Orzammar for someplace that was called the Diamond District. "Which shift ye want?"
"Why, is Brock gonna volunteer f'r th' evenin' post?" The young woman asked sweetly, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. That just had Tobias grunt and chuckle. "I'll take th' kvöldvakt, nunkle." She looked back over to where their team had slept, seeing Broderick still snoring away in his sleeping sack. "Want me t' get ye a spot o' breakfast from the market?"
"I'm good, I'll pick me up a bite when Brock takes over." The older man replied easily enough. "Try not t' buy e'rythin' inna market, lass."
"I won't." The young woman was at her pack, shifting things on the inside to look for her pence-purse, a small cloth bag that carried a various amount of copper coins in a few denominations; the singular pence, the tippence, and the sixpence. Marian pulled her pence-purse from her traveling pack, setting it on the drovers' bench before she began slipping on her chevelier boots and her armor. It wasn't necessarily because she needed it, but the one good dress she brought was for Bridesday devotionals, not for the market. And the clothes she did have for everyday use was meant for traveling while wearing armor, not necessarily fully appropriate for public. Finishing up with the laces, belts, and buckles of her armor and boots, Marian slipped her antler-handle hunting knife in its sheath on her right hip and her skeggjaðrøx in a leather loop on her left. Ready, the young woman waved to Tobias, spying that Broderick was about to be kicked awake.
Marian exited the Chantry grounds and was walking amongst the buildings and populous of Redcliffe, walking on the wooden slats of the walkways of the city. The young woman was still amazeed by all that she saw as she walked by buildings that were taller than their kin in Lothering, most looking to be residences that were thin but having multiple floors to make up for the lack of width. Marian couldn't tell if it was a market day or not, the traditional market days in Lothering being Korthsday and Kingsday, but the amount of people on the wooden boulevard was surprising, dozens of people on the streets of Redcliffe going to and fro about their business.
There were more than a few womenfolken carrying wicker baskets full of wash, obviously doing laundry at… whatever location was available. The weather was nice for a wash, and no doubt after a season of winter getting out and into the sun was a pleasantry everyone was enjoying. It made Marian think of her mother, doing the wash at her side while other Lothering women did the same along the banks of the Hafter, talking and gossiping amongst themselves without menfolken to overhear. Some other women were totting small sacks or bundles, perhaps foodstuff or some other good, heading deeper into the city. The young woman figured to follow them to better find the marketplace.
Many of the men about in Redcliffe were dressed in doublets and kilts with sabeton purses dangling just below their belly, and Marian noted that most were carrying wood-handled knives in plain sheathes on a hip upon their kiltbelts. Aye, it was Danelaw that any citizen of Ferelden was perfectly allowed to own a weapon, and it was even encouraged for a household to have one battle-worthy weapon in case for a call-of-arms. But openly carrying knives? In Lothering, only økser were allowed to be carried within the village walls, be it lágrøx like hatchets and camp axes, or skilløx like what Marian carried. Another difference was that it seemed that most of the Redclifton men wore… some sort of tartan-cloth floppy headcovering with a strange little cloth ball at the crown, the excess pulled over the right ear like a flap. On the front of those… small bonnets (she didn't know what else to call them) were badges; some were embroidered, some had a patch sewed on, and others were metal affixed to it. She quickly noted that the cap and kilt would be the same tartan pattern, which made sense. Several of the badges looked to be a singular Red Lion, while others looked to be a pair of Red Lions, much like the Royal Standard. Marian wasn't sure what to make of it.
The young woman continued down the wooden path, gently following several women who seemed to be heading in a particular direction with what appeared to be merchandise either in sacks, small baskets, or even by hand. A few of the women were in a group, and others just seemed to be heading that particular way. A few snippets of conversation came to Marian had her conclude her guess; the women were heading to the main market to sell their goods to the merchants, or sell it to the populous! The young woman continued to follow them in a general manner as they turned onto another street, heading deeper into the city.
"Maker, lass! Ye be armed enough?"
Marian turned to see who had spoken to her, a young brunette woman in a well-mannered two-toned tea-dress who looked to be a few years older than she, wearing a simple whimple on her head. The woman-in-question was carrying a small basket on her right hip filled with potatoes, but her eyes were on the axe on Marian's left hip.
"Drover guard, gov'ness. Comes wit' th' territory." Hawke replied to the woman, who looked a little dubious at first until her eyes skirted the rest of Marian, seeing the armor and boots that she wore. "'Fraid I only brought me Bridesday Best. Shortsighted o' me th't was. I'm Marian Hawke of Lotherin'." The young woman knuckled her brow to the brunette.
"Kaitlyn Drake." The woman replied with a tip of her head. "I do say I've ne'er seen a woman guardsman b'fore. At th' very least ye look doff enough to give a man pause."
"This way to th' market, Aye?" Marian was pretty sure she was right, but wanted to know for a fact. The woman walking beside her nodded. "Good. An'… wot's wit' th'… bonnets th' laddies ar' wearin'?" She tapped the front of her forehead to indicate the badges she had been seeing.
"Oh, that!" The other woman looked a bit sheepish as she looked around at the other women that were walking with them. "Ye know o' th' King an' Queen, right?" Hawke merely nodded; who didn't? "It's 'bout th' nursery."
Oh. That.
King Calian I Theirin ascent to the throne began when his father, King Maric I Theirin, had disappeared just around two years prior, ship and crew sailing the Amaranthine Sea for the Free Marcher City of Hercinia but never arriving. The Moot had been held in the Landsmeet during the winter of 9:24 Dragon, every single one of the Banns, Arls, and Teyrns going to Denerim for the vote that would be the succession for the Throne of Ferelden. There had been a few candidates, the most popular being Prince Calian Theirin and Teyrn Bryce Cousland. What Marian remembered being said most from traders and those who had a chance to visit the capital of Denerim was that the Prince had looked every bit how a Prince should look like, and the fact that he was unmarried; a potential political union for Banns and Arls to take advantage of for their daughters to potentially become Queen of Ferelden. Teyrn Bryce Cousland had been rather favored, a man with experience in both war and politics, as well as having a wife and two children. Prince Calian had been youthful, only seeing something like twenty summers, without spouse or child. As Hawke understood that, the Prince had made that particular subject a rather good selling point, and the Landsmeet had eventually voted for Prince Calian during the Moot.
Within a few months of being crowned the King of Ferelden, there was a wedding involving the King and Lady Anora macTir, daughter of the Lord Marshal himself. It had been a promise of the continuation of the line of Calenhad, as well as bringing a child to the royal nursery.
The Royal Nursery still remained empty after two years.
"Sooo…" Marian saw another man pass by who had but a singular red lion upon the brow of his brimless bonnet. "Th' ones wit' two lions stand f'r King an' Queen, while th' ones wit' one lion stand f'r…?"
"Divorce." Kaitlyn filled in that answer, making the young woman wince at the reply. That was an ugly business, to be sure. While divorce was heavily frowned upon by the Chantry, not producing an heir was grounds for an annulment of marriage. No doubt some of the nobility were pushing for such a thing hoping their daughters or female cousins could potentially be selected to become the next Queen of Ferelden. But Queen Anora, the heir of the Teyrnir of Gwaren, was also the daughter of the Lord Marshal, Teyrn Loghain macTir; widely considered Ferelden's greatest living general. That… would be messy. "It's politics, love. If th' bastards aren't after yer proverbial head, then they're after yer actual head!"
"Ain't th't th' bloody truth!" Marian laughed as they reached an opening amongst the buildings, a large park or fairground that had buildings surrounding it, but the interior of it was open. Ah, this must be the market! The archer followed the women into the square-shaped park where the buildings were all facing towards the interior, the doors oriented towards the square while a few small wagons and tables had been set up along the buildings or in the square itself. It hadn't even rang eight bells yet but the market looked to be quite busy, busier than the Lothering Market in midday. It was certainly larger, with what looked to be easily three dozen businesses in stout buildings to see goods with another three or so dozen sellers hocking wares and food from wagons or covered stalls, even a tent!
Marian Hawke had arrived at the Redcliffe Market Square.
The Redcliffe Market Square, situated in the center of the city, was everything Marian Hawke expected it to be and much, much more. Grocers, woodworkers, bakers, pot-menders, haberdashers, bolters, and cobblers lined the square within wooden buildings that probably represented both shoppe and residence, many of them two-stories tall with actual glass windows to peer into, displaying wares or goods to interest customers. Tool-makers and carpenters, bookseller and weaver, boutiques and candle-makers, broomsquire and briner, herbalist and even a glassblower! The young woman entered the square, the hustle and bustle of a large city market enveloping her with its many people who had come to buy or sell, hawkers and callers giving their hue-and-cry to the goods that they sold to bring in good shilling to their business.
There was a badgerman selling vegetables from a cart, and right next to him a conster selling fruits. Behind their carts was a building with a hanging sign indicating that it was a bakery, with loaves of bread sitting just behind panes of glass. Right next to that building was a cheesemonger with wheels of sharp Hinterland cheese and prices going from small bricks to the entire wheel, five stones worth! In front of the cheesemonger shoppe was a covered table where a woman sold several different varieties of salt, ranging from seasalt from the Amaranthine Sea to some kind of landsalt from someplace called the Western Approach. There was a wagon where a trio of lanier men were peddling several varieties of wool in bags, and beside them was a weaver woman who could be hired to spin said wool. One loud chapman child was standing on a stump selling broadsheets, obviously a town crier, his voice no doubt bringing attention to the largest building in the square; an import/export offering goods from Orlais and Antiva! Everywhere within the square was trade to be had, and business, as they said, appeared to be booming.
The first stop Marian made was the import/export shoppe known as The Wonders of Thedas because why not?
The archer pushed open the door, accompanying the ringing of a small brass bell to indicate a customer as the young woman found herself in a shoppe that was almost thrice as large as her family's cottage back home! Everywhere there were shelves displaying goods and wares from (purportedly) all over Thedas; fine china plates from Perendale and Val Royeaux, teas from the Green Dales, the Weyrs, and Rialto Bay, spices from the Donarks (wherever those were), velvet and silk bolts from Nahashin Marshes, utinsels from Seheron, herbs from Emprise d'Lion and the Arlathan Forest, trinkets and curios from dozens of locations both near and far, small paintings and tapestries and even books! Every one of the many shelves inside the shoppe were stuffed with what appeared to be just about any conceivable want or need from around the world, small ribbons of paper identifying what it was, where it came from and the price. Marian found herself looking at a gold-spun ribbon that was both gold-threaded and supposedly silk from the Tellari Swamps of Antiva, long enough to perhaps pleat and braid her hair.
Five Crowns for a ribbon that went from fingertip to elbow. The young woman fled from that display.
There was a scroll supposedly written in the Storm Age detailing the negotiation of the Llomerryn Accords, when Chantry and Qun made peace sitting next to a thick codex that supposedly contained the manymanymany noble lineages of Orlais going back to the bloody Divine Age, detailing lineage and lines. Marian briefly wondered if her mothers' family were in that book, the Amells having originally come from Orlais back during the Black Age. Another shelf contained jewelry from around the world; a tortoiseshell comb from Val Forent, a torque of silver from Ayesleigh, pearl earrings from Wycome, a gemmed broach from Orzammar! There was a small locked glass display of l'douceur d'senteur in little lead glass bottles, perfumes from several locations in Orlais and Minrathos. The prices of those had Marian studiously stepping away and even wiping her hands off on her kilt for good measure! There was another shelf that contained babbles and trinkets that had the look of perhaps delver treasure that had been sold to the business… and now being sold to customers. Marian looked at one small stone relief that appeared to be a simple carving of a woman riding on horseback with what might have been a spear in hand, as if riding into battle. It was impossible to identify who it might have been.
"First time here, no?"
The sound of a woman's voice jilted Marian from looking at what looked to be a petrified egg dating from the Ancient Age to see a woman with skin the color of chestnut bark and a fine prim emerald dress with white lace at the throat and delicate ruffles at the shoulders. The woman, who looked to be a few summers older than she, looked at her with a bit of a prim manner but a small smile as well. The woman had an accented voice… perhaps Antivan?
"Aye, messere. First time in Redcliffe, too." Marian replied to the woman, seeing her in as fine a dress as the hunter had ever seen. "Me parents are from th' Marches, an' me Mama told me o' th' Hightown Market an' some o' th' curios an' treasures one could find inna shoppes there. I think this here would have her swoon and relivin' her day in Kirkwall." Mama had been born a minor noble lady to the Amell family, one of the major landowners and moneylenders of the City-State of Kirkwall. "Shan't lie, messere. Ye can live a life o' adventure wit'out ever exitin' th' door o' this here shoppe!" That had the chestnut-skinned woman chuckle delicately.
"Now that is as fine a compliment as I've heard." The woman's eyes darted to her garb, her hazel brown eyes staying a moment at the skillox at her belt before touching on the knife on her hip. "You look to be of the adventurous sort yourself, signorina. A traveling woman braving the road, first time from home, no?" To that, Hawke could only nod. "You know, I believe I have the very idea for you. Something that is both practical and a keepsake." The finely-dressed woman motioned for Hawke to follow her as she turned towards the rear of the shoppe, the hunter following the woman as they bypassed several cases and shelves carrying curiosities and sight-grabbers as the woman reached a bookcase carrying… well, books.
"Now, where was it…" The woman looked at one of the higher shelves for a moment, a finger to her chin until her face lit up with success as a delicate hand retrieved from one of the taller shelves what appeared to be a small codex that was perhaps twice the width of Marians' hands and perhaps only half again as long. It didn't seem to be too thick a tomb, perhaps a hundred or so sheafs of bound pages inside. The cover and spine seemed to be of a soft, supple swine leather, not backed by wood but stiffened by boiling. There was no etching, stamping, impressing, or gilt upon the cover; just plain pig leather that was somewhat flexible with a leather cord to wrap around to secure it. There was no words or indication of what the tomb was about.
"This, signorina," the woman turned, holding the volume in her hand, "is a journal; a blank tomb. Within it are empty pages that one can write what one wishes, everything from verses of the Chant, perhaps scribing words to a song, or even perhaps… the journeys of a young woman traveling throughout her country? Who is to say, years from now, there might be a little boy or little girl who might listen with rapt wonder at their mothers' side, listening to her story?" Bollocks, the woman knew her trade well! Marian found herself holding the empty tomb in her hands, undoing the cord wrapped around its leather cover to look upon the wood fiber paper, which was indeed bereft of any words. The leather was supple and bendable, and the paper bound both by stitch and leather tie.
"How much?" Marian found herself asking, holding the journal in her hands.
"Three shills and a tippence." The woman replied with a smile. "For another tippence, I'll add some writing tools that would best suit it. I found that wood-encased charcoal-and-sulfur stylus work best when having to work when traveling. Especially on ships." The price rather surprised Marian; she had a pretty good idea how much a book could go for. She had seen a copy of one of Brother Genitivi's volumes of In The Pursuit Of Knowledge priced at a Twocrown! The price of three and a half shillings was hardly bad at all for a book of any kind. And the woman knew her business; the thought of writing down her journey and reading it to her brother and sister. Perhaps… one day her own children? The thought touched Hawke.
"Ye have yerself a deal, messere." Marian finally replied, offering a hand to shake on the deal, the other woman taking it. A few moments later, the young woman was thanking the proprietor after purchasing the journal as well as several charcoal styluses and securing it in her leather sporran, leaving the shoppe after waiving the well-dressed woman a fare-thee-well. The archer felt herself smiling after the purchase despite that she could have gotten a good meal for the amount of coin she had paid, thinking of her intent for joining the Dryden Brothers Merchant Company in the first place; to become a Knight of Ferelden. While she had prepared for this for months now, the thought of taking the Trials coming to her last spring, Marian was truly on her first steps towards her goal. It felt… right… to record it.
Who was to say what the coming weeks might bring?
The Redcliffe Market Square was everything it was promised to be and more. Marian was touring the entirety of the square, visiting many of the shoppes and perusing the stalls and carts, heading well past midday before she had seen it in its entirety. She remained conscious not to buy whatever flight-of-fancy she had, only purchasing an apple for a tippence from a constermonger selling fruit from a cart to break her fast while touring the market. The young woman had to admit that she was surprised at the sight of so many people in the market on Sigsday, the traditional market days usually being on a Korthsday and Kingsday. Marian had to admit that those were the traditional market days in Lothering, and Redcliffe just might be different. Still, there were many shoppes and many stalls to look upon and visit, and she did just that, doing her best to remind herself not to spend all her coin.
Marian passed by a consters' cart selling fruits and a badgers' wagon selling vegetables. She looked at a table of a furrier, a fur-seller, displaying several pelts and skins, noting mostly small game and feathers. A bolters' shoppe was filled with woven cotton or wool threads for cloth, and the next shoppe over had several looms within to turn cloth and thread into practical items. No surprise, the shoppe next to that one was a tailor to make clothes; perhaps all three shoppes were in partnership. She stood and watched a glassblower for quite some time make a glass vase by sticking a rod of metal into a kiln for several moments before pulling it out and blowing into the rod to expand the slowly melting glass, spinning it to keep it even. She passed by an ironmongers' table selling hinges, nails, and braces, and behind him was a cooper, a barrelmaker, using a hammer and wedge to tap wooden slats to make the walls. One of the shoppes was a small livestock dealer, selling goats, sheep, chickens, and donkeys, a fair-sized set of corrals behind the building to house the livestock. Of course, the shoppe right next to it was a feed shoppe, selling oats, hay, grain, barley, and dried corn mixed with beans (those two were probably in a partnership as well!). Marian was a little shocked to see a man with a wagon full of barrels that was offering cups of wine to passing shoppers, one barrel broached with a spigot and 'selling' a horn or mug of wine for a shill as long as one brought one's own mug. Right out in the bloody open, to boot!
The Market was everything Marian hoped it would be. And a good deal more.
Marian made a few small purchases for herself while at the market, practical items that she would need for her journey. There was a bowyer and fletcher shoppe who was selling completed arrows as well as the necessaries to make an arrow (including pre-cut shafts made of pine, oak, hickory, and teak) along with finished and unfinished bows. The young woman made her own arrows (arrowheads, shafts, and even fletchings) as well as her bows and bowstring. But out in the road, she wouldn't be able to procure some of the items necessary or be able to craft what she needed, so she ended up looking at the shoppe for what it had available. She ended up buy some goose feathers and gut string for fletching material and some extra hemp cord for bowstring after testing it for strength and any possible stretching by looping it around her sandals and then draping it over her neck and shoulders and doing her best to stand straight up to see if the cord ether snapped or stretched; neither would do if that were the case. Satisfied with the strength, Marian went over the cord, noting that it was in a reverse Flemish twist and that the was no fraying either at the ends or in the middle. The young woman had extra arrowheads and shafts that she had brought, along with two extra bowstrings made from glued linen, but since her primary profession amongst the company was that of an archer, Hawke figured having a few extra more accessories to make arrows couldn't hurt.
She also probably spent a good candle or two's worth of time talking to the bowyer and fletcher about bow making, arrow making, hunting, and ever-popular debate about certain qualities of wood, leather, linens and horn to further enhance either strength, distance, or accuracy. Surprisingly, they had heard of her thanks to her winning the Lothering Bannorn Annual Fair's archery contest twice, and the bowyer, an older man by the name of Jorgen Gunnarson, had known of some of her hunting exploits, including when she brought in a black bear. The notoriety surprised Marian, but she was hardly disappointed that she seemed to be making a name for herself outside of Lothering.
After spending a fair portion of the day in the Market Square, Marian found herself wandering the city of Redcliffe itself, seeing the many difference between it and Lothering. The fact that the buildings were typically taller but narrower stood out, but some of the ways that they were made were different too; most homes in Lothering were made of log-and-thatch, while here many were made of hewn stone, brick, or painted with daub. The docks got a visit as well, a large group of piers thrusting into Loch Calenhad for what appeared to be fishing, netting, clam-trapping, and sea trade. The boats were much larger than the rivercraft in Lothering, some were double-deckers with two sets of oarsmen and more sails on a boat than Marian had ever seen, dozens of sheets of canvas available to harness the power of wind. It looked like hundreds worked the docks, coolies and porters carrying cargo onto or off of ships, or likewise from the docks to the various warehouses or stations that were their next destination. Seeing a bunch of shirtless men carrying large sacks, truckles, and barrels was hardly a deterrent, either.
Then there was the caer once known as Dearg Bearradh; Caer Redcliffe.
Built on an island that stood in Lock Calenhad, the castle dominated the peak of the island and practically other available landspace, it seemed. Mairan stood upon the wooden walkway that ran between building and loch were she could look northing and see Loch Calenhad stretch out before her, where the island and caer dominated the port and docks. Built during the Ancient Age by the Avvar and the Alamarri, it had been built and rebuilt, upgraded and improved, repaired and replaced over the ages to the edifice that was known today. The entirety of the island had been used, from its stone docks to its cliffs and peaks, shadowing over both the docks and city of Redcliffe, protecting its waters and its people. Marian found herself looking at the caer in amazement, seeing its six towers that rose up in the sky, the stone battlements that linked the towers together, and even the keep where the Arls of Redcliffe, the Guerrins and the House of Gulls. It was said to have been built even before the First Blight, and while it had been changed and improved over the ages, it still stood unconquered.
Hawke briefly wondered what it was like living in a caer.
The young woman continued to explore and discover the city of Redcliffe, walking down its timber streets and avenues, passing by random businesses and residences as she found herself looking at the people as well, most dressed in fashions that were achingly close to what people wore in Lothering but with a few small differences. Marian passed by a few small smithies, most tin and copper for making small repairs for household items, as well as a farrier making horseshoes on a small anvil, the ring of a hammer striking iron. There were a trio of loomer women working from a small manger making spindles of threads, feeding lines of cotton through the warp and weft, passing a shuttlecock in between the threads to keep them separated and together. There were men carrying what looked to be satchels of vegetables, women with baskets of flowers and leaves, and children running underfoot or helping out. She found herself in short canyons surrounded either side by stone-constructed houses and businesses, some buttressed by timber and others caulked with daub or hod. Marian continued down the avenue, looking at a boarding house with rooms to rent when…
"May I trouble ye f'r a moment, dearie?"
Hawke was a little started to hear the voice of a gray-haired woman standing by a milliners' shoppe with those curious brimless bonnets on display, the kerling standing with the aide of a cane in a wizened hand as her well-lined face looked at Marian's. The ellri woman was dressed with a plain dress with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and head, tied together at her throat.
"May I help ye, amma?" The young woman asked the elderly woman that had beseeched her, noting that the woman was standing in front of another shoppe; the rúnlesiðr she had seen the previous day. It was quite obvious that the woman had seen many summers, her face well-lined with wrinkles and wizened with age. The hand that held its cane was gnarled and bony, her posture stooped and almost brittle-seeming. Rheumy blue eyes looked at Marian with a smile as the old woman's other hand touched her forearm.
"Ye look like a strong lass, an' I's 'fraid I might need a hand." The elderly woman replied, beckoning her towards the shoppe. Not that Marian wanted anything to do with a rune-reader or some coin-taking faux-shamaness, but she had been raised a good Andrastian girl who was to mind and honor her elders. The young woman sighed as she let herself be dragged into the shoppe where, much to her surprise, she found that she wouldn't be alone in the shoppe with an old woman.
"'Ello, mistress." Came a soft, fluting voice of an elf woman dressed in a nice and proper plum-colored dirndl dress with a white shirf underneath, the collar going to her neck and the sleeves going to her wrists. The elvish lass was a pretty thing, her long ears prominently poking out of a crown of raven tresses that cascaded from a unmarked face. "Welcome t' Runa's Fortunes… oh! Mistress Runa!" The elvish woman saw who Marian had at her side as the archer found herself looking around the shoppe. It was tastefully decorated, much like a teahouse save for there was but one table in the center of the shoppe along with several chairs. Marian noted that the table contained a teapot and some scones on a plate; ah, they served snacks as well as fortunes. "Is this…?"
"Be a good dearie an' show this young lass what th' fuss is all about, Shaeriel." The wizened woman replied, patting Marian's forearm as the elf woman nodded in response. The huntress wasn't finding herself fond of the situation she had found herself in, but didn't want to be impolite or rude, either. The shorter elf woman beckoned her to follow as she turned towards the back of the shoppe, going past the main table and towards a door that was cleverly covered with emerald-colored drapes to match the motif of the shoppe. Shaeriel moved to the door, brushing aside the drape to access it as Marian followed, resigning herself to help with… whatever the problem is.
"So wot's this 'bout?"
"'Friad I found 'im this morn when taking out th' chamberpots an' suppers' leavin's." The elvish woman replied apologetically, looking sheepish. "Growls whene'er I get close, an' th' mistress gets spotty an' th' wheezin's whene'er she gets near 'em. Tried shoo'in' 'im off, but…" The shorter woman looked even more sheepish. "Don't like me, I takes it."
"Wait… wot' are we talkin' 'bout, here?" Marian asked, a little at a loss as the elivish woman opened the door to a small yard behind the shoppe, where a compost box stood with food rubbish, a few herbs and flowers grew in the garden…
…and a brindle-colored Mabari pup was gnawing on what looked to be a thighbone.
"Why, look at ye!" Marian immediately gushed, seeing the pup turn their attention from gnawing one what was likely a soupbone or leftovers to have a pair of warm eyes look at her. "Now aren't ye th' sweetest thin'!" The huntress slid past Shaeriel and out into the garden where the pup evidently dominated the small yard by resting right in the middle of it with its prize in between its front paws. The bullish snout cracked open to show prominent teeth in a short, wide, powerful jaw. The poor soupbone showed a great deal of gnaw marks where the pup had whittled it down, one end practically a stick from its efforts. The Mabari looked at her with warm chestnut eyes, huffing and panting as a long pink tongue rolled out with a little bit of slobber dripping from it while the tail nub began to wag. "Ye found yerself a spot of breakfast, I see." Marian cooed as she approached the pup, kneeling in front of it as the Mabari eyed her. The tongue disappeared as the jaw closed and the pup's head canted to one side, one floppy ear going over its head as the other dangled downward. "Now ye's be an adorable one, ain't ye?"
The pup huffed as the jaw opened and the tongue came out again.
"Know wot' ye need? A real meal!" Hawke continued to coo as her left hand slowly went forward to fondling one of the floppy brindle ears, giving it a good rub. "Not some leftover bone wit' but gristle an' bits. No, wot' ye need is some haremeat or chicken, fresh fr'm th' fields." Marian continued to fondle the ear as the Mabari continued to look at her with expressive eyes, drool still dripping from its tongue and maw. "Yer not meant t' be diggin' through rubbish or beggin' f'r scraps, pup. Yer a hunter… like me." That had the pup stop huffing for a moment. "Game t' stalk and chase, kill t' claim, fresh meat as a reward f'r a good hunt done. Ye dinna want t' be some alley mutt slinkin' 'round on th' hopes o' a lil' bit of scrap meat, do ye?" The maw closed as the head straightened up, the pup's nose pointing right at her own. "E'er had mutton? Hare? Chicken? Hock? Fresh an' bloody?"
The huffing started again as the jaw dropped open and the tongue lolled out in a very dog-like grin.
"T'ought ye might like th' sound o' that." Marian scratched behind the ear as the Marbari rolled over, showing her its, her, belly. "Aww, beggin' for a lil' lovin's, ain't ye, sweetie!" The young woman had no issue giving the Mabari pup a good belly rub. "Tell ye wot, ye stick wit' me an' ye'll never be beggin' f'r scraps again. How that sound?"
The pup rolled back over on its haunches and gave a happy bark.
"T'at's a good girl." Marian smiled as she looked back to the doorway where the elvish woman Shaeriel stood, looking hopeful. "C'mon, let's go get ye somethin' proper t' eat, then we can get ye a real name. Canna be callin' ye dog all th' time, can I?"
The Mabari merely gave a low woof at that, indicating her opinion.
"T'at's wot' I t'ought."
Malcolm Hawke was whittling down a chock of wood with his field knife on the Chantry grounds when a few interesting noises had him looking up from his work to see his daughter coming onto the compound with an addition at her side, a brindle Mabari pup padding alongside her. It was past midday and Marian had spent it exploring Redcliffe, the first time she had ever visited another city. He didn't doubt that she would likely buy a few things, but thankfully his eldest daughter was generally pretty practical and not about for flights of fancy.
But still, a Mabari warhound pup?
"Making friends?" The older man asked as his daughter approached him, his eyes on the brindle pup who kept up with Marian's stride easily. Pup was probably, at best, about two or so months old, probably just weened.
"Somethin' like that." His daughter replied with a smile as she took a knee and gave the pup a friendly scratch on the head. "There was an elderly woman who had this lovely lass purloinin' her rubbish f'r somethin' t' gnaw on. She asked me t' help coz' she gets th' rash an' th' wheeze fr'm dogs, so I coaxed her t' follow me an' bribed her wit' some real soupmeat." The pup was resting on her hind, tongue flicking in and out as she panted, obviously enjoying the attention. "She's been followin' me e'er since. Been tryin' t' come up wit' a name f'r her, but she haddn't like anythin' I've said so far. Picky picky." The young woman groused with a caring voice as she looked at the pup in question, still scratching her as Marian's fingers went behind her ears. Well, at the least his daughter hadn't bought a warhound; they could be frighteningly expensive, even as much as a good breeding stud! Then again, a real kennelmaster wouldn't sell one unless there was good rapport between Mabari and master. And while Malcolm wasn't exactly any kind of expert on the breed, even he could tell the pup's affection.
"Well." There was no use fighting it now, that Mabari was probably halfway imprinted on his daughter, and Fereldens took a very dim view to those who didn't take such things seriously. Many in Ferelden saw Mabari as an honorable companion, not as a pet or a beast, and being accused of abandoning, neglecting, or abusing a Mabari could get a man beaten or flogged if found accurate. No doubt the pup likely wandered from its mother when weened; a warhound in search for that someone who it found worthy, as Mabari did. Born during the tail end of winter, the pup had probably foraged through scraps and refuse in Redcliffe, encountering others but not being satisfied with what she had seen until a Lothering lass showed up. "Going to teach her how to hunt?"
"But o'course!" Marian laughed, reaching into a small cloth pouch and pulling out a small meaty morsel, the pup's toothsome maw opening up. "Ah! Manners, love!" The Mabari's jaw closed, but she didn't stop from licking her chops and eying what looked to be dried mutton. "There we go!" Marian flicked the piece of meat up, and the pup was quick to leap and pounce upon the snack in midair, catching it with her teeth and shaking it first before laying down and gnawing on it. Despite himself, Malcolm found himself smiling at the sight of the brindle pup working the dried mutton with her teeth.
"A good Mabari warhound makes for a good companion for a traveler, a hunter… even a knight." Oh, he very much knew what his daughter wanted to do with her life, an auspicious plan that she had been working upon for some time now. His eldest child wanted to have value and worth in her life, and in her mind, she wanted to earn a position of duty and respect. The apostate didn't have the heart to tell her that most knights were merely sons of lords and knights themselves, likely trained by their fathers or some castallian to whatever standard was necessary, making her road an uphill one. True, her skills with a bow were quite note-worthy, and her name well-known in the Lothering Bannorn. But he knew all too well that Marian would be seen as a commoner amongst those with heritage and heredity at their side, looking down upon her no matter how good she might be.
Despite knowing that, Malcolm supported her decision as a father should. It was very likely that Bann Binet Ouvrard, the Bann of Lothering, would no doubt select his daughter for his Bannguard as a Ferelden Knight. He wished nothing more than to see her succeed at her dream.
"How about… Brunhilda?" Marian was kneeling beside her Mabari, petting its flanks as the pup worked her mutton. There was a snort in response, the pup not even looking up from its meal. "Svarah?" There was a small puppy-like growl as a response as Malcolm smiled, taking his knife to the block of wood once more. "Tyrrda? Lysette? Eivor?" Nothing seemed to interest the pup or tear its attention from its meal.
"Perhaps something less Alamarri?" Hawke suggested to his daughter with some amusement.
"She's an Alamarri warhound, born-an'-bred!" Marian countered, sounding a little indignant. "I don't want to call her some cute Orlesian poodle name!" That had the older man chuckle at his daughter. There was no doubt that, despite the fact that she was the daughter to two Marchers, his daughter was Ferelden through-and-through. "Ye know, perhaps… Çâléaňé?" That had Malcolm pause at the name. It sounded a great deal like 'Sallie Anne', not an uncommon name in Ferelden, but he knew better. It was, after all, his mother's name. The Mabari pup's head perked up with the name, looking right at his daughter with ears up and stub of a tail wagging, mouth popping open and giving a singular bark.
"Ye like that, girl? Çâléaňé?" There came another bark of approval as Marian bent to nuzzle the pup, their noses brushing together for a moment as the young woman played with one of the pups' ears. "See? Ye got good tastes. That was me amma's name, an' Papa tell me that she was a fierce an' proud woman that men listened ta an' respected. Çâléaňé it is." The archer looked up to him with a smile. "Like it?"
"I do." Malcolm eventually replied, looking at the brindle pup that bore his mothers' name. Oh, no doubt anyone else would think it a right and proper Ferelden name, perhaps excusing the slightly different way Marian said it due to accent or some such thing. But Malcolm… he knew better. The pup's name might sound incredibly like Sallie Anne but he knew that Marian named the Mabari after a grandmother she had never met nor would she ever meet.
His daughter had named her new-found pup after a Clan Keeper.
Author's Notes: Haha, medieval politics ensues! The idea of the badges of a single lion or two I actually got from Robert Jordan's The Eye of the World from the Wheel of Time series (the book, not that flop of a show) when Rand al'Thor and Mat Cauthron arrive in Andor's capital city Caemlyn. Rand had innocently covered the heron on the hilt of his sword to avoid notice, choosing colors that supported both Queen and White Tower (because it was cheaper). I'm shocking myself on how much I remember about this; I first read that book when I was in 9th grade (1995-1996) and probably haven't reread it in… 25 years.
Carolingian Monetary System - Invented in the late 700's by the Frankish King Charlemagne/Charles the Great, this is where the pfund (pound), the shilling, and pfennig (penny) were invented. Coined and minted in silver, this became the monetary system that succeeded the old Roman monetary system, introducing the 1:20:240 ratio value that was used by almost all European nations until about the 19th century. The 240 pfennin was suppose to equal one pound (408 g, the Carolingian Pound instead of the Roman pound of 328g) of pure 'sterling' silver, and this thought defined minting, treasuries, trade, and coinage for over a thousand years. Generally speaking, only the smaller pfennig was minted and the rest just for accounting, and the coins themselves were minted/marked with approximately 1.7g of silver in each coin.
"Proper" clothing - For the medieval era, women wore dresses… period. Marian is currently wearing what is essentially cloth trousers and a lace-up blouse. This would be a no-no even for working female peasants pulling crops, who would wear basically one-piece dresses tied at the waist. A woman dressing in a man's clothes was a super no-no back in the day (see Joan of Arc as a reference, her only guilty verdict in an English kangaroo court being that she was dressed as a man while riding to war), and likely many of those old witch trials back during the Burning Times probably had some charges including 'improper dress' (like, say, one of the accusations of the Salem Witch Trials besides 'being contorted' was also improper dress/wardrobe malfunction). In the Medieval era, a woman traveling from one town or another would be given a 'pass' on the obvious crossdressing accusation as, since at least the Ancient Greek times, a woman dressing as a man to appear as a man and not, say, as a potential victim, was allowed and even encouraged. It wouldn't be until the Victorian/Edwardian era when 'proper attire' became the libertine l'femme mesures in England, France, and America.
The Tam o'Shanter and Barmoral Bonnet - The traditional Scottish bonnet/beret, generally made of the same tartan/clan pattern as the kilt, complete with the little tommie/pom-pom on top.
I tried to make what might actually be seen in a medieval 15th-16th century market; exotic spices, mostly food, repairs and basic tools, menders and carpenters. Notice that I don't have some guy hocking knives or other sharp implements right out in the market square.
A primly dressed Antivan lady deep in merchandise? Yes, this is exactly who you think it is. :-)
I identify perfume as l'doceur d'senteur (French for 'the sweetness of fragrance') as oppose to the real French name; toilet water (eau d'toilet).
Wood-encased charcoal-and-sulfur stylus - The pencil has existed since the 16th Century (invented in England, but the modern pencil was invented in Germany), wood carved hollow and glued around it to make a wood sheath. The reason we identify it as 'lead' (despite being graphite) was because the original load of graphite was an undiscovered mineral and that was what it was called at the time and the name stuck.
Shaeriel mentions that her mistress gets 'spotty and wheezy' around dogs as a reference to allergies to dogs. I have no idea what the Old World thought of such things as Hay Fever was the first one actually annotated (originally 'Summer Catarrh') back in the early 19th Century.
"Sallie Ann Jarrett", 11th Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment (Volunteer), Spring 1861 - February 6, 1865. During the beginning of the Civil War, the 11th Penn ("The Bloody Eleventh") had gained a mascot in the form of an American Staffordshire Pitbull named after a woman and their commanding officer. Sallie Ann was at every muster, every parade, and every battle that the Bloody Eleventh served, including Second Bull Run, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg; standing guard, barking at rebels, and protecting the wounded and the fallen. After the first day of Gettysburg, after missing for several days, Sallie Ann was found protecting the wounded and the dead of the 11th, having never left her soldiers for four days (including being near death herself from starvation). Wounded twice and having fought the Confederacy, Sallie was finally killed in action in Hatcher's Run, Virginia during the Siege of Petersburg, two months before the surrender at Appomattox. At the Gettysburg National Military Park, the 11th Pennsylvania monument hosts not only a Union soldier, but a life-sized American Pitbull, forever with the men she served alongside. Marian's Mabari will be based after this heroic canine warrior who served alongside men on the very front line of the Civil War.
While, yes, DA:O had a stalwart Mabari companion that one could chose to accompany in battle, DA2 had a 'summon spell' in which Hawke could bring the family pooch to battle. Sadly, there wasn't any real story to the Hawke family hound, but this is Hawke's Mabari Warhound of DA2. Kaddis and collar included with this DLC (Doggone Loyal Compatriot).