Feast

[aestrix]

It is a special day, in the city of Orzammar. For one man, especially. It is a day of celebration for the second son of King Endrin Aeducan. Despite his physical... issues, he's been made Orzammar's newest commander. Tomorrow, there will be quite a lot of bloodshed. But tonight is for Stalas Aeducan. Not only is there a feast in his honor, but Provings, as well. It's his day, one of honor, but also his formal presentation to the heads of houses.

The merchants have even been allowed into the Diamond Quarter, a rare treat they only see on special occasions. They're probably regretting it, by now, after trying to talk to some of the dwarven nobles and tackle their very particular brand of pride, but it's a chance to win over the highest class, instead of hoping they deign to notice the Merchant Caste.

Regardless, today is certainly a day to remember. Possibly for the wrong reasons.

Comments

[thisvorlunatic]

"I don't suppose you were at yesterday's glory Proving? Heard about it, maybe? I hear I caused a bit of a stir, defeating all of the," he inclines his head respectfully in Frandlin Ivo's direction, "highly skilled warriors who fought to celebrate my commission."

[aestrix]

"I uh. I watched," says one of them, a little nervously.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Then maybe you'd like to tell your friends about how well I fight," Stalas says pleasantly, "when I am making a considerable effort not to kill or permanently injure anyone. It wouldn't have been polite, with them being there to honour me and all."

[aestrix]

The mercenary swallows. "That's. Um. You were going easy on them...?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Very. Very easy. And I don't know if you've ever tried, but it takes a lot of skill to pull that off, in the heat of battle."

[aestrix]

"Yes," says the mercenary leader in a deadpan. "And you being the Lord Aeducan had nothing to do with it at all. Certainly no one goes easy on you, and certainly no one else is holding back in a Proving match to prevent people from dying. You are a special and precious lyrium vein, unique and valuable."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Somebody hasn't been to a proving match recently," Stalas snorts. "Precious lyrium vein. I like that one. I'm going to think of it to cheer me up when I'm sad."

He shakes his head.

"Let's apply a little honesty to the situation, all right? Someone has hired you to get in my way and supplied you with the means to do so. I don't know whether you're meant to leave me alive or not, and, being at least nominally outnumbered, I can't afford to guess. There's four of us and seven of you," he waves at the man with the crossbow hiding behind a broken column, "and as your man here will attest," a nod to the one who was at the Proving match, "if I'm not holding back I can probably take you all down by myself while my second and the scouts hang back and lay wagers on whether or not I'll be wounded in the process. But as it happens, I'm not by myself, and am instead accompanied by my accomplished second, a highly respected Proving fighter, and this fellow whose qualifications I cannot personally verify but who I'm sure knows how to use that bow he's carrying. So. Your options are: tell me who it was and how they got you in the door for a hefty reward, leave me alone for nothing, negotiate a different deal keeping in mind that you are not capable of intimidating me, or attack and die. Pick one."

[aestrix]

"Hmmm," says the mercenary, pretending to think. "I'm going to go with option five. Attack and kill you."

[thisvorlunatic]

"It's not too late to reconsider," Stalas says pleasantly, though his hands drift to the hilts of his daggers - timing is tricky; he's always best off if he's on the offensive, but he doesn't want to kill these men unless he has to.

[aestrix]

"Nah, it is. Sorry, lad, nothing personal."

The fellow hiding behind the broken column fires a bolt at Stalas. He is the priority to murder.

[thisvorlunatic]

Yeah, that was deeply predictable.

Stalas is not there when the bolt passes through where he was standing; he is instead rolling forward, daggers flashing out of sheaths, coming up off the floor to strike at the leader in passing as he heads for that archer. A dagger hilt to the jaw will take many people out of a fight without killing them, and it's faster to deliver than almost anything else he could do while accelerating rapidly past someone.

[aestrix]

The leader is briefly out of the fight, but not down for the count entirely. He's something of a stubborn bastard.

Unfortunately that's not enough to save the mercenaries. Many of them turn out to be better at fighting than they appeared, but are by no means better than Stalas. Or Frandlin Ivo. Or Gorim. Numbers are an't everything. And so, lord Aeducan and his companions are the victors.

[thisvorlunatic]

"I warned them," Stalas sighs.

This is the first time he has ever killed a dwarf. He doesn't like the feeling. It sucks all the joy from combat.

He checks for survivors, is disappointed, and starts poking in ruined chambers for things that look like they might contain a shield.

[aestrix]

There is a thing that looks like it could contain a shield! It has a sarcophagus in it. Trying to dislodge or move it is impossible.

On the other hand, there are some carvings on the wall over there. Dwarves usually have symbols or designs carved into the walls, or statues of paragons, but not pictorial carvings - perhaps a human or an elf wouldn't find it strange, but to a dwarf, they are quite suspicious.

[thisvorlunatic]

Hmm. Suspicious carvings first, or sarcophagus first? How about both?

"Gorim, can you look for a clever release catch of some kind on this thing?" he asks, waving back at the sarcophagus as he heads for the carvings. It's so nice to have friends.

[aestrix]

"Yes, my lord," agrees Gorim, and he gets to investigating the sarcophagus.

The carvings seem to depict Aeducan's rise to Paragon. First is him writing, or planning, it seems. Next, he is leading troops to battle against the darkspawn. The next carving depicts a victory, with many darkspawn dead or crawling away to deeper, darker caves. Next is the assembly voting. Beside that is Aeducan in typical Paragon fashion, strong and resolute and standing tall. Last, he defends a wounded friend, surrounded by enemies and at great risk to his own life.

[thisvorlunatic]

...Stalas stands in front of this sequence.

He 'reads' it twice.

It looks... reasonably innocuous.

But those panels are awfully square, and their edges awfully dark, and something about that sequence...

Strategy, campaign, victory, vote, Paragonhood, Paragon-like action. It really is a stripped-down stylized version of the story of Aeducan's life. Frowning to himself, Stalas tries reading it backwards. Heroic conduct, being a Paragon, being voted as a Paragon, winning great victories, fighting great battles, congratulating yourself and writing a memoir about it...? No, Aeducan wasn't the self-congratulatory type. He'd be more likely to write a tersely brilliant book about how he beat the darkspawn - in fact, he did, and Stalas has read the whole thing multiple times. It's his favourite document in the Shaperate.

Recalling some of the more personal remarks, he smiles wryly. Aeducan didn't seem to think much of being made a Paragon. He was much more interested in his honour than his reputation...

Stalas blinks, and looks at the sequence again. That can't be it, can it? If that's it, that's ridiculous. But it fits.

Reputation is what others know about you. Honour is what you know about yourself.

He presses the panel with Aeducan pictured in the blocky style of Paragon statues, then the panel with the Assembly voting, then the panel with the defense of the wounded friend, then the panel with the strategy session. Each one lets out a tiny 'click' as it recedes into the wall by a fingernail's thickness, then pops back out again as soon as he moves his hand away.

And on the last one, there is a rumble from the direction of the sarcophagus.

"How's it looking over there now, Gorim?" he asks, turning back.

[aestrix]

"I'm not finding any- ... nevermind. You still have your signet ring, my lord?" asks Gorim.

[thisvorlunatic]

"Yep."

He goes over and prods the sarcophagus with it in the very obviously signet-ring-shaped spot. The lid slides open, and there is the shield.

"And now you have the honour of carrying the sodding thing back to Father," he says, lifting the shield out and handing it to Gorim. "Mainly because it's so heavy. We've wasted enough time here; let's go."

[aestrix]

Gorim snorts, but he carries the shield. "No excitement for finding the legendary shield of Aeducan?"

[thisvorlunatic]

"Read his book," Stalas advises. "Then you'll understand. Besides, that rigamarole with the carvings was - I want to say 'brilliant' and 'idiotic' at the same time. I'm too busy marveling at whoever thought that was a good idea to have feelings about my ancestor."

[aestrix]

"... Both brilliant and idiotic? There's a trick. By all means, regale me with the why."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Aeducan's least-quoted quote, which happens to be one of my personal favourites, is 'Reputation is what others know about you. Honour is what you know about yourself.' I'm sure you can see why it would be unfashionable in this modern age. But in order to open that sarcophagus, I had to poke those carvings in an order that referenced the quote. And all this just to stop anyone who isn't an obsessive Aeducan devotee with a signet ring from getting at his shield. Aeducan would weep with frustration at their priorities."

[aestrix]

Gorim finds this hilarious. "I see. Yes, that seems like it would be true."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Right?"

Off they go, back along the winding tunnels. Stalas is pleased to note that there are no darkspawn about.