Thia's Refuge - A Daring Development
Jan 6, 2020 10:02:02 GMT
Grimes, theduchess, and 4 more like this
Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Jan 6, 2020 10:02:02 GMT
Darkness smothers the streets of Daring, an icy rain pouring from rooftops and gutters to wash the cobbles to an inky slickness. From the Sea of Storms, a bitter wind howls across the Frog Bog to claw at the city, rattling shutters and stealing under doors. Winter sinks her teeth into the Dawnlands, but for all this, the rooms and corridors of Thia’s Refuge are alive with light and warmth. Behind the thick stone walls, the laughter of children and the smell of fresh baking fill the air.
From his seat inside Allenby’s office, Varis allows himself a small smile, swirling the whisky in his glass. Looking up, he meets the piercing blue eyes of his host, and the smile grows, the two stern military men sharing a moment of simple pleasure in good work and fine drink.
Allenby drains his glass with the air of an inveterate campaigner, placing the crystal tumbler down on his desk.
“Not bad for half a years work.”
Varis nods agreement, taking a small sip of his drink. The liquor smoulders sweetly at the back of his throat. Allenby picks up the bottle, frowning at it appreciatively.
“Very fine. How did you know?”
The younger man smiles wryly, adopting the sententious tones of school master.
“Gold may be the sinew of war, but information is it’s lifeblood.”
Allenby chuckles, uncorking the bottle and refilling his glass.
“A spy in the ranks then. Well, thank you, young man. A fine gift. And those-” he gestures with the whisky bottle to the large sack of toys and presents beside the half elf’s chair “-will be equally well received.”
He recorks the bottle, eyes searching the young man’s face for a moment as a mischievous smile spreads across his lips.
“But who will shave the barber, you ask?”
Varis frowns, confused until Allenby nods to a dark wooden chest on the table beside the door.
“A little Midwinter gift from our masked friend. Go on, open it.”
The half elf hesitates for a moment before standing and walking over to the table. The box is beautifully if simply made, hinged in silver with two shallow drawers set into the bottom. The lid bears the head of a roaring dragon with garnets for eyes. Opening it he finds three boards painted in colourful chequer patterns - one blue and white, one green and yellow, and the final red and brown. Varis looks up at the older man.
“A beautiful gift. Though I must confess I have never played Chatranj. Perhaps you could teach me?”
Allenby snorts.
“Not me, lad. I played one game when I was about your age and didn’t touch a board again until I collected this one for you. No, this was all her. Said she thought you might find it useful in the days to come.”
Varis opens the draws, inspecting the two sets of carved figures within, a menagerie of heroes and beasts in red and black. He pulls a mounted knight free, holding it up for inspection. In the light of the lamp, it looks as though it has been cast in frozen blood. Allenby watches him from across the desk.
“It sounded bad, this Giant’s War of yours.”
Varis nods without looking away from the figure. His gaze is sad and distant.
“It was. I lost some good soldiers. Some good friends.”
Carefully he places the stone figure back into the draw and slides it closed. Turning back to the older man he hesitates for a moment, clearly wanting to say something but unsure whether he can. Allenby smiles.
“It’s alright, lad. You can ask. You want to know if it gets easier? Sending good people to die in a bad war.”
The half elf fixes his eyes on the old soldier with a desperate intensity.
“Does it?”
Frederick smiles, shaking his head.
“No. If it starts to feel easy, it’s time to get out. But they knew the life they’d chosen, those soldiers of yours. We dine with death, we men of war. And in war, as in life, the bill always comes at the end.”
The sentiment hangs in the air between them for a long time, as the fireplace crackles and the children laugh and squabble. Outside the walls, the wind howls around the eaves and on into the dark of a Midwinter night.
From his seat inside Allenby’s office, Varis allows himself a small smile, swirling the whisky in his glass. Looking up, he meets the piercing blue eyes of his host, and the smile grows, the two stern military men sharing a moment of simple pleasure in good work and fine drink.
Allenby drains his glass with the air of an inveterate campaigner, placing the crystal tumbler down on his desk.
“Not bad for half a years work.”
Varis nods agreement, taking a small sip of his drink. The liquor smoulders sweetly at the back of his throat. Allenby picks up the bottle, frowning at it appreciatively.
“Very fine. How did you know?”
The younger man smiles wryly, adopting the sententious tones of school master.
“Gold may be the sinew of war, but information is it’s lifeblood.”
Allenby chuckles, uncorking the bottle and refilling his glass.
“A spy in the ranks then. Well, thank you, young man. A fine gift. And those-” he gestures with the whisky bottle to the large sack of toys and presents beside the half elf’s chair “-will be equally well received.”
He recorks the bottle, eyes searching the young man’s face for a moment as a mischievous smile spreads across his lips.
“But who will shave the barber, you ask?”
Varis frowns, confused until Allenby nods to a dark wooden chest on the table beside the door.
“A little Midwinter gift from our masked friend. Go on, open it.”
The half elf hesitates for a moment before standing and walking over to the table. The box is beautifully if simply made, hinged in silver with two shallow drawers set into the bottom. The lid bears the head of a roaring dragon with garnets for eyes. Opening it he finds three boards painted in colourful chequer patterns - one blue and white, one green and yellow, and the final red and brown. Varis looks up at the older man.
“A beautiful gift. Though I must confess I have never played Chatranj. Perhaps you could teach me?”
Allenby snorts.
“Not me, lad. I played one game when I was about your age and didn’t touch a board again until I collected this one for you. No, this was all her. Said she thought you might find it useful in the days to come.”
Varis opens the draws, inspecting the two sets of carved figures within, a menagerie of heroes and beasts in red and black. He pulls a mounted knight free, holding it up for inspection. In the light of the lamp, it looks as though it has been cast in frozen blood. Allenby watches him from across the desk.
“It sounded bad, this Giant’s War of yours.”
Varis nods without looking away from the figure. His gaze is sad and distant.
“It was. I lost some good soldiers. Some good friends.”
Carefully he places the stone figure back into the draw and slides it closed. Turning back to the older man he hesitates for a moment, clearly wanting to say something but unsure whether he can. Allenby smiles.
“It’s alright, lad. You can ask. You want to know if it gets easier? Sending good people to die in a bad war.”
The half elf fixes his eyes on the old soldier with a desperate intensity.
“Does it?”
Frederick smiles, shaking his head.
“No. If it starts to feel easy, it’s time to get out. But they knew the life they’d chosen, those soldiers of yours. We dine with death, we men of war. And in war, as in life, the bill always comes at the end.”
The sentiment hangs in the air between them for a long time, as the fireplace crackles and the children laugh and squabble. Outside the walls, the wind howls around the eaves and on into the dark of a Midwinter night.