bound by rules

Tallis liked the wealthier parts of the city, Noblemen were easy targets, and didn’t realize half their coin had gone missing until the day was half finished. It was easy money. Lack of a purpose meant a lack of jobs for Tallis, and unfortunately that also meant she didn’t make any coin of her own. Fortunately there were enough unsuspecting nobles in the city to sustain her until someone came up.

Sizing up how much money was in her coin purse, the renegade noticed a woman a little distance in front of her. She wasn’t local, not the right dress, but she had the poise and presence of a Noblewoman. A most interesting mark. Even-more interesting when Tallis noticed the seal of the royal family of the Anderfells on her bag. Her various scouting missions outside of Qunari lands had clearly paid off.

"You have keen eyes." She replied fluidly, voice rolling smoothly from her throat in response, accent thick though gentle in comparison to the heavy tongues to the south. There was an obvious duality to her words, though she was primarily speaking of the rogue's ability to pick up on her origin. 

"I am stuck," Vera replied, laced fingers falling free to move as she explained, hand lifting to expose her unblemished, moving palm, "there is no desire to stay here as my destination is Denerim, though here I remain." She gave no more information than that, as it was quite frankly no business of anyone else's by her own. Her venture was of a politician's agenda; a grand ambition to be posed to the head of Ferelden's state, though it was not information she wished to divulge. She was no fool.

"Your pride will get you killed before you reach Denerim." Foolish woman. Either way, he had no intention of helping someone that was going to be so unpleasant. When she said goodbye he merely waved before kicking back.

She’d either be back before nightfall or by some miracle make it to Kirkwall. He was betting on the latter, as the general populace outside of Kirkwall was hardly friendly. “Goodbye, good luck!" He said this with utmost sincerity—she’d need it. “Stick to the coastline lest you want the Tal-Vashoth to be less than pleasant." Aedan called after her before deciding to spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing. He began to start on another carving, this time of a rose, and chose to wait.

"Do you find some kind of amusement," she called as she emerged from the darkness that surrounded the area, expression smoothing into the usual blank slate, "through sending people off with a poor excuse for directions they so kindly requested?" The words she uttered were just as equally emotionless, earthy eyes both strong and impenetrable, successfully concealing whatever emotions stirred within her. It was the look of a soldier, or rather the mentality of one. It was the way of life she had engrossed herself within; military and politics moulded her to be as such.

Vera almost found herself demanding his assistance. She knew full well what he was capable of from hours before, yet he remained stubborn and immovable. He was trained and skillful, yet he lived primitively amongst bandits and thieves despite having nothing to do with them. These were facts that she gathered during her time attempting to navigate through the Wounded Coast without losing her own life in the process. Instead of insisting on his aid like every noble she knew of would, she kept her mouth closed knowing full well that such demands would get her nowhere. He had no reason to assist her, and more than likely found some sick kind of amusement in her struggles, as she assumed before.

He shrugged and scooped out some soup for himself and set the other bowl and spoon near the fire. Aedan sat down, watching the woman as she climbed atop a rock form. At least it was something different. After all, killing raiders and gathering food got pretty damn boring.

Aedan listened to her as he munched on his soup. Really, the whole ordeal was ridiculous. He had half a mind to turn her away, to say that he had no interest in helping her.

But he did. So he merely sighed as if to say he was far too old for this horse shit.

"Kirkwall is half a day’s walk." He paused, finishing up his bowl of soup. Aedan set his own bowl on the ground before he got up and motioned toward the city’s general direction. “A bit less if you are not worried about breaking a sweat." Perhaps he was going to be kind to her, but the smartass comments were here to stay. At least for now.

"I merely asked for direction," she snapped, "Nothing more." She turned her nose up at him, piercing, emerald eyes staring over at him disapprovingly before she looked towards the very vague direction he pointed her in. If his goal was to drive her away, then he succeeded, because she wanted nothing to do with him now.

"Dobry den'. She bid him farewell as she gave a sharp, curt nod. Her knees bent fluidly, and though the bow she had given was done through mild disdain, the very action was ingrained into her being. She was thankful for his timely assistance when it had been given, but he had proven to be terrible company to keep. Then again, what would she have expected of a hermit residing in such a remote location?

Then, as he sheathed his sword, he turned back to face her. “You may come to my home if you wish to have a warm meal. Alternatively, you can wander about and make more ‘friends’ with the Qunari or raiders." The soup was over the fire and he didn’t want to burn it. 

Without waiting to see if she was going to follow him or not, he walked uphill and past some large rock formations. He lived in a small cave that tended to have a nasty spider problem. After a couple years of murdering its inhabitants, the spiders left him very much alone. In fact, they were quite useful in keeping others out. Stupid beasts, but if  you beat a stupid beast enough with a stick it eventually learned to avoid you.

Outside the alcove a pot was held over a fire by a not so sturdy contraption. He kind of half assed making it, mainly because it was rare for him to make soup in the first place. Usually he’d just roast some fish over a fire, but sometimes he got tired of the bland flavor. Earlier in the morning he had gathered edible berries and herbs to use as seasoning. Vegetables he had grown himself further up toward Sundermount were used to add substance. Of course, the meat of choice was fish because what the fuck else was there? 

There was a look of confusion and perhaps mortification that flashed through her eyes as she approached the alcove he seemed to inhabit. He lived here? When the warrior said it wasn't far, she assumed it was off the Wounded Coast, not... Dwelling in a cave of sorts. 

"Thank you for the offer, but I will pass." Having something in her stomach would have been the best if she was going to set out for Kirkwall again, though she wasn't foolish. There had been too many times where she heard stories and myths of similar tactics used to lure another in; feign kindness and hospitality only to strike when defenses were lowered. Though the nameless warrior did not seem like the type, she had to be careful. 

Vera moved to climb up the face of nearby rock, the toe of one fur-lined, form fitting boot hitching within one of many divots as she proceeded to the top, body elevated above ground level once she reached her destination. She needed a better view to know exactly where she was, though the landscape seemed different now and she was unable to tell.

"I need to get to Kirkwall." She stated, turning to face him as she lifted a hand to both shield her eyes from the sun and push her hair from her face. She required assistance. The question was, would he be willing to help? The chances were slim, but she could try.

Aedan seemed to deflate at the woman’s question. “Eu não sou." Why did she want an explanation? Despite his better judgment he saved her ass. Now she was pestering him. Great. “I am an exiled man and live not far from here." Then, he wasn’t able to help himself. “If you are going to put me out of my misery, I suggest doing it now." He stuck his sword in the sand and then threw his arms in the air.

Though the words that fell from his mouth in the moments that followed took her a bit off guard. Vera paused, wide eyes blinking before hardening once again. What exactly was he going on about? First he had been so keen to question what she was doing here, then proceeded to virtually deflect the same question and ask for his end? She turned her head, loose ringlets that had previously been pushed back now falling over her shoulders as a disturbed, slender brow arched over one of her emerald eyes. 

"Are you ill?" She prompted, of course referring to his absurd display. Or was this some sort of an act to lower her guard? He'd already displayed his swordsmanship--remarkable, really--and it was clear that he wasn't useless. 

Judging from her accent she came from the Anderfels. That in and of itself was odd considering that the Imperium was hardly a pleasant place to traverse through. Her men had been well armed and youthful. Perhaps that had been the woman’s mistake. Polished armor was a lovely sight but it hardly meant that their metal had been tested properly. Now they were food for passing wildlife—which they deserved to be—but even the bitter old hermit wasn’t heartless enough to allow the woman to either fight or jump to her death.

He stepped out from his hiding place, cocking his head to the side as he looked over the men quiet casually. “I would stand down if I were you." Aedan’s voice was hoarse and it was very much apparent that he spoke rarely. “Then again, the lot of you will die either way." 

That seemed to do the trick, as their attention was now on him instead of the woman standing precariously close to the edge of the cliff. The rogues rushed him, but they were hardly close to his skill level. Aedan took them down quite easily, though he frowned at the fact that he was now covered in blood. 

"They were fine men," she corrected him, her actions in doing so were delayed though, "had there been more stops for rest along the way, they would have still been with me." Vera nipped in return, the odd vowel hardly pronounced due to fact that very language she spoke that was indeed, not her own. Her lips pressed into a firm line, mossy eyes locked upon the soft-spoken man before her as she continued wary steps forward. There was an air of fearlessness despite the disadvantage she was so effortlessly wrestled from, though her heart hammered away within her chest almost nervously. It was either that, or adrenaline.